LoLa refresh.

When I got back the other day I took LoLa out to get the mail and so she could pee and poop.

Halfway down the driveway, LoLa stopped and sat.

Jesus Christ it’s hot, she said.

I tried not to laugh.

LoLa hates it when I laugh at her, but her voice coming out of something so little and chubby is just funny. She sounds like I imagine a Madge or a Marge would sound- kinda like she’d spent a lifetime drinking whiskey sours and chain-smoking Marlboros.

LoLa, I said, it’s not that hot and we’ve only walked about a hundred feet, and besides, you’re a Chiweeny- you’re part Mexican, you’re supposed to love the heat.

She cocked her head and looked up at me, squinting against the glare.

I’m also mostly Dachshund, which is German for I hate this fucking humidity, she said.

I stifled a smile.

I don’t think it means that, I said.

In my case it might, she said, tell me again why you brought me out into this hellhole?

LoLa, you’ve been cooped up in the house all day and I just thought you’d need to pee and poop, I said, and we need to get the mail.

LoLa looked down the driveway.

Soooooo, she said, you brought me out of my air conditioned comfort for mail I don’t care about and can’t read and to do things I don’t need to do right now.

And I had to admit it, she had a point.

Go it alone dickhead, she said, and then take me back upstairs.

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