A love/hate letter to Lola, my host family's dog.

Dear Lola (my host family's dog),

I had high hopes for you. I really did.

At first I was disappointed that you simply existed when I found out my host family assignment. I didn't want to live with a dog! My friends said I would like you better than the 2 year old. I was doubtful of that claim. I knew that I would love the child more than you.

However, you didn't seem that bad at all. You made strange grunting noises when you breathed, but it was just plain funny. You were a little annoying when I would come home from school and you'd scratch at my brand new gray leather boots. But you made up for this typical dog behavior when I would leave again, and you would stand in the doorway, nearly getting your head stuck in the door because you didn't want to see me go. You even followed me around the house, and got so excited when I said your name.

Of all the dogs I have met in my life (and subsequently hated) you didn't do what they did. You never put your paws on my legs when I was sitting (you were too short, and too fat) and you never ate or chewed any of my personal belongings (yeah, I still remember that dog that chewed my 8th grade yearbook. To that dog: you've made my list). You never barked (except for the rare occasion there was something on TV that you didn't like). You never drooled. All you ever wanted to do was sit in the same room as me and sit on a blanket or piece of cardboard or Dante's counting mat to protect your butt from the cold marble floor as you looked like a cross between a person bobbing to sleep on a bus and a dog who's face was melting as you dozed off.

That's all you wanted to do. Follow me around the house, or sleep. It didn't matter where you slept, but it had to be somewhat warm. Warm, like the Alicante sun on a Sunday afternoon.



When I was in my room and you were on the patio, the sound of me rustling things around would draw you to my windowsill, where you would sit until you saw my acknowledgment.



Even your creepiness was charming, when at night I would go to my room at the end of the hall and you would stand in the hallway, the dim light outlining your silhouette as you watched me retreat to my room for the night and shut the door.




I loved you for all the times I would exit the bathroom into the dark hallway and get jolted out of my skin when you were lurking in the shadows, growling, or as you like to call it, breathing.



You had so many charms, and I had high hopes for you. That is until today, when you threw up on the living room floor.