My Dog Lulu

by Tama Janowitz

LuLu came first. She was the runt of the litter. She had to be nursed with a bottle. It was thought she would not live long. But she pulled through, and when I first saw her she ran to me and sat by my side attentively as if to say, "I'm ready to go. You must be here to get me out of this dump."

She had all the bad attributes of human beings: she was sluttish, cowardly, greedy, jealous--which was why I loved her all the more. After all, unlike a person she couldn't help herself; qualities that I would have despised in a person seemed rather charming and amusing in her. There is no spite in dogs.

"She had already decided she was a person, and the sort of person she was, was a person who hated dogs."

I lived in a studio apartment. When she was still very tiny--I had only had her a few days--I came home one evening to find she had disappeared. This was unimaginable! I searched for ages. At last I found her hiding in the back of the closet behind some shoes. "Lulu!" I said in disbelief. When she saw it was me she trotted out shamelessly, and I realized that when I arrived home earlier she thought a burglar was breaking in and decided it was best to hide. For quite a long timeafter that (until she got too fat and lazy to bother) if the doorbell rang she would quickly hide in the closet or under the bed. "Better safe than sorry."

I got Beep-beep a short time after Lulu. Lulu was not attractive--her coat was sparse, her expression petulant and demanding--but Beep-beep was adorable and looked exactly like the cutest of stuffed animals, with button eyes and a snub nose. Naturally Lulu hated him. She had already decided she was a person, and the sort of person she was, was a person who hated dogs.

Although she beat him up often, even going so far as to clamp down on his ear so severely it later fell off (dry gangrene), Beep-beep worshipped her. Every day, the first thing upon rising he would greet Lulu good-morning, kissing her face. And each morning Lulu responded by growling at him.

Even our New York City derelicts recognized her for who she was. "That one, she's a shopper," a homeless man pointed out. "Here comes the hairy hooker." said another. And it was true, had Lulu been a person, she would have been found in Bloomingdale's; and whenever a man came over, she seemed to believe he had only come to see her.

"On those occasions when Beep-beep was away, Lulu wilted. She needed him, and without him she was lost."

After I got married she tried to bite my husband when he came to kiss me good-bye in the morning; not just once, but every day. Actually, she had even attempted to bite me--and my mother--on various occasions when our feet came to close to her. "A true princess will never be touched by a lowly foot." She had never been a healthy dog; possibly her physical problems contributed to her irritable disposition.

And though her surface contempt for Beep-beep never diminished, on those occasions when he was away, Lulu wilted. She needed him, and without him she was lost. They were like a couple in an arranged Victorian marriage: one happy with the arrangement, the other--on the surface--horrified. But after the equivalent of fifty human years, though her attitude of disgust toward him never wavered, she couldn't live without him.

When she died--age eleven, cancer--Beep-beep mourned it so deeply it didn't seem he would live much longer. A new puppy arrived in the house; he ignored her. She, our Ninky, worshipped him. And gradually, or so it seemed, though he still had little use for Ninks, he emerged from his depression . . . one morning I found him kissing her, his breakfast hello.