Claire, her long-suffering human, once tried to explain to a neighbour that Bella was “a bit strong-willed.”
Bella, hearing this, gave a single disdainful side-eye that said:
“I’m not strong-willed. I’m just correct.”
Because Bella didn’t bend to peer pressure.
She didn’t chase trends.
She was the trend.
If you threw a toy and expected her to fetch it, she might. Or she might blink at you slowly like an existential French poet and go back to staring thoughtfully at a stick.
“You want me to run?”
“For your amusement?”
“I’m not a jester, Karen.”
And food? Oh, she loved food.
But not enough to compromise her artistic vision.
Claire could dangle treats, sing songs, offer gourmet kibble drizzled with gravy, and if Bella didn’t feel like it, she simply wouldn’t move.
Sometimes she’d sniff the treat, then stare deep into Claire’s soul as if to say:
