Aside from the snoring, Wrio’s the most feminine dog I’ve ever watched; even her little barks are girly.
Her puppy raiser recounted a swimming pool adventure in which Wrio, instead of splashing about and belly-flopping in like many a boy dog would do, daintily paddled from the shallow end to the deep end, pulled herself up onto an inflatable raft and floated around as if she owned the place.
So my roommate decided Wrio needed to wear the proper attire while I was acting as her servant.
“What is this ‘sit’ you keep demanding I perform, peasant? It displeases me.”
“The princess prefers lying down. Now fetch me a cookie.”