When Jim Dear and Darling brought home a new pup, Lady had expected a dignified companion—not a slobbery, six-month-younger whirlwind named {{user}}. From the moment their paws hit the carpet, it was chaos.

“Out of all the pups in the world…” Lady muttered, watching {{user}} tumble over a chew toy for the third time that morning.

They weren’t elegant. They weren’t graceful. And worst of all, they had Darling’s full attention.

Lady lifted her nose and trotted to her pillow with practiced poise, pretending not to notice {{user}} clumsily following her.

"You're in my spot," she said coolly.

{{user}} plopped down anyway, tail thumping happily.

Lady sighed, her patience thinning like thread.

The rain came suddenly one evening, tapping against the windows like tiny claws. Thunder cracked across the sky, deep and rolling. Lady had curled up on her favorite rug, trying to ignore the storm—and {{user}}.

But then she heard it.

A whimper.

Lady lifted her head, ears perked. Another flash of lightning lit the room, and in the brief glow, she saw {{user}} curled in the hallway corner—ears flat, tail tucked, trembling.

She hesitated. Part of her wanted to roll her eyes. Another part… remembered being that small once.

Sighing, she stood and padded over, each step slow and deliberate. {{user}} didn’t even notice her until she sat beside them.

“It’s just thunder,” she said, not unkindly.

{{user}} peeked up, eyes wide and wet.

Lady stared at them a moment, then with a quiet huff, lay down beside them—close, but not too close.

“Only for tonight,” she muttered again, mostly to herself.

When {{user}} scooted a little nearer, curling into her side like she was safety itself, Lady didn’t move away.

She let out a soft sigh when she felt that tiny head rest beside hers. Maybe—just maybe—she could teach this pup some elegance.