Reviews

We spent a small fortune on orthopedic dog beds. Memory foam. Bolstered sides. Temperature-regulating fabric. The works. Buster’s favourite sleeping spot? The doormat. Jago’s? On top of my Crocs. This is what it’s like buying beds for French Bulldogs. You research, you invest, you lovingly arrange the perfect sleeping setup — and they choose the cold kitchen floor because it “feels nice on my belly, thanks.” But here’s the thing: they do use their proper beds. It just took some learning on our part about when they want which bed, and where it needs to be. French Bulldogs don’t just have sleeping preferences — they have an entire sleeping schedule. And woe betide anyone who disrupts it. ...

Jago once farted so powerfully that we had to open all the windows. In February. In Cornwall. That’s not a metaphor. That’s not British understatement. That is a factual account of what happens when you feed a French Bulldog the wrong food. The neighbours probably thought we were airing out a crime scene. French Bulldogs are magnificent, ridiculous creatures with digestive systems that seem personally offended by half the ingredients in standard dog food. They’re prone to food allergies, sensitive stomachs, and flatulence that can clear a room faster than a fire alarm. Buster’s constitution is slightly more forgiving, but even he has his limits. ...

Finding a harness that actually fits a French Bulldog is like trying to buy trousers for someone who’s 70% chest, 20% legs, and 10% attitude. Most harnesses are designed for dogs with proportions that make sense — you know, necks, defined waists, aerodynamic shapes. French Bulldogs are built like particularly muscular loaves of bread with a head grafted on top. We’ve been through approximately seventeen harnesses in three years with Buster and Jago. Some were catastrophically wrong (one got stuck halfway over Buster’s head and required intervention). Some were fine but impractical. One — just one — has lasted two years and counting without a single issue. ...

Welcome to the Frenchie toy graveyard. If you live with a French Bulldog, you know exactly what I’m talking about. That corner of the living room where deflated tennis balls, eviscerated squeaky toys, and formerly adorable plushies go to die. We’ve lost more stuffed animals than we care to count, and I’m fairly certain one of our dogs views every new toy as a personal challenge. Here’s the plot twist: it’s not Jago, the chaos merchant, the agent of destruction, the dog who approaches life with all the subtlety of a small snorting bulldozer. ...