From Meh to Magnificent

Hello there, dear reader! It’s me, Winston, your favorite French bulldog and self-proclaimed canine life coach, back with another tail-wagging update. Not long ago, I was feeling a little…meh. Sometimes it was the gloomy weather. Other times, it was because my mom refused to give me treats even after I begged. Whatever the reason, my snout was dragging, and I knew I had to do something about it.

I did some digging (metaphorically, of course. I would never dig in the house I’m a good boy) and discovered implementing a little morning ritual could be just the thing to perk me up! And so, dear reader, I embarked on what I’m calling Mission Morning Routine.

Let me tell you, the results have been nothing short of transformative. And because I am a very giving Frenchie, I will now share my new morning routine with you so that you, too, can adopt it and reap the benefits.

My days begin at 5:43 AM sharp. I position myself precisely one inch from Mom’s face. With the precision of a surgeon, I breathe. Deeply. Loudly. In and out until she stirs. Sometimes she resists my serenade, turning over or grumbling, “five more minutes.” But persistence is key, and eventually, I win (I always win).

Once she wakes up, we move on to my potty break. After a thorough sniffing of the yard, which is practically an art gallery of smells, with fresh snow adding a crisp, minty background, I find The Spot. Peeing, you see, is about timing and presentation. Every French Bulldog knows that.

Fully emptied, I return indoors for some breakfast, and honestly, this part of the routine is a bit of an emotional roller coaster. Despite my campaign for an Unlimited Kibble Policy (pending approval), Mom fills my bowl with what she calls an “appropriate serving.” Appropriate? How can a small handful of kibble possibly match the appetite of a French Bulldog in his prime? I eat, grumbling under my breath, glaring at the kibble bag on the counter, convinced it mocks me. Bitterness, I have discovered, adds a certain spice.

After breakfast, it’s time for some good old-fashioned self-reflection. I trot to the mirror and take a moment to admire myself in all my glory. Tail stub wiggling, ears perked just so. I am perfection wrapped in fur. “You’re a good boy, Winston,” I tell myself, pausing for emphasis. “Maybe THE best boy.” Positive affirmations, folks, they work wonders.

With self-esteem restored, it’s time to head out. This is where the routine really shines, mainly because it involves a car ride. I hop into the passenger seat and settle in for the ride to Mom’s office. Every dog has their quirks, and mine is enjoying the drive in enlightening silence. This gives me the headspace to reflect on life’s big questions, like, “Why hasn’t Mom fed me again yet?” The rhythmic sound of my own heavy breathing is oddly calming, a soundtrack to my thoughts.

Once we arrive, the next order of business is soaking up affection, courtesy of my lovely aunties. They adore me, and who could blame them? Treats, cuddles, compliments: I get the works. This part of the routine is like fuel for my soul, or as I like to call it, “second breakfast for the ego.”

Then comes my final, and arguably most important, task: the nap. A proper Frenchie nap isn’t just about sleeping. It’s a deep dive into the world of dreams. My snooze location changes depending on the day, but all naps are executed with the same passion and precision. There’s sprawling, sighing, snoring, farting, and the occasional twitch. It rounds out the morning routine perfectly, like the cherry on top of a sundae.

And there you have it, dear reader. That’s my new morning routine, and I’m pleased to report that after just a few days, I feel like a completely new dog. I no longer feel like a sad little croissant. Instead, I’m a well-adjusted brioche living my best routine-filled life.

So, if you’re in a winter slump like I was, maybe give my routine a try. I’m sure your boss won’t mind if you take a nap at your desk. Absolutely positive.

Yours in heavy breathing,

Winston 🐾