Justice for the Droolers

Hello there, dear reader! Winston here, your lovable French Bulldog, reporting live with another riveting chapter of my oh-so-dramatic life. Buckle up, because this week’s topic is as juicy as, well… me after breakfast.

Yes, you read that right. We’re talking about DROOL.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit: I have been blessed with the most magnificent set of jowls, complete with an endearing squishiness and a built-in moisture production system (a.k.a. drool). Normally, I wouldn’t be ashamed of such a normal bodily function. After all, we Frenchies are what you’d call brachycephalic, which is a fancy way of saying we have adorably smooshed faces. It’s a diagnosable doggie condition. But lately, some humans (not naming names, but you know who you are) have been pointing out how much I’ve been drooling and making some rather unkind remarks about it.

I’ve heard whispers of “Sloppypaws Winston” or “Dribble Boy.” And let me just say: THIS IS NOT OKAY. Who decided excess cuteness was license for ridicule? What’s next, calling me out for my adorable wheezing or my Oscar-worthy couch flops?

It’s unfair. It’s disrespectful. Nobody roasts the Greyhound for being lanky. Nobody mocks Poodles for their frou-frou haircuts. So why am I, Winston, being criticized for my uniquely French liquid asset? It’s enough to make liquid pour out of both my mouth AND eyes.

Oh, but worry, dear reader. Your favorite Frenchie isn’t going to sit back and cry for long. Oh no, I’ve been devising a master plan. You see, I’ve taken up a new hobby: jarring my drool. That’s right—every time I feel a particularly spectacular drool bubble emerging, I’ve been collecting it. Why, you ask? For REVENGE, of course! The next time someone calls me “Sloppypaws,” I’ll have their pillow, their socks, their WATER BOTTLE trembling in fear of a little… unexpected hydration.

Too dramatic? Perhaps. But a bullied Frenchie has to stand his ground. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and if drool warfare is what it takes, so be it.

In conclusion, dear reader, I want to leave you with this thought: we all have quirks, do we not? Some humans snore. Some humans chew too loudly. Some humans think mullets are an acceptable hairstyle (they’re not, by the way). And yet, we accept these flaws because they make us unique. My drool is no different—it’s my signature. My gift to the world (and your freshly laundered sofa).

So, to anyone out there calling me names or rolling their eyes when I slime yet another piece of furniture: reconsider. Because deep down, you know you love me exactly as I am, drool puddles and all. And if you don’t… well, I’ve got some jars you might want to keep an eye on.

Until next time, remember: Drool isn’t just a thing—it’s a lifestyle.

With love, slobber, and unapologetic drama,

Winston 🐾

P.S. If anyone knows a good doggy therapist specializing in drool-related insecurities, send me their number. This Frenchie could use a pep talk.