Off to a Ruff Start: My 2026-2027 School Year

Hello, dear reader! Winston here, reporting live from my couch headquarters, where I’ve been in full recovery mode following my latest life-changing adventure.

It all started, as most great stories do, with my aunties. Lately, all they’d been doing was huddling together in hushed, panicked tones about pencils, notebooks, and something called a “syllabus.” Back-to-school shopping, they called it: an annual frenzy of cramming kids into stores and emerging, wild-eyed and broke, with mountains of supplies.

Now, dear reader, I want to be very clear about something. I do not go to school. I have never gone to school. I will never go to school. Why would I? I already possess all the knowledge I could possibly need. I know exactly where my food bowl lives at all times, down to the inch. I have mapped every napping spot in this house with the precision of a cartographer, ranking each one by sunbeam quality and pillow softness. And I have mastered the exact pitch and duration of whine required to make my human drop whatever they’re doing and give me a belly rub within seconds. Frankly, I graduated from the school of life a long time ago.

But hearing about this shopping phenomenon, I started to feel a little left out. Everyone else seemed to be having the time of their lives picking out backpacks and folders, and here I was, just existing on the sidelines like some kind of uneducated bystander. I didn’t want to miss the fun just because I lacked, you know, a formal education or the ability to read.

So I made a decision. I marched myself right into the back-to-school frenzy, chest puffed out, ready to shop like I actually needed any of it.

First up: backpacks. Now, in theory, this was a BRILLIANT idea. A backpack? For treats? Dear reader, I nearly gave myself a standing ovation for this stroke of genius. Mobile snack storage! Hands-free treat hauling! I was practically a visionary. Except, and here’s where things went sideways, not a single backpack in that entire store was made for a French Bulldog. Not one. I tried on backpack after backpack, and every single one swallowed me whole. I looked less like a prepared, educated student and more like a tiny dog being consumed alive by a JanSport.

Disappointed but undeterred, I marched straight over to the glue sticks because everyone knows that they’re the holy grail of school supplies. However, within minutes it had somehow ended up matted deep into my fur. I still don’t fully understand how it happened. One second I was investigating the bottle, the next I looked like I’d rolled through a craft project gone wrong.

Naturally, my next choice of school supplies was scissors because I needed to cut the glue clumps out. Except what happened next was not exactly what I had planned. Instead of simply snipping out the glue clumps like a reasonable dog, I got a little… scissor-happy. One snip led to another, and before I knew it, I had given myself a patchy, uneven bald spot on my side that made me look like I’d lost a fight with a lawnmower. Sadness.

Discouraged, I made one last stop: the notebook aisle. I picked it up with grand visions of jotting down my deepest thoughts and observations, maybe even starting a memoir. Except, as it turns out, I do not have opposable thumbs. I cannot hold a pencil. I cannot write a single word. I stared at that blank page for a solid ten minutes before accepting defeat and using it as a chew toy instead.

By the end of the day, I was matted, lopsided, and thoroughly humbled. What looked like such a fun, glamorous ritual from the outside turned out to be a total mess once I actually tried it myself. Lesson learned, I suppose, even if I’ll never technically be a student.

So here’s my takeaway, dear reader. Some traditions are better admired from a distance. I’ll leave the backpacks, the glue sticks, and the notebooks to the kids who actually know what to do with them. As for me, I’ll be sticking to my area of expertise: locating my food bowl, perfecting my nap schedule, and looking devastatingly handsome despite my new haircut.

Until next time, keep your school supplies away from curious Frenchies,

Winston 🐾