The Great Puppy Betrayal

Hello, dear reader. Winston here, and I regret to inform you that this has been one of the most stressful weeks of my entire life. Worse than the enrichment feeder scandal. Worse than the great color-blindness cover-up. I am talking, of course, about the words I overheard coming out of Dad’s mouth on Tuesday night: “Maybe we should get another French Bulldog.”

I nearly choked on the piece of carpet I was chewing on.

Let me be very clear, dear reader, so there is no confusion about where I stand. I was put on this earth to be the one and only French Bulldog of this household. Singular. Uno. The sole recipient of every belly rub, every piece of dropped chicken, every “who’s my good boy” that echoes through these halls. I did not sign up for competition, and frankly, I don’t see why I should have to start now.

Mom, bless her wonderful, sensible soul, agrees with me. She has been shutting Dad’s suggestion down every single time he brings it up, and dear reader, he brings it up A LOT. But I saw the way she looked at a puppy video he showed her on his phone Wednesday night. Her face did a thing. A soft, dangerous thing. I’m scared she’s starting to crack, and if my own mother betrays me like this, I don’t know what I’ll do.

I mean, come on, dear reader, think of how horrid bringing another dog into this household would be. For starters, I do not share. This is not a flaw; this is a personality trait. My toys are my toys, my bed is my bed, and my humans are, most importantly, my humans. I have not spent the last 2+ years training these people to understand my exact needs just to hand over half of their attention to some drooling newcomer who doesn’t even know what “off the couch” means yet. (Although, to be fair, I don’t think I know what that one means quite yet either. Why would I want to sit anywhere but the couch??)

Second, and this one really gets under my skin, I do not want to be compared to anybody. What if this new puppy turns out to be some kind of overachiever? What if it fetches things? What if it doesn’t destroy the mail? I refuse to live a life where my humans look at me and go, “Well, the new one does this better.” Absolutely not. I am one of a kind, and I intend to stay that way.

Third, and I cannot stress this enough, younger siblings are absolutely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt, the worst. And listen, I say this as someone with firsthand expertise in the matter. That’s right. I was the youngest. I was the chaos. I was the tiny, sharp-toothed tornado with zero respect for personal space or an established nap schedule. I know exactly what I put my older siblings through, and I am not the least bit sorry about it. But here’s the thing, dear reader: just because I dished it out doesn’t mean I’m ready to take it. I have worked very hard to become the perfectly refined, delightfully demanding, one-of-a-kind Frenchie that I am today. The last thing I need is some miniature version of my former self showing up and ruining everything I’ve built.

Naturally, being the strategic mastermind that I am, I did not just sit around and sulk about this all week. I made a plan. If Mom does cave and a puppy shows up on our doorstep, I am prepared to take matters into my own paws.

Here is what I’ve got so far. I will teach it to bark at absolutely everyone who walks past our window, mailman included. I will show it that shoes are, in fact, delicious and meant to be chewed. When my humans ask it to sit, I will demonstrate standing instead, with great confidence, so it learns the wrong lesson entirely. I will let it believe that the floor is an acceptable bathroom, even five seconds after coming inside from being taken outside. I will not play with it. I will not let it anywhere near my comfy little couch. And when nobody is looking, I will absolutely be eating its food in addition to my own because at that point, reparations are owed to me.

So there you have it, dear reader. The state of the union is tense. My humans think they’re being cute, tossing around puppy talk like it’s a fun little idea and not a full-blown declaration of war. I, for one, am standing my ground. This house has room for exactly one spectacular French Bulldog, and I already live here.

I’ll keep you posted on how this develops. Please send good thoughts, positive vibes, and if you have any additional sabotage ideas, my inbox is open. Until next time, keep your paws crossed for me.

With love and mild panic,

Winston 🐾