The Zoomies Got Me (And Honestly? Kind Of Worth It)

Hello, dear reader. It is I, Winston, the most glamorous and tragically injury-prone French Bulldog in all the land. This week, I have a story for you. A tale of hubris, chaos, and the sweet, sweet rewards that followed. Gather round.

It started, as most disasters do, with the zoomies. Now, if you are unfamiliar with the zoomies, allow me to paint you a picture. One minute, I was just sitting there, minding my business, being adorable as usual. The next minute, some ancient, primal force took over my body, and I was absolutely FLYING around the house at full speed. We’re talking ears back, paws barely touching the ground, completely unhinged energy. It was glorious. It was chaotic. It was, looking back, perhaps a bit ambitious for a dog of my particular build.

Because here is the thing about French Bulldogs, dear reader. We are not exactly built for high-impact athletics. We are built for napping, for looking cute, and for dramatic sighing. We are NOT built for sprinting directly into a couch at full force.

But sprint into that couch I did. And my back paid the price.

Now, I want to be clear: nothing was broken. I am not writing this from beyond the veil. But I did tweak my back something fierce, and the vet confirmed what I already knew, which is that I am a very delicate and sensitive boy who requires immediate and extensive care.

And that is exactly what I got.

Mom and Dad were beside themselves. Suddenly, I was not walking anywhere on my own. I was being carried. Everywhere. From room to room, gently placed onto surfaces like some kind of precious artifact. I am not going to pretend I hated it, because I did not hate it even a little bit. It was, frankly, the royal treatment I have deserved my entire life and never received at the appropriate scale until now.

Then came the medications. Oh, dear reader. The pain meds and the muscle relaxers the vet prescribed were something else entirely. I felt floaty. Warm. Like I was wrapped in a cloud made of good vibes. I spent most of my days in a very pleasant haze, being hand-delivered snacks and receiving concerned pets from everyone in the household. A top-tier experience from start to finish.

Speaking of the bed. Because I like to jump from my normal sleeping spot, and jumping was absolutely off the table, Mom and Dad decided I needed to sleep on their bed. The nice bed. The one with the fancy soft mattress that I am normally not allowed on. They did not want me attempting any acrobatics in the middle of the night and making things worse. So there I was, nestled between my two humans, sleeping like an absolute king. No notes.

The whole household was doting on me. Everybody wanted to baby me, check on me, make sure I was comfortable. It was everything I had ever wanted in life, and all it took was running headfirst into a piece of furniture.

If a tweaked back gets me carried everywhere, medicated into a state of bliss, installed on the fancy bed, and fawned over around the clock…what exactly is stopping me from making this happen again? I have been quietly strategizing. Running through the logistics. I think, with the right amount of dramatic limping and well-timed wincing, I could pull this off on a recurring basis. The details are still being ironed out, but rest assured, a plan is forming.

It happens to the best of us, dear reader. We get the zoomies. We make questionable decisions. We run into couches. And sometimes, just sometimes, the universe rewards us for it in ways we never expected.

Until next time, run fast, land soft, and always accept the muscle relaxers.

Winston 🐾