Honey is six months old now, which in Frenchie time means she is fully convinced she is in charge of everything. Puppy kindergarten is going well - mostly because Honey has decided it’s less about learning commands and more about showing everyone her princess personality. She does know things. Whether she feels like using that knowledge in the moment is entirely up to her mood, the weather, and possibly the alignment of the planets.
They say Frenchies can’t handle the cold. Honey would like to remind everyone that this is fake news. Snow is her Roman Empire. The backyard has been transformed into an elite Frenchie obstacle course, complete with tunnels, trails, and what I’m pretty sure are strategic hiding spots. Before she comes inside, she must run her full route like she’s clocking a personal best. Any attempts to rush this process are met with judgment.
I’ve always been a big-dog person. I grew up with German Shepherds and have had pitties my entire adult life, so naturally I assumed a Frenchie would be low-maintenance and easygoing. That assumption lasted about five minutes. Honey may be small, but she runs this house like a tiny CEO. Our two large pitties answer to her as if she signs their performance reviews. She steals their beds, their toys, and occasionally their souls.
Frenchie snuggles are aggressive. Honey doesn’t cuddle - she merges. She wants full-body contact at all times, preferably draped across you like a warm, snoring, slightly gassy weighted blanket. Personal space is a myth, and affection is mandatory. Dramatic sighs included at no extra charge.
She is pure mischief with classic Frenchie chaos energy - goofy, stubborn, neurotic, and weirdly emotional. One minute she’s sprinting in circles for no reason, the next she’s staring at you like she’s contemplating all your life choices. She’s developing a strong-willed but loyal personality and learning how to be a great companion, just very much on her own terms.
Her current obsession is sitting on my lap in the car, because clearly that is where she belongs. We are “working on it,” which mostly means I say no and she slowly climbs back anyway while maintaining intense eye contact.
Honey is my therapy dog in every sense of the word. She makes me laugh on my hardest days, keeps me grounded, and somehow always knows when to crawl into my space and demand cuddles. And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, I’ve officially become a Frenchie person. I will forever have one of these little gremlins in my life. I honestly don’t think I could ever see myself without one. 🐾💛
