Dominating the fray of recent pooch-trending breeds is the stout, bat-eared, bow-legged and irresistibly cute French Bulldog. Its recent invasion over social media, clothing retail and pop art culture makes the Frenchie hard to miss. A nation that once underwent the Pug revolution (thanks to Hutch and then Vodafone) now dotes over this miniature bulldog variant in an ever-increasing fan following. Its pied, fawn, black, white and brindle members are winning hearts across urban India’s dog-loving cohort; and present-day Rajputana makes no delay in partaking in this canine vogue. The houses of Jammu and Kashmir (Pablo & Missy), Bikaner (Coco), Mayurbhanj (Sir Arthur), Asadi (Popeye) and Khimsar (Tsarina & Cleopatra) are but a few examples.
So what is the hype all about? Quite a lot, actually.
The French Bulldog was first conceived in 19th century England as a miniature variant of the classic bulldog. Over time, these unmissable four-legged oddities were seen accompanying English lace makers from Nottingham to France, which might explain their present-day monicker. Playful yet sedate and just as charming as they are stubborn, French Bulldogs readily adapt to any atmosphere that is merciful to their brachycephalic, or “flat-faced” respiratory constraints and non-existent swimming skills.
Their restful nature and minimal exercise needs make them an instant hit in urban cityscapes. But lo and behold, before their preference for the couch spells low maintenance, their owners will assuredly be brought to test when it comes to house training. Unlike its intuitive contemporaries such as famous retrievers and mastiffs, the Frenchie takes its own time to embrace your house rules. And when their goofiness renders you with comical relief and frustration in equal measure, it is nearly impossible to imagine the Frenchie’s past reputation as an excellent ratter. After all, it was a French ratter that the English Toy Bulldog crossed with to produce this illustrious lineage.
I, for one, am the proud mother of two French Bulldogs, Tsarina and Cleopatra who, in the short span of four months have braved the Himalayan winter, my sister’s wedding and many a travels by my side. Owing to their sensitive modes of respiration, I was initially hesitant to take them along with me to tend to Manali’s busy winter tourist season. However, I was reassured by a breeding expert, who emphasized on the vast difference between the subdued pug and our bat-eyed Napoleons. And sure enough, he was right. Although Tsarina’s upbringing by my brother in Western Rajasthan made her slightly reluctant to the cold, Cleo was a natural through and through. She developed a special fascination for the snow and would rummage in sun-kissed patches of white all afternoon-long.
To my absolute horror, I once saw Cleo strutting around with a tiny tail hanging from her mouth, only to discover minutes later that she had lived up to her familial reputation and caught a rat! On another occasion, her irresistible confidence made her glide over a frozen embankment of water. It was all fun and games until the icy layer cracked and in fell Cleo. Never outside a human sphere of vision, our ice princess was promptly rescued, dunked into a bucket of warm water and blowdried ahead of a sumptuous meal. The scrambled egg yolks, cow’s milk and carom seeds seem to have erased the recent trauma from Cleo’s memory, for the sunny windowpane upon which she dined placed her icy plunge into a dark corner that she’s too blissed out to revisit. In fact, her pirate-like goggled eyes spot one adventure after the other. Even in my family’s Delhi apartment, she takes on some novel leaps onto the bed, sofa (and once, the waste commode almost!), delighting me while making my germaphobe mother shake her head in despair.
All this while, Tsarina enjoys the warmth of the radiator and cuddles up on any soft blanket that comes her way. The older of the two, she often attempts to establish her seniority over Cleo, but still has a long way to go before she is fully heard and adhered to by the smaller ball of fur.
What seems to be equally amusing is where all a pet can push his/her human in the process of dog parenting. On days when Cleo and Tsarina are more reluctant to finish their mid-day papaya snack, my friend generously sprinkles her Pringles as a bribe that has never failed to work. There are also times when Tsarina simply refuses to take a walk, and in our utmost respect for a mind of her own, we find it’s best to let her be. In her truest individuality, she comes around after taking her time, and never expresses herself without fully meaning it. Cleo and Tsarina’s ingenuity, their comforting presence and the sheer generosity of their heart teach me a thing or two every day; and amidst digitalising times of overrated consumerism, I am reminded of the ultimate luxuries that lie in life’s simpler pleasures, not the least being a daily return from work to two odd, bat-eared creatures that I dearly call my family.
