After this reunion, I’m afraid that we stopped dipping our toes into Anchorage’s Frenchie sub-culture, and have leapt into full-fledged membership. Joining the club is easy – love a French Bulldog, and you’re IN (easy = shoe chewing, secret pooping, snail licking, and sock stealing…not to mention full-time puppy parenthood).
Grover also reunited with his parents, Betty Boop and Rocket; some half siblings, Elvis and Phoebe; former house mates, Miss Piggy and Zero; and a ten week old Frenchie pup named Moose (I so love dog names). It pretty much French Bulldog/Boston Terrier/Frenchton paradise.
Grover’s breeder, Penni, did a great job with the puppies when they lived with her – they all leapt into her arms and covered her face with kisses like she was the best tasting thing they’d ever licked. Not only that, she arranged the reunion for everyone (complete with doggy party favors) and regularly checks in with us, and all the puppies seem healthy and well-adjusted.
We got really lucky with Grover; we dote on this dog, our parents dote on this dog, and even my brother and his girlfriend seem to love him. His cousin, Orso the Chesapeake Bay Retriever, is still deciding what she thinks of him, but obliges him with the occasional game of chase and some mouth wrestling.
After the reunion, we met Mr. French (a Frenchie, of course) hanging out at Middle Way Cafe. Apparently, he’s the shop dog for the House of Harley-Davidson in Spenard, and we scored an invite to the next Hogs and Dogs event (his owner, was full of great tips for Frenchies, and is scheming to get a pack of them to represent at the party).
See what I mean about the Frenchie sub-culture? A year ago, we weren’t even thinking of getting a dog, and now we’re card-carrying members of the French Bulldog Fan Club, already counting down until Grover’s next play date with Boomer, and thinking about dropping by the House of Harley for some butt sniffing.
Thank you Penni, today was great, and we love being part of the Frenchie world!