If She Had A Bag of Fish, She'd Shake Them

When I researched the french bulldog before jumping with both feet into being an owner of that breed, I learned that they are known as the clown of the canine world. The breeder I got Jack from confirmed this, saying that her dogs would take the keys out of her purse or steal her cup from the patio during a backyard barbecue. I laughed about this. I love a dog with a personality.

And then we debated names for quite a while for our frenchies before settling on Jill and Darla. Darla was mentioned as an obscure Disney name (we love Disney up in here) but who on earth wants a dog named after a kid that terrorizes fish? Finding Nemo ruined that for us. But then the nephew reminded us that Darla was also in Little Rascals, and while it's not Disney, we decided it was redeeming enough to name our brindle after the darling brunette.

People, I had no idea how fitting a name could be. Whether you go with the fact that Darla in Nemo is a holy terror, or that Darla is part of the Rascal gang, the fact remains that Darla is not a name you want your dog living up to. And our Darla takes the challenge seriously.

I have also come to realize that the french bulldog owners of the world use the term "clown" as code for "OH MY GOSH, THESE DOGS WILL DRIVE YOU CRAZY."

The french people (as I call them) have approximately 538 toys in their toy bin. And every morning they go through a 15 minute ritual of picking up everything on the floor that is not theirs. Socks that Micah discarded the night before (I clean in the morning. By the time that boy goes to bed at night, I'm exhausted.), the slippers I discarded because my menopausal hot time has kicked in for the night, an eraser the kids knocked off the counter, a Christmas card that fell off the rack, Woody... (Headless Woody, as we've called him, is now completely headless. And neckless. He has been completely decapitated. THOSE DOGS.)

And when I finally get All The Things picked up off the floor, they will then spend the rest of the day looking for other things to take. They have picked candy canes off trees. They snatch clean laundry off the couch that is waiting to be folded. They have clawed open a Christmas gift or two. I am on constant WHAT DO YOU HAVE *NOW* watch. And I'm asking them that question approximately 37 times per hour. They don't answer, of course. Instead they spit it out, look at me with that, "what? It wasn't me" look, and promptly go in search of something else that is not theirs.

Darla, however, is the worst. I swear, if that dog had a bag of fish, she'd shake it. I love those dogs. I really do. But I fear I signed up to parent toddlers for the rest of my life.