Humans can’t help but anthropormorphize things. It’s practically in our DNA, see my illustration below that helps sell that narrative.
Cloudy with a Chance of Wieners
Still not convinced? Try this: walk down a busy street, point up at a long, stretched-out cloud, and say, “Hey, look! That cloud looks just like a wiener!” People will look. They can’t help themselves. It’s like their primal instincts kick in. And when they do, you’ll hear one of two reactions:
“Scott!! Snap a pic of that PEENER PUFF and put it on the TIKTACK! We’re going viral!” - My wife, Heather who is obsessed with us going viral (not really).
Or
“OMG, JAYSON! HIDE BRYNLEE-JAY’S EYES FROM THE DEVIL CLOUD BEFORE SHE’S CORRUPTED BY THE CUMULUS OF SATAN!” - That woman who always has an unspoken prayer request on Facebook.
But personifying things? Oh, that’s been our schtick for centuries. And nobody—nobody—gets the royal personification treatment quite like animals. Exhibit A: the American Bulldog
From Bait to Beefcake
These brachycephalic, snorty aliens are the result of centuries of human tinkering. We’ve turned wolves into flat-faced, wheezing cartoon characters with enough health issues to fill a medical journal; hell, a bulldog can’t even have have natural pup birth because the heads of the infants are so big that they have to have a c-section instead.
Back in ye ole Shakespearean times, bulldogs were bred for the barbaric practice of bull-baiting (hence the term “bull dog”). People would tie up a bull and let bulldogs bite and latch onto its face. And why? Because, apparently, it was believed that this tenderized the meat. That’s right. Let’s exhaust a terrified bull with face-biting dogs because obviously, that’s what’ll make the steak juicier. Sources: here, here, here and here.
BullBait to Bullshit
But hey, times change. We decided bull-baiting was a little too savage, or maybe the politician at the time decided it wasn’t polling well for his numbers. And today? We’ve personified bulldogs into something even more absurd: to be the mascot of the Andrew Tate-Joe Rogan-Tuff Guy-MAGA crowd (which is weird because I’d thought they’d picked a jellyfish since it’s an invertebrate). We draw them beefed up, muscles bulging, veins popping—a bulldog that makes a statement of dominance, power, the revving engine of a jacked up Ford F150 (that was purchased at 39% APR) while blasting DMX’s Ruff Ryders’ Anthem. ARF ARF ARRRF!
But have the guys who worship these anthropomorphized “alpha” bulldogs actually seen a real American bulldog? They look more like this:
Brachycephalic to Bronouns
I’ve never owned a bulldog, but in a moment of pure hubris, I owned two pugs—a distant brachycephalic cousin to the Bulldog (just smaller and fartier). That decision came with a steep price of constant medical bills, surgeries on their throats so they could breathe better, constant concern for their big bulbous eyes and skincare.
Anyway, back to bulldogs and the anthropomorphic skewing of them. During one of my many dead-end jobs in life, I held the prestigious title of “poop scooper” at a veterinary clinic. It was a shitty job, but it came with perks— like the day the University of Georgia brought in their famous football mascot, (pronounced UH-GAH), for a quick checkup. You’d think Uga was some “tuff dawg,” right? Nope. Uga was a sweet pile of wrinkles with an underbite. And fun fact: Uga is a she—but naturally, every alpha-bro insists on calling her a “he,” because apparently, America will fall if you acknowledge the dog’s pronouns.
The Struggles of the Snuggles
Uga has to be iced down during football games. Why? First off, they stick her in an adorable little red sweater, which basically turns her into a tubby mobile oven under the hot Georgia sun. But more importantly, SHE CAN’T FUCKING BREATHE! Centuries of selective breeding have turned bulldogs into adorable, walking respiratory disasters. Dogs will pant and draw in air that is cooled by their snout, but thanks to the brachycephalic dog smashed face, their panting is about as effective as blowing air through a coffee straw.
Alpha-Dog Energy Meets… Reality
And now back to the Bro-Dawgs who anthropomorphize bulldogs.
“Poor bulldogs. Ewww…” - Heather, editor in chief and lover of all things fuzzy
Next time you’re stuck behind a bro in a lifted truck, sporting a dozen jingoistic flags and covered in bumper stickers that have a snake saying “Don’t Tread on Me” with a vinyl wrap of an “Ai’d” shredded Trump tying up Kamala, just remember this: the snarling bulldog vinyl on his back window that says “No Fear!”—depicted as this roid raged beast—is more like this:
And let’s be real. In regards to musical choices, bulldogs wouldn’t listen to DMX barking on in his songs, I think they would listen to the autotuned sounds of Jason Derulo’s Wiggle kinda canine.
The Dog Days of Ownership
If you’re thinking about getting a dog, just know—it’ll change your life. I loved my pugs, but man, were they high-maintenance. All those health issues made for some heartbreaking (and expensive) vet visits. Nowadays, I’ve got Tess, a rescue, and she’s been with me for a decade. Best decision I ever made.
Don’t be like me and get a purebred just because it’s cute. Do your homework. Otherwise, you might end up with a dog that can barely breathe and a vet bill that’ll make your wallet gasp for air.
I enjoyed reading your piece! Your blend of humour and insight made it a great read. I especially liked how you shared your thoughts on bulldogs and the exaggerated "alpha dog" persona some people associate with them. Your message about responsible pet ownership hit home for me, and how you presented it with such wit was so refreshing!
Hey - I saw that penis cloud! Great pup drawings.