A Day in the Life of Snoozanne: The Bulldog Who Runs This House

Apparently, Mom has a blog. Who knew? Not me. She spends all this time typing away, but has she ever let me share my thoughts? No. And would you believe she even let my Auntie Shannon write one before me? Auntie Shannon. A human. Meanwhile, I—Snoozanne, the true heart and soul of this household—have been overlooked until now. Frankly, it’s an outrage. Well that all finally changed today, mom finally realized that I, Snoozanne, am the real star of this house and asked me to write about my day. Honestly, it’s about time. I have things to say. Important things. Like how I single-handedly (single-pawedly?) protect this family from fish, rogue measuring tapes, and suspicious phone noises. So buckle up, humans—here’s a glimpse into my world…

Listen, I don’t ask for much. Food, naps, belly rubs, and for my humans to never, ever leave me. But do they listen? No. Every morning, the betrayal begins.

The Morning Heartbreak: Why Must They Leave Me?

It starts with my Dad. My favorite human (other than my Mom of course). My ride-or-die. My snack-sharing, belly-scratching best friend. And every single morning, he ruins my life.

The moment dad reaches for his boots, I know what’s coming. He’s leaving me.Again. So, naturally, I launch into Full Bulldog Blockade Mode. I step in front of him, plant myself firmly on his boots, and—if necessary—deploy the playful attackstrategy. A little nibble, a little wrestle. Anything to make him stay. But does it work? No. He just laughs, gives me a pat, and walks out. The betrayal. The side-eye I give him as I sulk away says it all.

Then comes Millie. Oh, sweet Millie. She’s my tiny human, my snack-dropping accomplice, my partner in crime. And every morning, she too leaves. The worst part? The adults know not to say “bye”—because if I hear it, I will spiral. So they just sneak her out like thieves in the night. And me? Left behind once again.

The Workday: Snoring, Scheming & The Great Measuring Tape Battle

Once Mom starts working, I take my rightful place—on my plush bed beside her desk. She taps on that keyboard while I provide background ambiance. My snoring? Iconic. So loud, in fact, she told me one of her coworkers on Zoom even asked, “Is that… a chainsaw?”

But a bulldog can only sleep so much. If I get bored and Mom isn’t paying me enough attention, I switch to Operation Chaos. I storm the house in search of something—anything—to steal. The remote? Perfect. A shoe? Ideal. A piece of paper from the trash? Priceless. Then I parade around with it, waiting for Mom to notice.

And when she does? Cheese ransom time. My jaws are too strong, my will unbreakable. They must trade me a cheese stick or some crackers. Otherwise? That remote is mine forever.

Then one day, something truly horrifying happened. Dad pulled out a measuring tape. I don’t know what it is, I don’t know why it exists, but it is evil. It snaps. It slithers. It makes that shhk-shhk noise that tells me it’s clearly planning something sinister. So I did what had to be done—I attacked. I barked, I lunged, I fought bravely for my dad’s life. And what does he do? Laugh. As if I’m not in the middle of a life-or-death battle with a monster. Humans just don’t get it.

The Fish Situation: Excuse Me, Who Approved This?

As if I didn’t have enough to deal with, my parents got fish. FISH. Living in my house. Swimming around all smug like they own the place. I had to put my paw down. I barked at them, I warned them, I let them know who is in charge here. They didn’t even have the decency to react. Just kept swimming. Rude.

And apparently, they’ve been living here for over a year—a year!—and I just noticed because Mom got them a big fancy new home. A deluxe fish penthouse. What about me? No new bed? No plush upgrade for this loyal, hardworking bulldog? Unbelievable.

Dad’s Grand Return: The Best Part of My Day

Then, like a miracle, I hear it—Dad’s truck pulling in. I lose my mind. Barking. Zoomies. Spinning in circles until I nearly wipe out. And when he walks through that door? The Butt Wiggle of the Century. I wag so hard I almost collapse.

Evening: Drool, Cuddles & The Beeping Phone Crisis

Dinner is my time to shine. I sit at their feet, staring longingly, hoping—no, manifesting—a dropped crumb. If staring doesn’t work, I add drool. Pools of it. They’ll crack eventually.

After dinner, I wedge myself between Mom and Dad on the couch. If they stop petting me? Immediate paw swipe. They don’t get to stop. This is the rule.

Then there’s Max. I don’t know what he watches on his phone, but the beeping and weird sounds are suspicious. Could be a threat. Could be mind control. I must protect. Barking is the only logical response.

Ring the Bells, Get Attention (Or Not)

Let’s talk about my genius. As a tiny puppy, I learned to ring a bell when I wanted to go outside. Took me one hour to master it. The humans were so impressed.

But now? Now it’s a game. Sometimes, I ring the bell when I actually want to go out. Sometimes, I ring it just for fun. Sometimes, I ring it and then refuse to go out, just to watch Mom’s face turn red. It’s hilarious. Mom does not agree.

The Twerk Situation

Some days, I have too much energy. And when it’s cold and I can’t run outside, I must find other outlets. So, I… well, let’s call it twerking. I twerk on anything—the chair, the pillow, a trash bag full of clothes Mom keeps saying she’ll donate. They call it “twerking” because, well, it’s better than having Millie go to school and tell her teacher, “My dog was humping the couch last night.”

Bedtime: The Final Protest

As night falls, the humans start ruining my life again. They tell me it’s bedtime. I say, “No, it is not.” So I lay down. I roll over. I resist. But eventually, I drag myself—slowly, dramatically—to my crate. I make sure everyone knows I’m doing this against my will.

Then, five seconds later? Snores.

Because being this fabulous is exhausting.