Hugo’s story

Bonjour! I’m Hugo! I am a big chunky French Bulldog with an even bigger personality! I am the inspiration behind Hugo’s Pawtisserie, well, my appetite is!

Thank’s for stopping by to hear my story:

I was born on 31st October 2014, My human says that’s why I’m such a devil – not sure what one of those is, but I don’t think it’s an eatable. Anyway, I was born in Collier Row, Essex. I was one of 12 in my litter, my biological Mummy, Lulu says that’s a whole lot of hounds! I didn’t live in Collier Row for long, as two humans came along one evening in December 2014, plucked me from my pen and took me to my forever home.

My humans renamed me, see I was given a silly name before, ‘Kenquince Creme Brulee – that’s what is on my birth certificate. The humans decided it was a bit too much of a tongue twister to be calling out in the park. My adopted name was ‘Spot’ – but I didn’t like it so I kept ignoring it, and the new humans decided to rename me Hugo after a famous french author named Victor Hugo, and in honour of a character from a TV show called LOST. I liked Hugo so much better, it suited me and I wanted to keep it, so I started to listen up when they called it out.

Anyway, time went by and I grew to be a chunky 18kg handsome beast. By the time I turned one I was kind of a big deal, a local celebrity if you will. I made friends wherever I went, humans couldn’t get enough Hugo!

Then one day, I was out walking my humans when I didn’t feel well. I was panting hard and couldn’t breath properly, my humans were very scared when I laid down and refused to walk.

Around this time I started to be sick quite a lot. At first my humans thought it was because I gulped down too much drinky in one go, what can I say, J’adore a drinky and I just don’t know my limits. Apparently some dry doggy foods can swell inside the tum tum and this may have been forcing me to regurgitate my dinner – what a waste! But when I started sicking up everything, every time I ate, and sicking up foam when there was nothing left in me, the humans grew very concerned.

I didn’t like what came next – the humans took me to the V.E.T. and she punished me for not walking by putting some kind of stick up my bum! It was very confusing though, because after she gave me a treat and told me I was a good boy?! Humans eh, I just don’t get them!

I was feeling very sorry for myself and mopped around the house for days, my humans gave me lots of cuddles, I liked the cuddles – but I didn’t get any better. SO guess where I went next? You guessed it… pokey bum bum stick lady V.E.T.

The V.E.T. was worried about me, she made an emergency appointment for me to go to The Royal Veterinary College the very next day, I thought it sounded regal and exciting – I hoped I’d meet some Corgis.

The humans didn’t share my excitement, in fact my lady human cried and I tried to lick her salty tears from her nose.

The next day the humans forced me into the car, I HATE the car, I guessed I must have been a bad dog again, sicking on the carpet.

When we got to the Royal Veterinary College I couldn’t contain my excitement, so many strange objects to sniff, and lots of other dogs all around me to bark at! The humans were crying again, I decided they were cramping my style, so I went for a stroll with a lovely nurse instead. I was so excited and determined to sniff out some corgis that I didn’t even notice them leave, arm in arm and blurry eyed.

That was… until later that night, when the nurse left me in a glass box on my own. I was sad, I cried and howled for my humans, I must have been such a bad boy for them to leave me here in this strange place without my teddy. I vowed if ever got home, I wouldn’t sick on the carpet any more and I would try my hardest to protect my humans from the mail man and to bark at every animal I see, and sometimes at inanimate objects too, just to be sure to show them how much I love them.

The next day is real hazy. The nurses wouldn’t feed me, which was real confusing – Hugo J’adores eatables. Then I was taken away and shaved – I didn’t like that so I fidgeted and whimpered, I didn’t bite though – I never bite.

The next thing I remember is waking up, feeling like I’d gone ten rounds with a boxer dog. I had a sore nose and sore throat. I was exhausted, so I slept in my glass box like a good boy for several days.

I must have been a REALLY good boy, because when I woke up from my super nap, my humans were waiting for me. I was super excited to see them, I jumped up and down and squealed with delight, as they led me away from the glass box I tried to bark to tell all the other dogs what a good boy I was, but only a little crackle came out, it hurt my throat and I felt mugged off so promptly shut up in case the corgis were watching.

The humans took me home and looked after me. I was cuddled A LOT. Which was alright by me.  They even treated me to my favourite things for eatables, like chicken (the good kind that humans eat) and cheese, but they insisted on putting a yucky little round blue thing in it that frankly, ruined the experience for me. I kept spitting that bit out.

I wasn’t sure what to make of my new nose at first, it was wider and had weird looking fur sticking out from inside it, the humans called them stitches. I thought I’d wait until they weren’t looking and rub it against the carpet – that’ll do the trick.

As days turned into months, I started to feel more dog. After what felt like an eternity in the house, I was finally allowed to go on a walkies. I felt so much better, I could breathe properly and had even more energy. Best of all, when I over indulged in a little drinky, I didn’t sick it up!  After the BOAS surgery, I felt fantastic, like a new pup, I put it down to all that cheese I’d been eating.

Now I am three years old, I am as fit as a baker’s dog. My humans make sure of that – they are careful to feed me a very special diet, tailored to my specific needs, that is gentle on my tummy. My lady human even started a doggy bakery in my honour  – hand making natural, gluten free treats for pooches like me. My humans also donate a portion of profit to the Royal Veterinary Care Trust Charity – as a small token of their thanks for fixing me up.  You can read more about that here. 



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