The difference between Pugs & Frenchies
A lot of people believe that Pugs and Frenchies are pretty much interchangeable. This is likely because of their physical similarities – smaller sized, smush faced, weird little tails (or sometimes no tail at all, for Frenchies). Ultimately, though, their differences are much greater, and can be summed up in the following videos.
The first is of a Frenchie who scratches records, DJ style.
This is Frenchies for you. Note the cool, laid back look on this Frenchie’s face? That’s because Frenchies are the hipster doofuses of the dog world.
If they had a choice in cities, they’d pick Williamsburg. Hats? Porkpie, all the way. They eat charcuterie, they listen to indie bands and shop at Army Navy stores. You can get a Frenchie to wear a costume if you wrestle him to the floor and can get his head through the neckhole, but he’s going to be shooting you pissed off looks for the rest of the night.
The second video is of a Pug who sings the Batman theme song.
There you go, that’s Pugs for you.
Pug city of choice? Cleveland, in their parents basements. Hats? Propeller beanies (or genuine licensed WoW tractor caps). They eat cheetos out of the bag, they listen to pop music and the theme songs from Cartoons, and they wear corduroy pants and t shirts from Big K. A pug will go with you while you shop for a new tiara and feather boa for him, and he’ll try it on while you take polaroids.
Pugs and Frenchies. They might look alike, but they’re really not at all similar. This is why they usually end up making such good friends for each other.
I have had Pugs and Frenchies together for 22 years, and you are right on the money. I always tell people, think Frenchie, think Clint Eastwood, think Pug, think PeeWee Herman.
No offense intended to Pugpeeps but I’ve never been attracted to Pugs in the slightest yet I’ve coveted Frenchies for decades. Go figure.
I love them both. Our frenchie was much more laid back than our pug ever thought of being. It seems, in my experience, that there are more reputable breeders of frenchies then pugs. Unsure why that is.
In the elevator of my apt building someone once told me “that’s the best looking pug I’ve ever seen”. I laughed and responded “that’s because she’s a French Bulldog!”
We get the mix-up all the time on the street because she’s fawn with a black mask. Annoying only when someone actually starts to argue with me about it.
I guess you felt like you needed to write a post for me. And the rest of your Pug/Frenchie owners. We thank you.
Linus, however, begs to differ about The Cleve. And the beanie. Though he knows a pug named Baxter in Conroe, TX living in the basement like that.
He wears a nice pair of black velvet shorts (when the red ones are dirty) and a cravat, and Nixon wore a plaid sportcoat like Ron Burgundy. And they knock over taco trucks with the help of their burros Lumpy & Bumpy. And escape crime scenes via hot air balloon.
A hot air balloon piloted by the French bulldog, Weezie of course. Who wears Pucci prints. If she doesn’t chew through them because they smell like pie.
If you must know.
Ah, but now we are on to a rarely known sub-section of the pug personality type, Genus Dapper Homosexual Puggus Wumpus.
The DHPG pug favors, as you’ve mentioned cravats, black velvet (generally in the form of smoking jackets), rhinestone tiaras and the music of Cole Porter. They generally have tough talking French Bulldog broads for sidekicks, who fill the essential role of “wise cracking side kick” (think: Karen, on Will and Grace).
I believe Charlotte might be induced to tell us about her own DHPG, who channeled the spirit of Liberace and always exuded the faint scent of Chanel Number 5.
My mother took one look at Linus and said, “That is a gay, gay dog. Notthatthere’sANYTHINGwrongwiththat.” He has his own calling card, black pearls and a hushed silence tends to come over the high-haired ladies and handbag-carrying men when he is in the area. His howl says nothing if not, “Wear your tightest pair of Spanx, because Linus is coming to brunch.”
As for his forever friend and companion, The Wizzle, well, she smells a little like a barnyard baby, and burps and farts like a fishwife. Yet she is remarkably beautiful and is endowed with dainty butterscotch ear spots… indicative of good breeding. And spillage of butterscotch.
If I told the truth about Porkchop, I would have to tell the truth about his VERY deeply closeted companion, the Hammer. Whoops, I didn’t say that. And Porkchop was never classy enough to listen to Cole Porter. He favored Liberace and rhinestones. He hung pictures of Elvis on black velvet over his piano.
Now, Hammer, I could see him in a smoking jacket, listening to Cole Porter, and turning an elegant ear towards those ever so gossipy little French Bulldog bitches.
But all of this is just conjecture of course. Clovis wants to know if he can borrow Weezie and her hot air balloon for a lovely picnic in the Berkshires. She must bring the “boys” of course, and perhaps the ever so normal Cletus can be persuaded to come along too…
Heavens! Such an invitation. South Texas gets so dreary in the summertime and little trip to the Berkshires sounds delightful. Weezie and her puggish charge would be delighted to meet with Clovis.
They’ve recently encountered a noisy basset hound friend, Daisy, and a largish St. Bernard, Honeybear, in the neighborhood who will stay behind and eat up the dregs of the Cheese of The Month home delivery so absolutely nothing goes to waste.
Weezie communicates via tin can and string, and Linus via pee-mail. Contact as you wish, or through their Fud Lady proxy.
I would say the my frenchie doggie zee is usually more laid back than my pug kismet .