Size
(when grown) Med. 26-60 lbs (12-27 kg)
Details
Good with kids,
Good with dogs,
Not good with cats,
Spayed or Neutered,
Story
Part Goofball. Part Professional Troublemaker. Somehow Also a Bucket Thief. 100% Ready for Forever.
Hi, I’m Nopel! I’m about four years old, 45 pounds, and 100% English Bulldog, which means I came factory-equipped with wrinkles, opinions, selective hearing, and the confidence to make completely ridiculous decisions while maintaining direct eye contact. Apparently four years old makes me a grown woman, but I reject that classification because grown women probably don’t steal plastic buckets and parade them around the yard like they just won a new car on The Price Is Right. I’m playful, affectionate, sensitive, stubborn in all the ways an English Bulldog is contractually obligated to be, and somehow capable of turning completely ordinary situations into a full production.
The Part of My Story That Isn’t Funny
Before I became the ball-chasing, bucket-stealing comedian I am today, I came to Freedom Frenchie Rescue from Riverside County Animal Shelter with an enormous gaping wound on my neck. And when they say enormous, they mean it. The wound stretched across a huge portion of the side and underside of my neck, leaving the tissue underneath completely exposed. This wasn’t a little cut or something that could simply be cleaned up and forgotten about. It was a massive open wound, and there was no hiding how serious it was. Somehow, though, there I was—still standing, still trusting people, and apparently already planning my future career in stolen buckets.
My First Stop Was Surgery
Once I was safely in rescue, our veterinarian determined that some of the tissue surrounding that enormous wound was dead and needed to be surgically removed. I went into surgery so the damaged tissue could be cleared away and my body could have the best possible chance to regenerate healthy new tissue and skin. My veterinarian carefully closed as much of the wound as they safely could while intentionally leaving a small opening so fluid could continue to drain instead of becoming trapped underneath everything that was trying to heal. There was no quick fix for something this extensive. It was going to take medical care, patience, time, and a body willing to fight—and fortunately, I brought the last one with me.
Then My Body Did Something Pretty Incredible
For nearly two months, my foster family and medical team have watched that enormous wound get smaller and smaller. Week after week, healthy tissue filled in, new skin formed, and my neck continued healing at an incredible rate. What once covered such a huge portion of my neck is now down to one tiny little opening. I’m doing so well that my next big medical milestone is my spay, which is scheduled for next week. Considering where I started, I think we can all agree that my neck and I have accomplished some pretty impressive things together.
The Scar Is Part of Me, but It Isn’t My Personality
I may always carry some physical evidence of what happened to my neck, but I refuse to make that the most interesting thing about me. I didn’t come out of this afraid of life. I came out wanting to chase balls, steal buckets, follow my people everywhere, play with my foster sister, and insert myself into absolutely any situation that looks remotely entertaining. Whatever happened before rescue took a piece of my skin, but it did not get my personality. That thing is alive, well, and frankly a little out of control.
Now That We’ve Covered the Serious Stuff, We Need to Discuss My Ball
I have been through some things, yes, but I refuse to let adversity interfere with my commitment to BALL. Fetch, keep-away, chase it, lose it, find it, carry it around for absolutely no reason—I support the entire ball-based economy. If nobody is available to play with me, that’s okay because I am an independent woman with hobbies. I can entertain myself just fine, although I would obviously prefer an audience because some of my best work deserves witnesses.
The Pool Step Is Where I Conduct Important Business
One of my favorite places is the top step of the pool, especially when I have my ball with me. Unfortunately, my ball has developed a bizarre and completely unexplained tendency to fall into the water. Obviously, I have absolutely nothing to do with this. It just falls in there, somebody retrieves it for me, and then—wouldn’t you know it—it happens again. And again. And again. I realize this sounds suspicious, but I would appreciate everyone respecting my privacy while the investigation remains ongoing.
I Have a Completely Normal Relationship With Buckets
I love plastic buckets, particularly the ones with handles, and I see absolutely no reason why we need to make this weird. Some dogs like stuffed animals. Some dogs like ropes. I am a woman with industrial taste. If you leave a bucket where I can reach it, I may carry it away, throw it around, drag it somewhere completely unnecessary, or proudly parade past you like I just won it on a game show. If something important is currently being stored inside a bucket at your house, you should probably reconsider your organizational system before I move in because I cannot be held responsible for poor human planning.
Where Are You Going? Great, I’m Coming Too
As much as I love my toys, I love being with my people even more. If you walk into another room, there is a very good chance you’re going to hear 45 pounds of English Bulldog following directly behind you because whatever you’re doing has suddenly become a group project. Work from home? Perfect. I can supervise. Watching television all Saturday? Scoot over. Folding laundry? I have absolutely no useful skills to contribute, but emotionally I am completely available. I don’t need constant entertainment; I just really enjoy knowing my people are nearby.
Kids Are Fun, Dogs Are Friends, Cats Are Questionable
I love attention from grown people and little people, and I’ve spent time with my foster family’s two- and five-year-old grandkids and do great with them. When playtime gets exciting, though, I can occasionally forget that I am 45 pounds of English Bulldog and not a delicate little woodland creature. Little kids should always be supervised around me so I don’t accidentally bulldoze somebody during an especially enthusiastic moment. I’m not trying to knock anyone over; sometimes my personality simply arrives somewhere before my brakes do.
My Foster Sister Is Teaching Me the Fine Art of Sharing
I’ve also been learning how to live, play, and share with my foster sister, Freya. We have some fantastic play sessions together, especially after bath time, because apparently nothing says “freshly cleaned” quite like immediately losing our minds and playing ball together. Living with another dog has also been teaching me that toys, affection, dinner, and every other valuable resource in the universe do not actually belong exclusively to Nopel Incorporated. I admit this information came as a surprise, but I’m making progress.
Cats and I Have Agreed to See Other People
Cats are a different situation. Sometimes I can walk right past one like it doesn’t exist, and other times something in my brain apparently says, “You know what would improve this afternoon? Chasing that.” I can become pushy and bully them, and because my reactions aren’t consistent, my rescue believes a cat-free home is the best choice for everyone. I have plenty of other interests to keep me occupied, and I’m pretty sure the cats will appreciate this arrangement too.
I May Have a Mild Case of Main Character Syndrome
I like being first for affection, first for toys, first for dinner, and ideally first in your heart, your family photos, and any future estate planning. I can be a little bossy because apparently I spent some time believing I had been elected household president without anyone actually holding an election. Structure and consistent boundaries are good for me, especially when another dog is involved. I’m learning that I don’t have to be first every single time to still be loved, which is an important lesson for a girl who spent part of her life not knowing whether anyone was going to take care of her at all.
Potty Training, Doggie Doors & the Occasional Formal Complaint
I use a doggie door and do a great job taking myself outside. I’ve had a few isolated marking incidents while adjusting to foster life, and they have tended to happen after I’ve been corrected because apparently I am capable of filing a formal complaint without access to a pen. We’re working on it. I respond much better to calm, firm redirection than raised voices, and once I understand what is expected of me, I’m very capable of following the household routine.
Leaving Me Alone May Result in an Inventory Audit
When my family leaves the house, I’m generally a good girl. The word “generally” is doing a little work here because I have been known to become opportunistic when nobody is supervising me. A bag of chips left within reach? That feels irresponsible on your part. An unattended bucket? We’ve already discussed my position. Something interesting sitting somewhere I can investigate it? I am simply gathering information. Keeping tempting things put away and giving me appropriate toys makes life easier for everyone, although admittedly less exciting for me.
At Night, Even the Comedian Clocks Out
I understand the bedtime routine and will go into my crate, although my foster family usually leaves the crate door open so I can use the doggie door if I need to. I sleep quietly through the night, and sometimes in the morning you’ll find me patiently waiting at the bottom of the stairs for everyone to wake up and tell me good morning. I might have a big personality during business hours, but even I understand there is a respectable time to begin the morning festivities.
Apparently I’m Also a Spa Girl
Baths don’t bother me at all. I’ll come right over to my bath spot, cooperate while my foster mom gets me cleaned up, and let her groom me afterward. Then, once I’m fresh and beautiful, I’m ready to completely undo everyone’s hard work by playing. I also happen to believe goofy noises and ridiculous songs are an official invitation to party, so if you’re the kind of person who makes up nonsense songs about your dog while doing chores around the house, congratulations. I have been waiting for you.
There’s a Sensitive Girl Underneath All This Comedy
This is probably the most important thing my forever family needs to understand about me. I am funny, confident, playful, stubborn, ridiculous, affectionate, and sometimes a whole lot of personality stuffed into 45 pounds of English Bulldog, but underneath all of that I am incredibly sensitive. I came into rescue carrying physical evidence that life had not always been kind to me, and whatever happened before I arrived is something I can’t explain. What my foster family does know is that raised voices don’t help me. I respond best to calm, firm correction, consistency, patience, and someone who shows me what they want instead of frightening me when I get something wrong.
I’m Learning What It Means to Feel Safe
Over the last two months, people haven’t just been healing my neck. They’ve been teaching me what life is supposed to feel like. I’ve learned routines, boundaries, playtime, bath time, doggie doors, family life, sharing, sleeping safely at night, and waking up knowing the same people will still be there in the morning. My personality has gotten bigger as my wound has gotten smaller, and I think that tells you everything you need to know about what feeling safe has done for me.
So What Kind of Forever Am I Looking For?
I’m looking for a family that appreciates a big English Bulldog personality but is willing to give that personality some structure. I need patience, consistency, plenty of affection, playtime, continued guidance, and a cat-free home. I need someone who understands that a sensitive dog can also be a hilarious dog and that the girl who makes you laugh by stealing a bucket may also need you to calmly remind her that she is safe, she is loved, and she doesn’t have to be in charge of absolutely everything anymore.
I Survived the Hard Part. Now I Want the Good Part.
When I arrived from Riverside County Animal Shelter, a huge portion of my neck was open and the tissue underneath was exposed. Since then, I’ve gone through surgery, wound care, nearly two months of healing, and a whole lot of learning about what happens when humans show up for you instead of letting you down. Soon I’ll be spayed, my tiny remaining wound will finish closing, and there will really only be one thing left that nobody at the veterinary hospital can give me—a permanent address.
I don’t need someone to feel sorry for me because I am so much bigger than what happened to me. I need someone who looks past the scar and sees the ridiculous, sensitive, affectionate, ball-obsessed, bucket-stealing English Bulldog standing on the other side of it and thinks, “Yep. That absolute lunatic is ours.” Because I’m Nopel, and after everything it took to get me here, I think I’m finally ready to stop healing in someone else’s home and start living in my own.
Nopel is spay vaccinated, and microchipped, her adoption donation fee is $1150.00. She is currently being fostered in Gilbert, AZ, you can apply for her on our website freedomfrenchierescue.org.
*Please Note: All learning and guidance must continue in their new home. A dog’s behavior can change with a new environment and energy, and every family’s dynamic is different. What works or is allowed in one foster home may not be the same in yours, so consistency, patience, and continued training are key to their success.
