Bitchy

What she said—and what she did—was really bitchy.

“Israel is trying to get Iran to attack us just like your bitchy ex who tried goading some dude in a bar to fight you,” Tim Pool, the popular rightwing podcaster, wrote on X.

He’s really bitchy in the morning.

Greyhounds (dogs 4, bitches 2): All moderate; the small bitchy-looking Speculation was placed 1st in dogs, and Kate, by Cauld Kail—Graceful, was 1st in bitches, the former taking cup for best in both classes; […]

[…] Hatteraick is good in shape and well feathered, but bitchy in face; […]

The latter, though his muzzle is too weak and expression too bitchy, scores over his opponent in head properties, but he wants more bone, of better formation, is wide in front, very short and thick in neck and coarse in shoulders.

His head is bitchy and he is not a show dog. […] Sir Knight, V H C, is light in the quarters, bitchy in head, only fair in limb and not very strong in loin.

Where is the dog? One man would say Hard Cash; another would answer that he is too light and bitchy.

Entirely disregarding sex, Ch. Searchlight has a beautiful Cocker head, but as he is a dog, his head is too fine and far too much upon the bitchy order.

The little bitchy type dog who had nothing to recommend him except that he was small and popular with novice fanciers as a stud dog, has done more to set Boston terrier breeding back, than any other factor in its history.

Scrappy Downhill, not quite enough bone, rather flat ribbed, and a little bitchy headed.

You’re still a backyard breeder, and you’ve got a bad case of kennel blindness, for all you’ve got a pretty nice dog. If you’d study the Standard you’d know. Percival has his faults, too. He’s a little too bitchy, and just a little on the snipey side.

He was ſtretched upon a ſopha—with boots on—a terrier lay on one ſide of him, and he occaſionally embraced a large hound, which licked his face and hands, while he thus addreſſed it.—“Oh! thou dear bitchy—thou beautiful bitchy—damme, if I don’t love thee better than my mother or my ſiſters.”

Well, that’s all right, thinks I, and uncommon kind every body was to us—I mean, Gracy and I; and the young missus, a slim, fair-skinn’d girl, with coal-black eyes and hair, and a brow of her own as smooth and white as an ivory fid—ay, as pretty a soul, Mr. Thompson, as you’d wish to look on—she took such a fancy to the poor bitchy, and made me tell about her hangin’ on by my hat, in the surf, so often, that I see’d she was crazy to have the beast; so, knowin’ as such a berth didn’t cast up every day, I told her she might keep Gracy if she was so minded; and, to be sure, how pleased that young woman was, he, he, he! She hugg’d and kiss’d, and laughed and cried over that little black curly devil, all at the same spell; […]

The Master dismounted, sending on his horse to the western end of the covert, and climbing the bank of the wood was swallowed up in jungle, from whose depths we could dimly hear him cheering the hounds in the well-remembered way: “Thatsy-atsy-atsy, my darlin’s! Find him for me Thruelass and Naygress, good bitchies!”