There's something oddly thrilling about the idea of playing as a dog. Not just any dog, but a self-assured shepherd named Hubert, whose entire worldview revolves around sniffing out chaos and herding sheep that probably don’t want to be herded. When I first heard about this game, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all—until I realized this might be the most honest representation of gaming’s future. We’re talking about a title that doesn’t just let you play as a dog; it forces you to think like one. And that, personally, is what makes this project so fascinating.
Let’s cut through the marketing fluff for a moment. Hubert isn’t just another indie game trying to cash in on the ‘cute animal’ trend. This is a deliberate experiment in perspective. The developers at Brocap Studio aren’t asking you to control a dog—they’re asking you to become one. The game’s premise is simple but radical: you navigate the world from ground level, using scent trails, instinctual behaviors, and the kind of unfiltered curiosity that only a dog (or a toddler) possesses. It’s a design choice that feels like a slap in the face to traditional third-person adventure games. Why look down at the world when you’ve always been told to look up? What many people don’t realize is that this shift in perspective isn’t just gimmicky—it’s a masterclass in immersion. When you’re crouched low, sniffing the air, and reacting to stimuli in real-time, you’re not just playing a game. You’re living it.
The PS5 version announcement is a telling move. Brocap Studio is clearly betting on the console’s ability to deliver a tactile, sensory-rich experience that complements the game’s unique mechanics. While the PC version will undoubtedly appeal to hardcore gamers, the PS5 iteration feels like a natural evolution. Imagine the haptic feedback of the DualSense vibrating as Hubert’s nose brushes against a blade of grass, or the adaptive triggers mimicking the tension of a leash as you guide a stubborn sheep. These aren’t just technical flourishes—they’re narrative tools. They’re the difference between watching a dog’s journey and feeling it in your bones.
What makes this particularly fascinating is the game’s refusal to simplify its protagonist. Hubert isn’t a lovable mutt with a heart of gold; he’s an overconfident troublemaker who sees the world through a lens of unshakable curiosity. This isn’t just a character trait—it’s a gameplay mechanic. The game’s environmental storytelling relies on the player’s ability to interpret subtle cues: a faint scent trail leading to a hidden cave, the flicker of movement in the periphery that signals danger. It’s a design philosophy that demands patience, which is ironic given the game’s protagonist’s impatience with everything from sheep to farmers. One thing that immediately stands out is how this approach challenges the player’s assumptions about agency. In most games, you’re the hero, the savior, the one in control. Here, you’re the chaotic variable, the unpredictable force that might just as easily scatter the sheep as gather them.
The emotional core of Hubert, however, is what truly sets it apart. Beneath the absurdity of herding goldfish-brained livestock lies a touching exploration of connection and loyalty. The bond between Hubert and Lily, the sharp-witted kid who convinced a grumpy farmer to take them on, isn’t just a plot device—it’s the emotional anchor of the game. It raises a deeper question: Can a game about a dog and a kid really resonate with players who’ve never felt that kind of unspoken bond? I think it can, and here’s why. The game’s beauty lies in its simplicity. It doesn’t need convoluted storylines or over-the-top action sequences. It needs you to trust your instincts, to slow down, and to see the world through a lens that’s both alien and achingly familiar.
If you take a step back and think about it, Hubert is part of a growing trend in gaming that prioritizes emotional resonance over spectacle. Titles like Journey, Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice, and now this are proving that games can be deeply personal experiences without sacrificing accessibility. But what this really suggests is a shift in how we define ‘immersion.’ It’s not about high-resolution graphics or photorealistic environments—it’s about creating a space where the player can lose themselves in a different way of being. And in a world where we’re all juggling the noise of modern life, that might be exactly what we need.
So, will Hubert become the next big indie hit? I’m not sure. But one thing is certain: it’s a game that dares to ask the player to look at the world differently. And in a medium that’s often obsessed with power fantasies and epic quests, that kind of humility—both in the game’s design and its message—is a rare and precious thing. Whether you’re a dog lover, a fan of narrative-driven adventures, or just someone who’s tired of pretending to be a sword-wielding hero, Hubert offers a refreshing reminder that sometimes, the most meaningful journeys are the ones we don’t expect.
