Look. Something goes wrong, blame the dog, right?

This is my theory: my dog gave me cancer.
Two cancers.

Absurd!

Here’s the thing about this sweet-looking old man:
he spent most of his life home with a human.
For almost his entire 11-year little dog life, either I or my ex worked from home.

And now I’m a single mom.

And I have to, like, leave the house.
Do things.
Like acquire dog food and make money for dog food.
Maybe having a life?

And when I leave… he is now alone.

I don’t know how he survives.

But he does.

Barely.

So obviously—he gave me cancer.
Two cancers.

That way, I have to stay on the couch more.
And pet him.

And, bonus:
Grandma Deb and Grandpa Larry and Grandma Marie and Uncle Mike and all his aunties and uncles come to visit more.

Honestly?
Pretty solid plan.

But there’s one thing he didn’t account for:

medical appointments.

So now, ironically, mom has to leave even more—subsequently abandoning him again.

He’s a smart dude.

But I don’t think he really thought this one through.