If Mojo Could Talk

Hi. It’s me. Mojo.
The Frenchie. The sidekick. The comfort creature.
The little gremlin you hear snoring in the background of your emotional breakdowns. Yeah, that’s me.

If I could talk, there’s a lot I’d say. But I’ll start with this:
I know what’s going on. Maybe not the full details—I’m a dog, not a doctor—but I know you’re hurting. I know you’re tired. I know things haven’t been fair.

And I also know this: I’m not going anywhere.

When you can’t get out of bed, I don’t either.
When your body hurts, I stay close enough to touch but not too close to bump your port.
When the world is too loud and people say the wrong thing again, I give you that look—yeah, that one. The “we don’t like them” face. I’ve got your back.

You don’t have to explain anything to me. You don’t have to smile, or be strong, or fake fine.
You don’t have to say, “I’m okay.”
You don’t have to be anything but you. And that’s enough for me.

I’ve seen the meds, the machines, the way your hands shake sometimes. I know the smell of hospital bags and the way your walk changes when you’re in pain. I’ve watched people come and go, watched the fear flash across your face when someone avoids eye contact or pretends not to notice you’re struggling.

I’ve also seen the quiet ways you keep going.
The way you still say “I love you” even when your mouth is dry and your soul is tired.
The way you pet me like it’s your last drop of energy—but you still do it.
The way you fight for every moment, even the ugly ones.

If I could talk, I’d tell the people who drifted away that they missed out.
I’d tell your doctors to listen more, not just talk.
I’d tell your husband he’s doing okay, even on the days he doesn’t feel like it.
I’d tell the world that you matter—that you are more than a diagnosis, more than a number, more than “inspirational.” You are mine. My person. My safe place.

And if someday you leave before I do, I’ll keep sleeping in your spot.
I’ll keep guarding the door.
I’ll keep waiting for the sound of your voice—even if it only lives in memory.
Because love like ours doesn’t end. It just finds new ways to exist.

But for now, you’re still here. And so am I.
So let’s keep doing what we do.
You fight the hard stuff. I’ll handle the cuddles, the protection detail, and the attitude.
Deal?

Love you forever,
– Mojo
(Professional Velcro Dog, Emotional Support Overachiever, Keeper of Secrets)

Want more posts from both sides of the leash? Subscribe below for updates, dog snuggles, and the kind of honesty you won’t find on a Hallmark card.