7:12 AM – Woke up to my human groaning. She says it’s “chemo pain.” I say, “Drama queen, my breakfast is late.” I stare at her until she feels guilty enough to wobble to the kitchen. #Priorities
7:45 AM – She finally opens the fridge. I supervise. She grabs her meds before my food. Rude. I let out a long, disappointed sigh. Humans need accountability.
8:00 AM – Medicine time. She dumps out 7,000 pills like she’s auditioning for a commercial called “Do You Have Enough Problems Yet?” I sniff them. None are bacon-flavored. Honestly, pharmaceutical industry—do better.
8:20 AM – She does her shot. I position myself in the corner like a small, judgmental nurse. She whispers, “Mojo, this hurts.” I blink slowly. Pain builds character, human. Also, have you considered feeding me first? #SupportDog
9:00 AM – She’s scrolling on her phone, frowning. I jump onto her lap, spin twice, and land like a furry weighted blanket. Accidentally farted. She laughed so hard she snorted. I consider this a medical intervention. #TherapyDog
9:42 AM – She cries a little. I silently press my head into her side. She says, “Thank you, Mojo.” I say nothing. The silent hero always gets the last treat.
10:30 AM – Doorbell rings. I freeze. I don’t move. I don’t bark. I just… judge. If they break in, that’s between them and the furniture. #SecurityVibes
11:03 AM – Nap number one. I dreamt about steak. In my dream, I owned a restaurant called “Mojo’s Meat Palace.” I woke up to a dry bowl. Disrespectful.
1:17 PM – She says she’s “too tired to eat.” Don’t worry, I’m a problem solver. I helped myself to half a sandwich. She said, “MOJO!” I pretended not to hear. Selective hearing is a service dog skill.
2:45 PM – Nap number two. We spoon. I’m always the big spoon because I’m emotionally dominant.
4:00 PM – She tries to fold laundry. I sit directly on the warm pile and make eye contact. I dare her to move me. She doesn’t. Victory is mine.
6:18 PM – Dinner smells. I sit in the middle of the kitchen floor and exude silent judgment until a piece of chicken “accidentally” falls. Manifestation is real, folks.
7:50 PM – She laughs at the TV. I side-eye her. Laughing at boxes on the wall instead of me? Tragic.
9:15 PM – She whispers, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mojo.” I squint at her and then roll over so she can rub my belly. Love is a transaction.
10:00 PM – Final tweet: Another day spent supervising, judging, and keeping this human alive. 11/10, would recommend being me. 🐾💤
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