Mojo and the Mess

Hi friends, it’s me — Mojo. Mom’s not feeling so good today, so I’ve taken over the blog. (Finally, my moment. I knew my little paws were made for the keyboard one day.) Don’t worry, I’ll make sure this post has enough snark, sweetness, and squishy bulldog wisdom to make you glad you stopped by.

Today, Mom Needed Me More Than Ever

Mom’s curled up on the couch right now. Her blanket is wrapped around her like armor, but I can see the sadness in her eyes. I can hear the heaviness in her sighs. Humans think they’re good at hiding pain, but trust me — dogs notice everything.

Today, she’s hurting in ways that go deeper than her body. The kind of hurt where she stares off at nothing, lost in thoughts that make her shoulders droop. That’s when I slide in, quietly but firmly, and wedge myself against her. I’m not asking. I’m not leaving. I’m here.

Sometimes love isn’t loud. Sometimes it’s just steady. A paw resting on her arm. A warm body pressed against her when the world feels cold. A reminder that she doesn’t have to fight alone, not even for a second.

My Job Description (It’s More Than Just Cuteness)

Let me break down my daily duties for you:

• Cuddle Enforcement: No matter how low she feels, she doesn’t get to be alone. If I have to sit on her until she notices me, so be it.
• Snack Supervision: I make sure she eats something, even if it’s just crackers or toast. (And if she drops crumbs… well, that’s my bonus pay.)
• Emotional Guard Dog: I might be small, but sadness and loneliness don’t stand a chance when I’m on patrol.
• Silly Distraction Officer: When her mind spirals into the scary stuff, I roll onto my back and snore so loudly she can’t help but laugh a little. That’s my secret weapon.

The Hard Part I See

I don’t always understand what the doctors say or why the medicine makes her so tired, but I know this: cancer is mean. It takes pieces of her every day, and some days it feels like it’s taking too much. On those days, I want to bark at it until it runs away.

But when I look up at her, I see more than what cancer is trying to take. I see her heart, her strength, her stubbornness, and her love. And I see how much she needs the people who care about her — the ones who read her words, share her blog, and remind her she’s not forgotten.

Thank You From Both of Us

So before I sign off, I want to say something really important. Thank you. Yes, you — reading this right now. Every click, every share, every little message that says “I see you” means the world to Mom. On days when she feels invisible, your support makes her feel real again.

From me, it’s simple: thank you for helping keep my human going. I can cover her with love and snores, but you give her the courage to keep writing. That matters.

💌 Don’t forget to hit subscribe if you haven’t already — Mom worked hard to make this blog a safe place, not just for her but for anyone who’s walking through something hard. And if you’re new here, click the menu bar at the top — the homepage is full of resources, stories, and love that she’s poured into it. We’re so glad you’re here.