mongrel monitors of malady


True story: My page-a-day dog calendars were full of “dog smells hidden tumor in woman’s breast; claws at her until she goes to doc and they saved her just in time!”-type stories when I was a kid. With my combined family history of a shit ton of cancer and a lot of dogs, every few months I’m grabbing a sleepy four-legger and shoving their noses against my neck, my shoulder, whatever’s lumpy; desperately hoping they’ll warn me if I’m going to die.

Sometimes they sneeze.

On the one hand, I’m still alive, and the doctors are lowkey impressed by the wanderlust of my lymph nodes. On the other hand, I feel like we need to develop a definitive “nope you’re good, hooman!” dog response. Sniffly annoyance at being dragged out of peaceful slumber could mean anything.


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