Took my little dog to the vet today. Vet thinks he has cancer. Biopsy on Monday.

We had some infertility issues trying to get pregnant with the Entropy Machine and these dogs were my literal babies for two years. Two hard, depressing, wheel spinning years. They’re so stupid and so great and just. ~sigh~

Cancer wasn’t even on my radar. Like, at all. But the vet stuck a draw on the slides and took a peek. So, I guess it’s legit. Still. 😦

They’re just such pretty dogs.

And mind numbingly, achingly stupid. Good luck getting them trained to not crap the floor. ESPECIALLY if it’s raining. They’ve done pretty well, but I am all over them like a hawk.

In any case. They’re my babies and they’re such great dogs. Mr Spock, the little black and white, he’s such an asshole. His IDGAF far exceeds my own.

They’re such great little dogs. Stupid dogs are the best ones because they don’t get bored. “I don’t have anything to do. *shrug* Guess I’ll just go to sleep.” They don’t ruin stuff (except with their pooping, but just keep up on that and it’s not a problem), they’re the perfect size to bring with you, big enough to go camping, not so big as to eat a lot of food. They’re not great with little kids, but we’ve maintained peace in the house.

And, of course, this happens at the beginning of Week 2 of Camp NaNoWriMo. Why wouldn’t it happen right when the writing takes a traditional slump?

I’m so bummed out. My heart is sad. He’s my little pal. Hoping for good news on Monday.