Hello. My name is Waffles.

I am ten years old and a very good dog.

I have excellent hair (see photos, this is not up for debate), derpy eyes, and a strong record of service in household security, crumb removal, and emotional support.

I live with my mom Annie (a hospice nurse who has only had me for four months), ten-year old Charlotte (who puts my ears in pigtails until she snorts), and Dory (my sister-wife-roommate whose butt is fine, if smelly).

I also have a butt. It was a perfectly fine butt.

Apparently, those days are over.

The Problem...

Mom took me for a checkup with a nice vet who turned out to be not very nice at all. She put her hands in uncomfortable places, brought me back, and said some words. Mom's face changed. It was my butt.

I have a tumor in my anal gland. There have been a lot of words since then: Cancer. Tests. Surgery. Money.

I understood Money, mostly because Mom keeps looking at plastic cards, checking her phone, and talking about a "budget." She was sitting there looking completely overwhelmed, so I decided to step in because Waffles is not your ordinary dog. Waffles is a PROBLEM SOLVER.

The Good News & The Bad News

The good news: My tumor is confined to one side, hasn't gotten big, and HAS NOT spread. The vet said somehow tumors on butts can go into my lungs which is wild to me. Surgery can remove it, and my outlook is fantastic!

The bad news: "Straightforward surgery" and "inexpensive surgery" are two very different things.

Between testing, specialist surgery, follow-ups, medications, and recovery supplies (including dog diapers—I do not wish to discuss this further), my care will cost around $10,000.

Mom is responsible, and normally one ridiculous medical bill wouldn't be enough to make her feel overwhelmed.

My butt just has terrible timing.

Mom recently had to start paying the government back all the money they loaned her to become a nurse. Then, right when that started, she got sick and spent two days at the human hospital.

So now Mom is paying her nursing school loans, her own hospital bill, and, suddenly, my extremely expensive butt.

She says her hospital bill actually costs more than mine because of something called "insurance," which she frequently refers to as a scam.

I find this reassuring because it means my butt is receiving human-level medical care.

Mom does not.

Mom says she is "an independent woman who doesn't need a man." I checked, and the surgeon accepts money, so I'm not sure what a man has to do with this.

The real problem is that Mom is great at helping people, but terrible at letting people help her.

If our roles were reversed, I would sell my toys and treats. I would sell Dory's first, obviously, but eventually mine too. I’d do whatever it took to keep my person here. So that's what we're doing for me.

I would very much like to stay with my girls. I still have work to do: I want to skydive again. There are peanut butter M&M's Charlotte hasn't dropped, delivery drivers to supervise, and a lot of days ahead where my family needs a dog beside them.

I plan to be that dog.

Love,

Waffles

Board Certified Derpy Dog

Beloved family member

Problem solver

Current owner of one extremely expensive butt