When the emotional support animal starts charging hourly and won’t return texts.

People Who Think Their Therapy Dog Needs Therapy

It starts innocently enough–some extra cuddles, a new chew toy, maybe a weighted blanket. But then they whisper, “I think Rufus is depressed.”

1. Their dog has a therapist. Not a vet–a therapist. Licensed. Probably named Chad.

2. They’ve installed a bark-to-text translator to better understand “his feelings.” Spoiler: it’s mostly “hungry.”

3. Their therapy dog now has its own support animal–a guinea pig named Sheila who’s going through her own thing.

4. They hold weekly mindfulness sessions with the dog. Mostly it’s the dog licking peanut butter off a Kong while they cry in lotus pose.

5. They ask their dog open-ended questions like, “How did that make you feel?” and interpret tail wags as emotional breakthroughs.

6. They’ve bought Rufus a gratitude journal. It remains unwritten, except for some paw prints and drool.

7. The dog has more essential oils than a suburban yoga studio. Lavender for anxiety. Peppermint for past-life trauma.

8. They once cancelled brunch because “Buddy is going through something.” Aren’t we all?

9. They believe their dog is an empath. No, he’s just reacting to the vacuum again.

10. They refer to his leash as a “trauma tether” and insist it represents control issues from puppyhood.

11. The dog has a playlist. Not for fun, but for healing. Mostly Enya and whale sounds.

12. They claim Rufus “holds space” for them emotionally. In reality, Rufus is asleep. Flat on his back. Snoring.

13. They tried doggy hypnotherapy but stopped when he started chasing the hypnotist.

14. They say things like, “I’m not sure who rescued who, but now we both need rescuing.”

15. They’re lobbying for a dog couch therapist covered by pet insurance. It’s a slippery slope to canine copay.