Dogs with pessimistic personalities are better than more optimistic dogs at detecting cancer.

Scene: The morning break room inside a busy metropolitan hospital. Two doctors and a dog sit around a table reviewing patient files.
Doctor A: That brings us to Mr. Henderson, who came in last week. Still weak, blood pressure low. It’s a mystery.
Dog: Henderson’s got cancer. The only mystery here is what Sylvia in radiology sees in you.
Doctor A: What makes you think there’s something between Sylvia and me?
Dog: C’mon, I’m a dog. We sense these things. I give it two weeks.
Doctor B: Why do you think Henderson has cancer?
Dog: Smelled some organic compounds on his breath. Picked up traces of blood in his stool. It’s either cancer or the worst case of Happy-Tail Syndrome I’ve ever seen.
Doctor B: I don’t buy it. I want a full workup. Blood, imaging.
Dog: While you do that, I’ll do a full workup on a hair ball the size of a colostomy bag. Tomorrow, I’ll still be right and there’s a good chance your patient will be dead.
Doctor B: Yeah, but I went to medical school.
Dog: Look to the left of you, look to the right. Only one of us has other people pick up his poop in a bag. And it isn’t you, “Doctor.”
Doctor A: What do you recommend?
Dog: Surgery. Open the bastard up. If I had opposable thumbs, I’d do it myself.
Doctor B: You can’t be serious.
Dog: My nose is a hundred thousand times more sensitive than any human’s. And right now I’m smelling a rat. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Valdez?
Doctor A: Administration has been giving us grief. About you.
Dog: What is it this time?
Doctor A: Last week, you lifted your leg on the attending.
Dog: He wouldn’t let me near the patient. That’s my territory.
Doctor A: There was another incident. Remember Mrs. Levy?
Dog: Sure, I picked up a scent from her.
Doctor A: Only she wasn’t a patient. She was hosting the hospital’s gala fund-raiser. Her husband is our single biggest donor.

Doctor B: So you shoved your nose into her groin.
Dog: And he’s upset because that’s his job? I’m a dog. Putting my nose where it doesn’t belong is just part of the deal.
Doctor A: It’s not just that. Hopkins says you missed a tumor last week.
Dog: Hopkins wouldn’t leave the exam room. The only thing I could smell was his cologne. Nice if you like chloroform.
Doctor A: We can’t—you can’t—afford those kinds of mistakes. We’re bringing in backup.
The door opens. A cat comes in and sits at the table.
Doctor A: This is Daisy. We had her look at Mr. Henderson. Came up negative.
Dog: You’re kidding me, right? Cats can’t detect cancer. They’re basically ferrets without the personality.

Doctor A: We’re just asking you to work with her, dammit. Why make everything so hard?
Dog: And why don’t you just bring in monkeys and throw feces at the patients? At least that would be fun.
Doctor A: This hospital puts up with you because you’ve been damn good for a long time. Maybe the best. But, if you’re slipping, I can’t protect you. I’m getting pressure, too. From downtown.
Dog: A squirrel?
Doctor A: The mayor!
Dog: Oh, right. Well, if you need an emotional-support animal, get yourself a doodle. They weren’t bred for their brains, either.
The doctors and the cat file out, leaving the dog alone.
Scene: The same room the next morning, the dog at the table. The doctors and Daisy come in.
Doctor A: The surgeon called. She opened up Henderson last night. You were right. Cancer. She got it all. You saved his life.
Doctor B: Who’s a good boy?
Dog: Somebody tell me he didn’t just say that.
Doctor A: Mr. Henderson will be awake soon. He’ll want to thank you.
Dog: I did my job. I don’t need a pat on the head. If I was right—again—why the hell is the cat still here?
Doctor A: You should thank Daisy. She’s the one who persuaded the surgeon to trust your instincts. She came to this hospital because she said she wanted to work with the best. You.
The doctors leave.
Dog: Listen, Daisy, this isn’t easy for me to say. I was wrong about you. You’re O.K., Daisy. I guess you can teach an old dog . . . well, you know what I mean. [Pauses.] Dammit! The vending machine is out of Milk-Bones again.
Cat: Meow. ♦

Original source: us