I learned a long time ago that minor surgery is when they do the operation on someone else, not you. ~Bill Walton, American former basketball player
Been missing me??
Well, I’d have rather been anywhere than where I’ve been for the past few days.
Mama took me to the dogtur, who promised to introduce me to somebody named Mr. Snip.
Trust me when I say, You don’t want to meet him.
I won’t go into the details — you can look it up if you’re curious — but a half-hour later and I’m without a few of my (ahem) parts.
Parts that I’d grown rather fond of over the past 11 months.
The first indignity was having to forego breakfast. I’m a pup who needs his nourishment, doggone it, and having to fast wasn’t any fun.
Then Mama drove me to the dogtur’s. I’m still not fond of riding in a car, so I protested — loudly — despite her efforts to comfort me by talking, playing music, and stroking my back.
When we got to the dogtur’s, Mama left me there. Alone. Just reminded me to be good and turned away.
I was there all day while they did all sorts of awful things to me — shaving me down there, sticking an IV into my arm, slicing into me, removing my parts, and so forth.
Kinda makes you cringe, doesn’t it?
After a long while, Mama came back, but I couldn’t focus on her. You see, they’d tied this plastic lampshade to my neck, and I couldn’t shake the thing off. I did, however, run it into walls and furniture, making as much noise as I could.
Mama says I was in La-La-Land for much of the evening. I kept looking at her with the saddest expression I could muster, hoping she’d relent and take that horrid “necklace” off me, but no. So when opportunity presented itself, I gave it a mighty shake, and off it flew!
Mama wasn’t happy, and she tried putting little boy shorts on me. She said my predecessor, Mr. Practically Perfect in Every Way Dallas, wore them without complaint, but I’ll be the first to admit I’m not perfect, and I refused. Slipped right out of them two nights in a row while she was sleeping, hee-hee!
Then she tried putting a T-shirt on me — backwards — but that also failed. Gee, Mama, I’m not licking or bothering my wound, so stop hovering already.
Now I’m having to go outside on a leash to do my business. In my nice big fenced backyard. With Mama in tow.
I can hear the squirrels laughing.
Mama says this “procedure” is going to make me a better dog. That I’ll no longer have “objectionable” behaviors, and I’ll be protected against certain cancers.
Maybe, but if that Mr. Snip Guy had anything to do with the removal of my parts, I’m gonna find him and take a chunk out of his leg!