Rabid Beast's gettin neutered
The Rabid Beast is getting neutered today and I’m an absolute head case. Bonkers. Owning a dog just affirms that I’d be a crazy mother. Overprotective. Worrisome. Like, I had the Rabid Beast microchipped, I want the same for my human child.
Taking him to the vet was horrible. He wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything after midnight last night, so he was hungry and looking at me and his little puppy eyes were saying “Hey lady. Feed me.” Then he looked dejected. Just sat around in the living room and watched me as I went about my morning duties. I could hardly look him in the eyes. The guilt was tremendous.
I couldn’t stop myself from telling a lady in the elevator that he was getting neutered today. I could almost imagine him rolling his eyes in extreme embarrassment and blushing while saying “Maaahhhhmmmm! Don’t tell everyone, it’s embarrassing!” I even told the overnight concierge. The pained look of pity was too much for me, I hustled us out. While walking we ran into Crazy Homeless Woman, who always tries to hold and tells me how cute he is, even when he takes a fat poo in front of her. I told her he was getting neutered too. She said “Wah-waa wah-waa something, I’d steal him.” In that speech that professional alcoholics have that’s just unintelligible and gravely, but I understood the “I’d steal him” part loud and clear. Crazy lady. A block further down the road, a random guy asked if the Rabid Beast was a Frenchie (yes), told me he had an English (cool) and wished he’d gotten a Frenchie (too bad). I told him about the Rabid Beast’s impending neutering also. The whole Westlake area of Seattle knows that my dog will be ball-less soon.
For some reason, my little guilty brain set me on the path towards the doggie daycare instead of to the vet’s. I realized I was taking him to the wrong place about 15 minutes into the journey. And of course it’s not in the same direction. I had to turn around, change our trajectory. Alter our course from Fun and Friendly Doggie Daycare Full of Pals and People that Adore him and head down the path towards Scary Vet with Big Scissors Who’s Gonna Chop Your Balls Off.
I thought we’d be late. I had underestimated how long it’d take us to get to the vet. Because I had calculated walking travel time to the daycare. I’m a spaz. I do that all the time. The first time the Man came to visit Seattle, I had to take him to the airport so he could return home. I was so sad. I, without realizing it, drove past the airport exit, and about a half hour out of the way. I was subconsciously determined to keep him. I did the same thing with the Rabid Beast. Once we were on the right path, I didn’t think we’d make it in time. I was perfectly fine with that. But we did. And he was so damn happy to arrive at the vet’s. There were Dogs! and People! and I think he remembered that last time there were many Treats! He was frolicking and jumping and smelling canine butt and being petted by vet assistants and ignoring me and enjoying the attention. If he had a tail, it’d be whipping a mile a minute. And he happily followed the vet assistant to the back room to get blood drawn and be prepped for surgery. He had no idea what was going to happen. It made me feel even worse.
Even though it’s just a neutering, not even considered major surgery, the vet might as well have said to me, “Fleur, we’re going to take your beloved dog, who is still a wee-little tyke of a pup, stop his heart and see if we can bring him back from imposed death. Just for the hell of it. If we’re able to bring him back to life, you can have him back. But we might fail. Or forget about him. So, you might never see him again. And if you do see him again, he might now be the same. Just so you know. Oh and it’s gonna cost about $600 for us to tinker with your dog. Have a great day.”
Could you imagine the mental anguish I would be going through if this was a human child? Like if this was my newborn baby boy who needed to be circumcised? I’d need to be sedated. My husband, or baby-daddy (but I hope husband AND baby-daddy, ‘cause I’m old fashioned like that) would be required to warm up his smacking hand to administer a “Calm yourself, woman” slap. I might need that right now.
