“Has anyone ever told you that your dog is fat?” That is precisely how I was greeted at the Vet’s office today. No, seriously. I don’t have any children, so I have never known the feeling of that motherly-protection thing rising up inside of me. Today, however, for the first time I felt it. My first instinct was to say “how dare you say that”, and give that lady the dirtiest look I could conjure up in a moments notice. But instead I just smiled sweetly and politely asked where I had to sign Mattie in to get spayed.
Yes, spayed. Today is Mattie’s D-day.
You see, I have had her for 3 years now, and while you may wonder why I have not had her spayed yet, you can rest assured that I do have a legitimate answer. I bought her in Denmark and in Denmark you literally have to cut off your arm & leg to get a dog spayed. So for the last 3 years my wonderful roommate and I tolerated the semi-annual “heat” that she went through. I will spare you the details. However, now that I am back to the US where spaying a dog is actually affordable, it was time.
I remember my dad calling me a couple years ago on a particular spring day, sounding really depressed and bummed. This is not too common for him, so I knew something must be seriously wrong. He informed me that he was on his way to the Vet with their dog, Zac, to get him neutered. He felt terrible for “stripping him of his manhood.” I kinda felt bad…but not really….for laughing quite hard at that statement. Yet, alas, when I brought my dog to the vet this morning, I felt a bit of the same sentiment. Poor girl. I never intended on her having puppies, so I knew it had to be done. It was inevitable.
So here’s to Mattie, on her D-day.
And for the record, no, nobody has ever told me that my dog is fat.