(The Meat and Potatoes of Life)
Our our 18-month-old yellow lab, Gilligan, has been bumbling around wearing a plastic cone on account of having had neuter surgery on Monday. Gilly is the third of the Molinari family dogs, so this isn’t our first rodeo. Gilly’s predecessors, first Dinghy and then Moby, were neutered, too, and each dog spent their post-operative weeks moping around in a “cone of shame.”
Gilly, a goofball, seems oblivious to the loss of his manhood marbles, and is therefore coping quite well. A keenly intelligent poodle-mix, Dinghy’s masculinity wasn’t fazed by his sudden lack of testosterone — in fact, he became known for his critter hunting prowess and dog park domination. However, to our middle dog, Moby, a sweet simpleton with a one-track mind for tennis balls, neutering surgery was a shocking betrayal.
We were living on base that winter, when I told my friends they wouldn’t be seeing Moby for a while. When I explained why, the men collectively cringed and hitched their knees together.
First thing Monday morning, Moby loped out our front door into the crisp morning air just like always, his stout wagging tail on one end and a big sloppy smile on the other. I opened the minivan’s door, and Moby hopped right in, probably expecting me to drive him to the beach to chase balls and eat dead fish.
But instead, we drove 25 minutes northward to the veterinary clinic. Once parked, I opened the door to let Moby out.
“Hey, lil’ buddy! C’mon, this is gonna be fun!”
Moby was a blockhead, but even he knew something was up. He was hesitant to emerge, wondering why I’d left the tennis balls in the car. When I tugged at his leash, he pulled back, causing all his neck flub to bunch up around his face.
Finally, Moby noticed that the air outside the minivan was a veritable cornucopia of intriguing odors, so he jumped out to investigate years’ worth of animal pheromones, territorial markings and nervous involuntary spillage in that parking lot. On my way to the clinic door, the leash stopped with a jolt while Moby sniffed, then licked, then marked tufts of dead grass peeking through cracks in the asphalt.
In the waiting room, Moby wasn’t sure if he should hide or jump for joy. On one hand, there were lots of fun-looking dogs and people in there, and even one small hissy thing that made a peculiar yowling sound. But on the other hand, there were unfamiliar smells in that waiting room, like medicine … disinfectant … and fear.
Before Moby’s blockhead could figure it all out, the veterinarian’s assistant led him away. I watched his tail wag as he looked up at her, probably thinking she was taking him to chase balls.
Oh, the irony.
Several hours later, Moby was back in the minivan, stunned at having been robbed of his virility and wondering why there was a ridiculous cone around his head.
The physical pain in his nether regions was a mere annoyance compared to the humiliation of the cone. It soon became the bane of his existence. He knocked over lamps and spilled his water.
Worst of all, it got in the way of chasing balls.
At the end of the week, when Moby had reluctantly accepted that he’d be wearing that blasted cone for the rest of his life, it suddenly cracked and fell off while he was rolling in the snow. Moby stared at the cone a moment, not sure if he should be sad at losing another appendage or happy to be rid of it. Instinct took over, and Moby pounced onto the cone, grabbing and shaking it with all his might.
Killing the cone restored Moby’s faith in his lingering masculinity, and as he trotted back to the house with his head held high, I could almost hear him say, “Nothing will ever get between me and my balls again.”
Every year, millions of homeless dogs and cats are needlessly euthanized. Spaying and neutering is the best way to control overpopulation. At www.humanesociety.org, you can find low-cost services and organizations offering financial aid for pet care and surgeries. Give your milpets the good care they deserve.
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Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com
