Dickens woke this morning with an air of apprehension. He did his business and I returned him to his crate. He senses something's going on as his breakfast didn't arrive as promised. Dickens didn't fuss, but instead seemed quietly resigned to what the day holds.
Armed with a cup of caffeine and just about presentable to go out, I led Dickens outside for another chance to empty his little self (although, since he hadn't had anything since 8 PM last night, there couldn't be too much in there.) He'd heard Brady across the street barking, so he joined the chorus as menacing as he could muster.
The joy of Sunday's graduation from puppy school has led to another milestone - neutering. This issue has plagued me since Dickens entered my life. He's a cute pup. He'd probably sire cute pups with the right dam. In fact, I entered the notion of breeding him, but stopped short after he mounted the love of his young life, a poodle named "Lily." Thankfully, Lily had her right of passage, but I could only imagine Dickens raising his right paw in Puppy Paternity Court. He'd answer the question, "Why did you do it?" with the response, "I felt like it."
Aside from the social implications of a puppy au naturel, there's are far greater health concerns. Dickens might be the only pup I'll ever own. I can't imagine walking around in the later years chasing pups (even though such a scene would bring me joy.) Neutered dogs do not suffer the complications that their unaltered counterparts experience. Some reports suggest that Dickens might mellow a tad, but I accept this as an uncertainty.
Yes, I'm a neurotic pup-mom. I admit this freely. My heart tore as I handled him over to the vet tech. Incredibly, I couldn't believe the questions pouring from me, such as "He's a double dumper. He's only gone once this morning. He doesn't go in the evening after 6 PM, even though I have him out multiple times at night. What about this evening's meal? Can he attend training this Sunday? How will you administer the anesthetic?" For some reason, I sounded more someone interrogating a prisoner of war, than quiet, gentle interrogatories. At least, that's how it sounded to me. Stress.
The vet tech's kindness and Dickens's willingness to jump in her arms gave me a bit of comfort. He's a good dog. I'll busy myself with housework until the call arrives to take him home. The house feels empty to me. I'm doing this for the right reasons, but my heart can't wrap itself around the fact that the little pups I wanted will not come to pass. But I'll have this pup - this bundle of fierceness and love, that in itself has to be the greatest gift.
Until then, I'm waiting for the phone call.
Links to the Outside World
- The Daily Dickens: Fresh Air!
- The Daily Dickens: A Room with A View...
- The Daily Dickens: Let. Me. Out!
- The Daily Dickens: My Little Stoner
- The Daily Dickens: Ruff, Rough, Ruff
- The Daily Dickens: Today's Grind
- The Daily Dickens: Pup and Circumstance
- The Daily Dickens: Snow Encounters of a Nor'easte...
- Rocksalot Cottage: A Letter to Mother Nature
- The Daily Dickens: Small Dog Warnings
- The Daily Dickens: Tuesday Tension Tamer
- Rocksalot Cottage: Turn Back Time?
- ▼ November (12)