Well, we took Otie to get neutered. It was time. He ran off the other day and was gone for over an hour. We looked everywhere and he finally found us. Plus he’s taken to trying to hump Lil’lady. Um, no, that doesn’t work for me.
At any rate, they sent him home and he was so sad and dejected. He looked like he’d lost his best friend. Oh, wait… Anyway, for some reason they didn’t give him any pain medications and he was just acting funky. By the time TheMan got home the vet was gone for the day and I couldn’t call asking for any. When I took him out he kind of limped over to the grass and laid down- in the snow. He hates the snow, but I think that he was liking the cold on his incision. It was a tad bit sad.
Now, I thought (and have actually seen this) that the vet just cut off the sack and all. Snip, snip, tie. But with Otie she (the vet) went in, cut out his jewels, and left that poor, sorry, empty little sack dangling1. She didn’t even bother to tape it up or anything. It’s just dangling. Ugh.
The day after his surgery he tried to get up and play. But every time he would run his sack would bounce and he would immediately sit down. I felt so bad for him, the poor guy. TheMan says to me “Well, it can’t hurt that bad.” HUH?
Me: “What would you do if your balls were cut out and your emptiness just bounced around willy-nilly? I’ll tell you what you’d do: You’d cry like a little baby and beg me to put you out of your misery.”
Poor dog. I did try to put a compress on it, but he just got irritated and tried to eat it. He actually grabbed it out of my hand, went to take off, realized his was sore, and laid back down. snort He still wouldn’t let me put anything on it. Other Sis told me to use ibuprofen. Except NO. That shit is toxic, duh. From the info I saw, it is only safe at 5 mg per pound. Using my newly acquired math skillz I estimated that we needed 35 mgs. Ok, so I look at this pill (still thinking Other Sis knows what the hell she’s talking about) and think to myself “How the fuck am I going to figure out what 35 mgs is?”. I proceed to fling the pill in the trash- along with the idea that Other Sis knows what the hell she’s talking about.
So now, it’s a couple of days later and he’s back to his old self (the dog, not the husband). Amazingly, the castration didn’t take away his high energy (labradoodle, remember?). OMG! Can you believe that shit? TheMan is perplexed as to why it didn’t work out that way. You would think that he would have asked the vet and/or read the information the vet sent home for us. You would be wrong. The dog still greets us like he’s a 10 pound poodle (instead of 72 pounds) with a stubby tail (his tail his long and will whack the shit out of your legs if you get too close). He still tries to jump in trees to catch that damned chattery squirrel. And he still almost catches the rabbit.
He has, however, stopped trying to hump Lil’lady.
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I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.