Bollocks be Gone

Yesterday was the day MAX went to the vets to get his bollocksy balls chopped off – or into, or whatever. Spayed? Castrated?

Growing up we always had female pets and it was just a given that they would be spayed so we didn’t ever have the surprise of a litter of 7 kittens or whatever.  I always thought that responsible boy dog owners would also get their dogs fixed so they wouldn’t go around the neighborhood raping fearful girl dogs and/or humping strangers’ legs.

The vet confirmed with me on our first visit after rescuing MAX from the lethal injection or gas chamber, or however it is that stray dogs are put down at the pound here in Japan, that he hadn’t been fixed and that he recommended we do it – especially as Ryu had already been bitten by this stage and getting male dogs fixed is meant to lessen their aggression.

Then Ryu got bitten again and while I am the first to admit that in both instances the circumstances were abnormal and that Granny K collapsing and the subsequent fire engine with flashing lights and sirens, ambulance with flashing lights and sirens, neigborhood vestlings with all their sirens and noise and god damn it, tis a fuckin miracle Ryu was the only one that got a chomp. Poor dog. Was bloody mayhem. This coupled with the fact that it was the dog I was checking on that night after three too many homemade plum wines when I mistook the drop of the step and face planted the concrete – more ambulances and hub completely freaked that I’d done something a lot more serious than acquiring a hole in my face.

And well, hub said if the dog bit someone else ever again he was taking it to the mountains and leaving it there…. where MAX would, and I have complete faith in this, be able to track his way home better than mountain boy.

Anyhoo, so off to the vets we go yesterday. MAX is still slightly traumatized from the trip a few weeks back when I took him and the bloody cat at the same time to get sorted for their summer jabs. Was quite the experience. I do manage to somehow coax him slash propel him into his cage and off we go, but not even singing Van Morrison OR Avril Lavigne at full tit calms him down 😦

We get to the vets at about ten and are ushered straight into the exam room where the vet says he is going to try and get a line in for the anaesthetic into his front leg. MAX wont have a bloody bar of it and even though I am holding him tight to my chest and trying to use my best soothing voice he is really not going with the program. So the vet gives him an injection and tells us to wait in the waiting room for ten minutes.

Max is sitting down and gets progressively tireder and droopier, but is trying like a trooper not to hit the floor. His legs get further and further apart and at one stage he is pretty near planking like a legend. And then he’s out and I carry him onto the table where the necessary drip thing is inserted and he gets two more jabs, antibiotics and one for pain.

I then say good bye and leave MAX in the capable hands of the vet, after being told to come back and collect him in 6 hours.

So I lunch with a friend, take up far too much of her time, doss around doing some shopping and wondering if there is anything I can buy myself to help shake the horrible impending feeling of turning 40 in four days. There isn’t. So I buy some onion rings – briefly wondering if 40 of them would make me ill. It probably would, so I have the very generous 6 that MosBurger put in their packs and head off to buy mundane shit like tomatoes, vacuum cleaner bags and birthday presents for Shou – who turns 10 on the same day. Ya know, I’m not sure if I’ll ever forgive him for deciding to come out 10 days early on my birthday. Everybody seems to think it’s fuckin fabulous but really…..???? I spent a good half day of my 30th birthday in extreme pain trying to push his big head out the saloon doors. I then spent every year there after organizing birthday parties for Shou and the next day father’s day shit for hub. My birthday obviously got lost in the pit of oblivion and on the eve of such a big one like 40 I’m really feeling the no feels.

I also want to be back in NZ celebrating with my family and besties and not here in a country that recognizes 40 as nothing more than perhaps the year we should start getting annual mammograms. I have however had several fabulous care packages including NZ bubbles, chocolate, gossip mags, creams and lotions, bling, bras, vegemite and gravy packets so I am feeling the long distance love 🙂

Anyhoo, pity party tangent aside, I went back to get MAX and got shown through to the room out the back with the post bollocks removal surgery cages. MAX was looking soooooo sad and had one of those cones round his neck so he couldn’t lick his balls. I got given his leash and it was a bit of an ordeal trying to get the cone off and the leash on cause he was completely looking at me like I was the devil reincarnate.

The vet told me not to give him any food for the rest of the day and that IF he didn’t eat his breakfast this morning that I was to bring him back for a drip – hence why he left the fuckin drip needle bit in and tapped to his front leg. If he did eat breakfast then, I got told, I was to unwind the tape and slowly remove the plastic needle before pressing on the leg needle hole point with gauze for ten seconds to stop any bleeding.

LOL

I’ve a BA in humanities.

I must come across as extremely capable, dumb, or otherwise this is just standard practice. Needless to say I was a tad nervous this morning which was probably what prompted the 5am wake up. I went outside and was all hey beautiful doggy, are you a hungry boy?

He completely chow downed the fuck out of his gourmet dog food – that I bought out of guilt.

So then I had the task before me of trying to get the needle thing out….. which was unfortunately positioned on the inside of his leg. Thanks doc.

This very technical and specialist procedure took me approximately 45 minutes of brushing and cooing and staring into his eyes to convince him I do love him and I’m not just the mad bitch that took him to get his balls cut open.

In between which I had to find the start of the medical tape wrapped round his leg, spew forth obscenities at not being able to find said starting of said tape, run inside and get scissors, take 20 minutes cutting tape in between belly scratches and head rubs, and finally the fact that a child woke up and gave me a hell of a fright meant I took the last bit of tape off WITH the needle and wham, the whole thing was over.

God what a relief. He is now a lot better being able to move without the pain of that every time he put weight on his leg. He had dinner and even smiled at me (I think). I can’t take him for any longer walks than standard pee and poo drops offs but I think when he’s back to full health I’ll get him used to the cage in the car via taking him to the beach and park and other FUN stuff 🙂

This morning after hub woke up, and after I had sterilised his bandage cutting scissors in boiling water and returned them to his box of medical shite he seems to rely on far too much, I heard him go out and give the dog a pat and say how shit it must be to have his bollocks cut open and lose a part of his manhood… …..

For Fucks Sake.

Have a good mind to take him to the vets next. Lord knows if I ply him with enough shochu he’ll be easier to get into the back of the car!!

SDGH&QL

 

 

 

Mrs D Is Going Without

Too much wine in rural Japan

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