I happen to have a dog who is of the female persuasion and since I wasn’t about to let her have babies before I did (like everyone I went to high school with,) I had to have her spayed. You’re welcome, Bob Barker. The sad thing about this is that Izzy is my first real pet. What I mean by real is that she isn’t a hamster or a fish. Not that there is such a thing as an expendable pet, but we can’t all be Homecoming Queen. Dogs are real. Cats are real. This is death staring you in the face everyday, daring you to mess this up.
To say that I was a wreck on Tuesday morning when I dropped her off at the vet would be a gross understatement and also? How dare you. I took along an old shirt that smelled like me for the vet staff to put in her cage so she wouldn’t be scared. Can we talk about what must have been going through Izzy’s mind when I left her to have her insides ripped out?
“Oh, I love this place! Sure they stick things in my butt, but there’s always a treat at the end! Hey…. why are you keeping me here? YOU’RE SHAVING WHAT???”
But on a serious note, I have to hand it to the staff of Urban Veterinary Care on Lincoln Ave. They are the sweetest people on Earth. Animal lovers are tops in my book, but to then love animals so much you want to take care of them? Serious cool points. They kiss my dog and talk in silly voices and tell me over and over how much they want to steal her away. There was never a doubt that Izzy would be totally fine and completely cared for.
So despite the guilt and the tears and the hilarious post-anesthesia drunkenness, things turned out fine. And Izzy did well too.
Ashley Gregory is a RedEye Blogger
