Comrades in Arms

I found me today a comrade in arms. I took our new-found dog to the vet to be neutered. I felt that I should have a talk with him and let him know that I could emphasize with what he was going through.

Kreacher looked so excited and when he jumped into the car and looked out the windows. Julie behind the wheel, me in the passenger seat and a dogs head resting on my shoulder looking out the front window with that “are we there yet expression?”

The thought ran through my head maybe this wasn't necessary, maybe he can't have children already, maybe he has azoospermia as well. Hell, it sounds like something a dog should have instead of a human anyway. I almost had Julie turn the car around get a cup and some doggie porn and lets just see what that sperm count was before we take that drastic measure of slicing off the boys. Then I did a quick Google search in my brain and thought about what the doggie porn would look like, and decided it was probably a bad idea.

When we entered the door to the vet, he was gone. They swooped in and took him away to a back room as quick as I could be handed a clipboard. No farewells, No wishing him support, No wife holding his paw, only strangers in a sterile hospital room , examining, manipulating, and slicing his manhood. Facing it alone. I know, I couldn't have done that without Julie holding my paw.

Four hours later I picked him up. He came out as happy to see me. I bent down to hug him and he rammed his plastic cone into my face trying to lick me but unable to reach. We got into the car and I explained to him what the doctor said. I knew that he needed to hear that because even though he was standing right there when the doctor told him none of it registered, none of it made sense.

I explained the birth control advantage to him. “Think of all the money you will save.” I suggested that he have all the pre-marital sex he wanted worry free. Hell, he could hit a doggie swingers club and go to town. He will never have a paternity suit, and if his wife ever does get pregnant, it will either be immaculate conception or he'll need to beat the crap out of the mailman.

When we got to the house Kreacher laid down on the floor in front of the couch wearing his “Cone of Shame” with pride, not knowing how silly he looks in it, or how much fun Julie and I will have tonight making bad jokes about it. Sometimes I wish that I could put on a “Cone of Silence” instead. Silence everyone who knows what is wrong with me, silence the constant talk about fertility, silence the uncertainty. One thing to remember is that the “Cone of Silence” never worked, and the most embarrassing things were always heard. Maybe silence is not the answer.