Plastic Satellite Reception is Better.

Marley is fine from his procedure.

We can no longer nickname him Lance Ballstrong (he only had one ball drop).

I was afraid the vet make us make him wear one of those clear plastic collars. Every time I see an animal wearing one it makes me so sad--I think I have the strange ability to feel an animal's pain much easier than if I see a wound on a human (on a human, it just makes me gag...especially if it's my husband showing me his latest war wounds from the lawn).

They didn't give us one of those collars. They gave us a nicer one--covered in a nylon fabric.

The vet said he only needs to have it on when we're not watching him to make sure he doesn't lick himself down there (and he was already compelled to lick himself there before his procedure).

We took Marley downstairs and got situated in the car.

"I am so glad we didn't get one of those sad-looking plastic collars," I said as I looked at Marley, who looked like a wet, limp, noodle.

"Yeah, but I'll bet it doesn't get as good of reception," my husband said.

We took him home, took off the collar while he slept and we watched TV (okay, it's Simpsons on DVD because we cancelled cable because we're too poor to be financially raped by Comcast).

Later that night we put the collar back on before bed. And went to sleep.

For like, half an hour.

Do you remember when warm-up pants were in style? Remember the voosh-voosh-voosh noise they would make every time you took a step? Remember how annoying and noisy that was?

Yeah, try listening to that all night.

And try not to get upset because your dog is having mega issues with having something big, noisy, and inhibits his peripheral vision around his neck while he's in pain.

I only got about three hours of sleep, while my husband, the lighter sleeper of the two of us, got maybe 45 minutes.

Around 3am, I was awake enough, so I got out of bed, took Marley's collar off on the couch in the living room, and turned on The Simpsons.

He was asleep in half an hour. And after about an hour, so was I.

I woke up periodically to make sure he wasn't licking his wounds.

The vet called the next day to check on Marley. I told her about our sleepless night and asked her how long we'll need to have the collar on Marley.

"Whenever the wound heals, which should be anywhere from 10-14 days."

Wonderful.

So we made an effort to make Marley really tired that day, and he managed to sleep through the night, nylon satellite and all.

Puppies As Children Of People

My husband and I do not have children.

Nor are we planning to have any. This can quickly become a touchy or fascinating subject depending on who you ask.

As far as I know, we are both fertile and compatible with one another. But we have made the choice that children are not for us.

I have a laundry list of reasons why we're not trotting down the Mommy and Daddy route constantly running through and growing in my head, but if I posted it, I would feel compelled to add items and edit the list constantly.

So I'll post one example:

My brother and I were in a national craft store chain when a woman was trying to wrestle her young son into the shopping cart. He kept standing up, as I'm sure he was in awe of his suddenly higher view, so, naturally, he wanted to see higher. At least that's my kid logic (which could be another valid reason we're not...you know).

Anyway, as the woman was trying to shop in the fake florals, the kid kept standing up. Being a good mother, she knew that could be dangerous, and kept telling the kid to sit down. And she did it in such a nice, motherly way. She spoke in a soft voice to her child and said, "Sit on your tush." Only she kept repeating it. And the kid kept standing up.

As my brother and I squeezed past her, I chuckled. My brother, already knowing and bewildered of my husband's and my plan to be DINKs forever (Double Income, No Kids), took the bait.

"What now?"

"Another reason hubby and I are not having kids. I would definitely not be as nice as that woman."

"What would you do?"

"After kicking myself repeatedly for forgetting what a pain in the ass it is to shop with children, I would become highly annoyed at my kid trying to endanger himself like a four-year-old Evel Kneivel, and I definitely would not use that tone of voice to get him to sit down. I would probably be screaming at him, "Sit your ass down because if this cart takes a turn and you spill out of it from standing up, there will be no one there to scoop up your brains from hitting the cement floor!""

My brother just sighed and looked at the floor.

Yeah. That's why I am not on the Mommy Track. We just plan to be the Cool Aunt and Uncle, who have the nieces and nephews over for the weekend, get them high on sugar and overly stimulating video games, and then send them home with some of the most noisy toys on the market. It's what my Aunt did to my sister and I, and it's some of the best memories of our childhood.

But my husband and I do have some "children" of our own. We have a four-year-old Ragdoll cat named Roxie.




She likes to play fetch and look out of the window.

And she really likes the new house because she can look out of ALL the windows.

She even has her own window in the kitchen (the bay window above the sink-we were going to make it an herb garden, but then quickly realized she would eat it all).

When we first brought our dog Marley home, we were afraid she would hate him and us, but she loves him. They chase each other and wrestle regularly.





And earlier this year we adopted Marley.

No, he's not a Skipperkie (spelling?).

He's a black Pomeranian, and Roxie is still bigger than him.

We thought we would wait on getting him neutered, as he wasn't expressing any aggressive behavior, but he only had one ball drop.

So the vet reccommended we neuter him because one-nut dogs tend to have health problems (like puppy cancer).

He's getting the procedure done today.


I'm nervous--this is one of our kids going under the knife.I know it's a normal procedure and our wonderful vet totally knows what they're doing, but he is one of our babies, and I can't help but worry about him.

I must look like I'm worrying more about Marley than Roxie, but when we adopted Roxie from the shelter, they had her spayed before she was ours and before we could take her home (and it was part of the adoption fee). So even before I got to hold her in my arms as our cat, she was going under the knife.

I worried, but not as much as I did with Marley.

All our pets were spayed or neutered when I was a child, but I didn't really have to worry--I didn't know what anesthesia was, I didn't have to sign any consent forms, I didn't have to worry if the pet would come back to me.

And that may be yet another reason I am not having children. I don't want to worry that much about another human being.