Five minutes beforehand, he’d been strutting around the kitchen like a cocky football jock whilst intermittently sniffing his sister, Celine’s bottom, blissfully unaware of what the day had in store for him.
Now, he was a trembling pup, cradled in his daddy’s arms as Scotto backed out of the driveway. I’d say he must have been suspicious something was up by the pleading expression in his mournful, brown eyes.
“You’re going to have to drop Pablo at the vet tomorrow morning,” I announced to hubby Scotto yesterday. “It'll be too hard for me to leave him there. I’d get halfway to the vet and turn the car around and bring him home.”
“It’s not going to be easy for me either!” Scotto reproached me.
We didn’t exactly have a big row about it, but there were a few sulky, manipulative exchanges as to who was going to play the bad guy and do the dirty work.
I won.
Our vet, Chris, is the father of one of Lulu’s best friends and she happened to be staying at their place last night.
“Tell Chris to have an early night because he’s operating on our dog tomorrow morning,” I texted Lulu.
“He said he’s going to drink some extra wine tonight!” she messaged back.
I don’t think he should have been joking about it.
Scotto left at 8:30 this morning to drop my baby off to his ill-fated appointment and I tearily waved him farewell then retreated to my bedroom to sob into my pillow.
After restlessly waiting with bated breath and jangled nerves, the phone finally rang at 9:30 am.
He was alive and well… sans testicles of course… but he survived! The nurse informed me the operation went brilliantly and the tiny patient was now resting quietly.
He’s going to have to avoid strenuous exercise (especially bike riding) for a couple of weeks but apart from rest, aspirin and dressing changes he should be back to himself in no time.
Off I went to buy some ice packs, balloons and flowers for Pablo's homecoming.
Has he lost his swag now he's been de-nutted? I hear you ask.
Well... he's now sporting a tattoo and swaggering like a bow-legged sailor as he tenderly winces down the hall so not really.
Tattoo on left ear.
I’d better buy some wine and chocolates for Chris the brilliant surgeon as well.
That guy should be Australian of the Year.
