Who Really Needs Fixing?

Friday was D-day. De-sexing our dogs. It's the right thing to do. It's what's expected from a responsible dog owner. We knew going in that it was an eventuality. What we didn't know was how hard it would actually be when the time came. I had made the arrangements. I knew the time was fast approaching but I'd find a reason to put it off until I found Spencer "acting out" with Sophie. I jumped from the lounge chair and ran for the phone to call the vet and get the soonest appointment. I had been told that if you waited until after she went into heat that her chances for developing breast cancer significantly increase. It's so hard to imagine that the puppies that we just got a while ago could be able to enter that phase in their lives so quickly. The appointment I originally made was meant to be a time we'd both be available and I thought that the best day would be a Friday so we'd have the weekend to watch them. It turned out that I had to work and Mark was responsible for getting them there on his own. The day of the procedure we both questioned why we were even doing it. It seemed so cruel. Here they are, first thing in the morning, happy to see Mark and ready to play. Instead, Mark is gathering them up to take them for surgery. It feels a bit like playing God. It's not like they'll be roaming the streets. At 9:30 that night it was time to collect them. At the vet's I found out that there was a complication with Spencer. He had difficulty breathing on his back during the procedure which made it a bit more challenging but it went well for both of them. They'd been sleeping but were eerily quiet bringing them home which should have been expected considering what they'd been through and the sedatives they must have been on but it did remind me of bringing Oscar home on his final night. The tone of the evening was decidedly somber and we were seriously questioning our decision. I thought I would have a sleepless night but I actually fell right to sleep. It was a memorable sleep. I dreamt so vividly and my dreams had a common theme. Torture. I woke up wondering how my subconscious could even conjure up the images. In my first dream I slowly ripped apart a hummingbird. Limb by limb. It was still alive so I crushed it with a brick. Anyone that knows me knows I love every living thing. I've even had a pet spider living in the shower and I did everything to make sure the water stream never hit his web. I didn't name him ( in case he did end up down the drain ) but I couldn't bring him any intentional harm. So how could I have this dream? I had many others but the last one stayed with me when I woke up. I dreamt that I was in a German torture chamber and a Nazi had me secured to a table. There was a myriad of frightening accessories available for any procedure he deemed appropriate and the possibilities were overwhelming me. There was someone on the table next to me identically manacled. Was it Mark? The Nazi came over to me and in the classic manner we are all familiar with from the movies he very calmly told me that I was to be punished and the infraction was to be carved by knife into my torso. He asked if I preferred script. At that point a seven foot tall transvestite with a bozo wig, a few missing teeth and wildly placed lipstick ( the color of azaleas which I thought was an interesting contrast to the red hair ) suggested my accepting Tylenol. I asked whether I should take it before or after the procedure. He/she was emphatic that I consider taking it beforehand. Mercifully I woke up in time to avoid my unnecessary procedure and my first thought was that Sophie and Spencer weren't as fortunate.