Failure of nerve

Tuesday was to be Gizmo's big day, in which I was to put him on the van to Bristol to be fixed. From my experience with our cats, this is the way it works: In the early dawn, you gather up with what seems like an impossible number of other pet owners in the parking lot of the First Baptist Church. The animals are nervous, unsettled by the proximity of so many other scared strangers. There is a fairly decent vibe among the adults, because we have a bond of love for our pets and some sense of pet responsibility, as well as willingness to come out in the pre-dawn to participate in this odd event. Invariably one or two of the dogs yelps pitifully, keeping the rest stirred up. (I tried to joke to the other parents, "He's the smart one. He knows what's coming," but the other parents just give me a look. I'm not making them laugh.) The van finally arrives and one by one, the little buddies are checked off and loaded up. It's amazing how many carriers actually fit into the van.

Monday afternoon I was riding home from a meeting contemplating this next day's scene, and I decided I couldn't do it. I couldn't put Gizzy on that van. So I called the Animal League lady and left a message. I told Nan who informed me that I had lost my mind. Then yesterday I made arrangements for Gizzy to be fixed at the local vet, but first he must get a rabies shot. (The spay/neuter clinic were going to give G a rabies shot while they had him, but the local vet wants two weeks in between.)

So, Gizzy ends up with a three week stay of testicle execution, and I further cement my reputation among family as having lost my mind when it concerns this dog. Whatever. I couldn't put him on that van. They haven't been there like I have. It is not a happy van ride.