People get their dogs spayed all the time and it's no big deal. They drop them off at the local vet in the morning, then pick them up in the afternoon. They also probably go early enough and late enough so they can leave the kids at home with the other parent because it'll be really quick. That's the smart way to do it. That's not the way I did it.
First, the vets in my area were charging $160 to spay the dog. That's a normal spay - not in heat - and doesn't include, like, anything else. Are you kidding me? I debated whether I should just let her out without her collar, find a payphone for an anonymous Animal Control tip, and then they would spay her and I would pay the fine to pick her up. This idea is not without precedent: my sister adopted a dog had been picked up and spayed immediately. The irresponsible owners didn't want her if she couldn't breed, and now my nieces have a rocking best friend. The plan was dumb because a, my dog is so awesome someone else would adopt her and b, the shelter has probably thought about this and would most likely charge me more than $160 to pick her up.
But seriously, if you really want people to spay their pets, that seems a bit costly. Maybe there's a puppy shortage in this area...
Anyway, thanks to the World Wide Web, I discovered that there were places who would spay a 70-pound dog for $65. Plus we could microchip and clip her nails and get one of those cones of shame and probably full doggy spa day and a back massage for me for less than what the place up the road was charging. The only issue is that this place was "like 35 minutes" from my house. So I'd have to drive a bit, to drop her off, and to pick her up, and I'd have to take the kids, but we could hang out in Austin for a few hours. No worries.
I mapped it. I got directions and time estimates weeks ago. I've been talking about this for weeks - "maybe" we'll spend the day there, but no big deal. When I got the driving directions on Monday, I discovered that, in my head, a 50 minute drive gets translated as "like 35 minutes." Up until that moment, I was thinking I could drop the dog off, come home, and then go pick her back up - for a total of 200 minutes or over three hours in the car. I should never ever ever become a translater for anyone else ever.
We got up early, left the house exactly an hour before Madigan's appointment. Did you know there is traffic in the mornings? I used to know that. I know that now, and I'm lucky there wasn't more. We got there with two minutes to spare, which I squandered right outside the office, trying to stop Audrey from hugging a bird-poop-covered dog statue while I had a freaked out 70 pound dog on an inadequate leash.
I filled out the paperwork during the first 3 minutes of her scheduled appointment - microchip, nail clipping, Cone of Shame, spaying with a release in case she was in heat - and the kids looked at the cats. Since Madigan was getting spayed at the shelter, I asked if we could see the puppies when we came back. I knew that was a dumb idea before it was even out of my mouth - I have the worst Puppy Fever - and Sebastian seized on the idea immediately. It's kind of fitting: his interest in the neighbor's stupid chihuahua puppy is the reason I wanted him to find another source for puppy holding. WHY DO THESE PEOPLE LIKE CHIHUAHUAS SO MUCH?
The woman said we were welcome to hold the puppies in the whole barn full of puppies and small dogs right next door and I started repeating "I will not buy a puppy today" in my head at that very instant. We left to run errands.
Know what's open at 9:00 in the morning? Nothing. Starbucks and nothing. You can drive to the Ikea/JC Penney parking lots and they will be a blank slate just ready for the shoppers who will descend upon the area at 10:00, when doors are actually open. It's a great place to park your minivan and let the kids finish watching Spickital Mean and start Wreck-it Ralph while all the people who work at these stores look at you like you're dumb. The closer you get to 9:35, the more workers show up and the less Facebook can distract you from the hoards giving you weird looks.
We went to Jamba Juice to get a smoothie. Since the place was empty, Audrey and Sebastian drank theirs and danced to some upbeat music while the employees filled a 200-smoothie corporate order. Another customer came in, so we left at 9:54 and went to the opened stores. We were actually pretty productive: summer clothes for Audrey, some shirts for me, household items from Ikea, and the kids got to pick one toy each from the Disney store.
The kids wore down from their initial excitement at JC Penney (which has the cutest little girl clothes and I dare you to try to challenge that), where they ran from me several times. I don't know how many times I had to find them behind some dress hanger and try to sound patient and parent-like in admonishing them. I had to convey my feelings with the line "If you run from me in the store, a new family might take you home and I would be so sad!" An Ikea cart kept them corralled, but the outlet mall was an entirely different beast - concrete everywhere, and you have to rent a cart which may or may not hold the weight of a four-year-old boy. Both kids dragged their feet and asked to go home and take a nap. I used The Disney Store as a bribe, which made Sebastian perk up, but even that couldn't wake Audrey from her "I Am Crossing the Sahara" exhaustion. I mean, if we went into, say a clothing store, she could run around and scream and make faces in mirrors, but if she had to actually, you know, walk, she was suffering. I kept stopping to let her catch up with a sweet and encouraging "Audrey, hurry up honey!"
Nice as I was, Sebastian doesn't take any crap. I think he'll grow up to be a personal trainer. Or maybe he'll be a famous football coach with whole memes dedicated to his red face screaming at people who have dislocated their shoulders. He finally turned to yell at Audrey and the entire outlet mall:
"Yeah, huwwy up Oddball or HAVE FUN WITH YOUR NEW FAMILY!"
This was about 12:05. We couldn't pick up the dog until 3:30. Lunch time?
Audrey fell asleep in the car, but in the restaurant, she was jumping on the booth next to me. I was texting an update to Aaron when Sebastian called the waiter over to refill his mandarin oranges. At that very moment, Audrey put her head in my lap, asleep with broccoli sticking out of her mouth, so I told the smiling waiter it was fine. I ate some of my salad over sleepy Audrey. She didn't budge when a toasted walnut fell on her face, but when I mentioned the golf ball room at the Children's Museum, she was up and jumping again. It was 1:20.
After an hour of playing, sharing, and then having no-nap meltdowns, we jumped into traffic for the 25 minute drive to the vet. By the time we got there, it was 4:00, and Sebastian still had to hold the puppies. I frantically repeated my no-puppy mantra and walked bravely into the puppy barn. Puppy Fever was cured by the first step into a puppy-less barn full of small dogs jumping barking and jumping five feet into the air. Thanks to a free adoption event last Saturday that sent all puppies to other homes, I would leave with one awesome dog and my marriage intact. Plus, a lot of the puppies were chihuahua mixes and pit bull mixes and probably chihuahua-pit bull mixes and that would have been rough. Sure, we would hold some ugly puppies, but pit bull puppies are adorable and against my neighborhood guidelines. Was I willing to move to a different house because I wanted to save a few bucks at the vet and got suckered into another dog? I could have been that dumb.
It was time to pick up Madigan and end the day. It wouldn't take long: just check her out, pay the less-than-$160, and drive the hour home. My kids know how to sit still for a five minute conversation. Add a minute to sanitize Audrey's hands after she pet that bird-poop-covered dog statue and we would be good.
I just didn't see the water coming.
In the morning, we totally ignored the water dispenser. That was before we spent a day out in Texas, before Sebastian's hair got plastered to his temples with little boy sweat. After that plus a hot few minutes surrounded by barking dogs, the water dispenser loomed like an oasis for two kids who had been forced to walk the Sahara all day. I made a donation and gave each of them a paper cone of water, then sat down to sign some forms and pay my bill.
There was a digital photo frame with pictures of former shelter residents and their new families. Audrey and Sebastian settled in front of it, drinking their water with Audrey swiping the screen to move the pictures along. I told her it wasn't an iPad and removed her wet finger from the screen three times before I just gave up.
Madigan was great - took commands well, got microchipped, and had her mani-pedi. She was in heat, so there was an extra charge. I needed to make sure she stayed in the Cone of Shame for five days except to eat, and then watch out with the kids because she would be disoriented with the thing on. Even with the heat charge, we were only paying $105. I handed the lady my debit card and asked some questions to clarify what I needed to do over the next ten days. A tech went back to get Madigan, who would be sensitive to light and sound because of the anesthesia.
There were three other customers being helped, so I was pretty actively tuning out the rest of the office to catch all this information. That's why one of the techs had to walk directly in front of me to say "Ma'am? MA'AM! Your daughter..."
I looked over and Audrey was walking away from the water dispenser with a full paper cone of water sloshing all over herself and the floor. Her shirt and skort were soaking, and she was standing in a path of water that went the full ten feet from the digital picture frame behind me to the donation-only water dispenser she had just operated. The people right next to her were laughing - they had tried to help her, but she called Mayonnaise Elf and had sloshed the cone away from them.
I stood up, and the chair slid back 3 feet. "AUDREY!! NO MA'AM! We do NOT play with water! Do you have a towel...?" The laughing couple reached out to stop Audrey from walking into a bigger puddle while the receptionists giggled behind their hands. Someone else reached for a useless half-roll of paper towels (thanks for mocking me) while the tech brought Madigan from the back room. I tried to hold the leash in my right hand while reaching my left hand towards the soaking child, who was mad that someone was holding her back from bringing me the water cone. My receptionist was asking me to sign a receipt, and since she couldn't get a clear answer on whether I had a copy of the post-surgical instructions, she escaped to find those, chuckling. The tech abandoned me to my very grateful but very freaked out dog, who was using all 70 pounds to turn in circles. I vaguely recall a faceless person thrusting a huge Cone of Shame into my free hand. Audrey broke free and was trying to run when Sebastian stopped her and grabbed the water cone.
It was the closest I have ever been to a full-on Prison Riot.
It was over in two minutes. The water had been wiped up, the receipt was signed, the paper water cone was in the trash, and Madigan was sitting just like the statue outside (but without the bird poop). Sebastian was back in front of the digital photograph and Audrey was quietly telling me that her shirt was wet. With everything paid (including another donation to the water dispenser), I gathered Madigan's Cone of Shame and told the kids to follow me out. And we would have made it too...
Audrey had stopped on the spot that had hosted her largest water puddle and took her right arm out of its sleeve, watching me steadily. She put it through the neck hole of her shirt and proceeded with the left.
"No Ma'am," I said. "Keep your shirt on," I said.
"Wet," Audrey replied, pushing her left arm through the neck and pulling it around her waist.
"Audrey..." Madigan walked the leash around my legs. I shifted my grip to keep from losing her Cone of Shame and all the paperwork.
Audrey turned around and pulled the shirt down around her legs and over her sneakers. She threw it on the ground. I just stood there and blinked slowly, watching the inevitable. It was just her shirt, and we were just going to the car. I stepped out of the tangled leash and grabbed her shirt. Audrey wasn't done.
She bent over, displaying the full Minnie Mouse pink polka-dotted-ribboned back of her pull-up as she pulled her skort down to her calves. This is happening, I thought amidst the laughter of strangers, This is really happening. She sat on the floor to take the skort off over her shoes. She threw it in the one remaining puddle of water and stood back up with her hands on her back, showing off her non-outfit of a pull-up and sneakers. She was finished, or at least satisfied with whatever point she wanted to prove.
The people who had originally helped her with the water dispenser were in stitches. One of the workers told me his six-year-old used to do the same thing, all the time. Sebastian had switched from saying "No Ma'am" over and over to laughing hysterically when I really needed another "Have fun with your new family, Oddball!" Someone handed me her skort. My dog licked my hand. The tech came over to help me get to my car. She carried Audrey and the Cone of Shame, and I would have been fine if that lovely woman had put the two together.
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| See? It makes sense. |
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| Actually, no, the Cone of Shame is super fun. For everyone but the dog. |
It was a long drive home, and the kids were quietly watching a movie, so I had time to relax and ponder the day. I wondered if my stupidity was worth saving the money to get everything done for the dog. I questioned my own resolve and whether I might have adopted a puppy. I wondered if my daughter is really such a cave person that she's lost all sense of public decency.
For most of the trip, I debated whether there was a deeper meaning to Audrey's calm moment of public almost-nudity. On the one hand, her clothes were wet and kids are weird about that stuff. If she was uncomfortable, she hadn't asked for more clothes. Plus, she was so calm while she undressed, deliberately. She paid no attention to her audience, seemed to gain no satisfaction from their enjoyment, so I don't think she'll turn to public stripping as a career.
I glanced at her in the rearview mirror, holding her blanket with a small smile on her face. I realized then that it was a political statement, a protest against the lack of puppies to hold. She was promised puppies and there were no puppies. I knew that, as her mother, I needed to guide her. If she knew how inappropriate her behavior was and yet calmly engaged, I would have to explain a few things. Obviously she needs to know that, in order for a strip protest to be effective, she shouldn't create an excuse for it. The water dispenser business was unnecessary: she should voice her opinion! Be heard! Make The Man uncomfortable, but make him know why he was being made uncomfortable! Audrey should have screamed "THIS IS FOR THE PUPPIES!" to get everyone's attention, then remove her clothing. Then I realized that Audrey had used the water dispenser as a tool to create chaos and, in the aftermath, she had everyone's attention for her moment. I looked again at my daughter, that brilliant social architect, in awe.
We were 35 minutes into the trip, not far from home, when Audrey brought me out of my pondering with two words: "I'm cold." Earlier in the trip, I might have made her the youngest person to receive a "No Shit, Sherlock," but I just muttered "Well..." and left it at that. When we got home, I put Audrey in her new dress and she kept it on until bedtime.
So yeah, the dog's spayed. That's done. I dropped her off in the morning and picked her up in the afternoon, just like other people do all the time.
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| Madigan in the Cone of Shame. Where she will remain for five days. |
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