Spay

Today Olive was spayed. She had no clue what this meant, I on the other hand was overjoyed. I have never actually had a litter of puppies from any of the dogs I have owned over my life, but if they are anything like children I don't want to.

The last Bernese I owned, Alex, I bought to become a show dog. I had big plans. She (and I) were going to be famous. She, because of winning all the dog shows, and I, because I always wanted to run around the ring at the Westminster in a dress and strange flat shoes holding that leash high in the air with the dog prancing beside me. This was my dream.

I contacted breeders. I did my homework. I knew what it would entail and since it seemed harder on the dog then it did on me, I was good to go. I was put on the waiting list for the "perfect dog." I waited and waited and then just for good measure, waited some more. Puppies were born and deemed non-show worthy. Too much white, not enough white, too small, too large. More puppies came and went on to their forever homes, which was not my home. Finally, the call came in. A show puppy was available. I sped to the kennel and brought that little Westminster winner home, thoughts of grandeur occupying my thoughts. I couldn't decide between a shorter dress or a longer, below the knee look. Which would look better with the strange shoes? How should I wear my hair? Where do you buy those strange looking shoes?

I named the future winner Alexandria, after one of my favorite books. I thought that would sound grand when they introduced her to the audience. Her puppies would come from a regal hound with a great sounding name. Turns out there was one small problem with the lovely plan.

The regal hound was a dumb-ass.

Beautiful, yes. Sweet, Oh, yes. Stupid, Oh My God, absolutely.

She was unbelievably dumb. She peed on herself. She ran into the sliding glass door so often, we had to have a curtain made for it. We had to run her to the vets for exams because she cut her head so often. She ate everything she found, keys, coins, small pieces of bark, larger pieces of bark, rocks. X-rays became our gift of choice. Every holiday we exchanged trips to the vet certificates. We broke down and hired someone to help us, since there was no way that dream of taking a victory lap was going to die so easy. They came, they tried, they failed. We hired again. They failed again. We sent her away to become housebroken. She came back, happy, healthy and still able to pee in the house at will.

Then she had her first heat. OH MY GOD! The nightmare still haunts me. I can feel the hives returning to my arms. She was fine with it, after all this was a dog who could happily sleep in her own urine. I was not fine with it. Having white carpet did not make me fine with it. She couldn't go outside. Even though the yard was fenced, every male dog in a 100 mile radius was camped out in our driveway. Vocal complaints about the lack of services provided to them was my daily conversation. The neighbors complained. The front yard started to look like some sort of compost experiment, in fact the inside of the house looked the same. She wanted out to meet her fans and boy did those fans want to meet her!

I was going insane. No longer did visions of trophies occupy my mind, instead it was filled with how much is new carpet, a new yard, bribes to the neighbors going to cost me. How much longer until my house is egged. How much longer can my home smell like a barnyard.

She started pooping in the house.

I shot myself and that dog down to the vet so fast that the pack of suitors were left wondering if the love of their life had been a dream. I had her spayed. She never became housebroken. She never gained an ounce of sense. Running around in circles in the back yard was the closet she came to a winners circle. She never had suitors again. I purchased new carpets for my Valentine's Day present and signed the card "Love Alex." She was a lovely dog. We had her for twelve years. I sometimes miss her when Olive looks at me as she runs into the dining room wall.

No more thoughts of show dogs. I still love Bernese's. They are sweet, kind, beautiful, have a heart of gold and have the silkiest coats EVER. They are however, dumb asses.

Thank Goodness I roll that way.