Little Flirt was spayed today.
She is seven years old, and my constant companion. I guess I was worried about the surgery because I had dreams about uterine related things for several nights. In last nights dream I was having a hysterectomy, and my vet was performing the surgery. There were two other women having the same surgery, and we all thought it was just great to be having it done by a veterinarian and not in a more traditional way.
Our normal morning routine is that I let the dogs out, and when they come in they get a cookie or two. Flirt was displeased when there was no cookie forthcoming. (She wasn't allowed food or water after midnight.) When we got to the vet's office she was fine and happy, until she realized I was leaving her there.
I was one of those pet owners. I brought her own little bed so she would have something familiar to snuggle. And I asked to go back and put her in the cage. The staff were understanding and kind, ribbing me just a little. I sweetened the deal with two fragrant loaves of home made bread, fresh from the oven.
When she was tucked into her cage she began to tremble. Luckily for me there is a young woman who volunteers there who knows Flirt, and I suspected she might comfort her.
I went home and fretted. It took some serious will power to prevent myself from calling to check in on her, but I prevailed. I did, however, keep the phone where I could both see and hear it and snatched it up when I saw the doctor was calling. I heaved an enormous sigh of relief when his soothing voice assured me that all was well.
Then I counted the hours until I was able to pick her up. My vet told me that her blood work was "perfect." Then he raved a little about how nice and clean her teeth are. For those readers who might be less intimately involved with dogs than I am, toy poodles are famous for having horrible teeth. Because their mouths are so small, they tend to build up a lot of tartar and are prone to gum infections. I have known toy poodles as young as 3 years old which had advanced dental disease already. I take a bit of pride in the fact that Flirt's teeth are sparkling white and her gums healthy.
I asked if I could go get her out of her cage, the vet laughed. "She's been held most of the day." It turns out my hunch was right. The volunteer had held her most of the morning until she had her operation, and when I went back a lovely technician had her cuddled up in her arms. I was unreasonably glad to have her warm little body back in my arms.
Once home she peed, refused supper, threw up on my bed, and finally settled in next to me, under a quilt, and after a long time, stopped trembling. Every now and then she moans piteously. She looks drunk and pathetic.
I love this little dog, and the place felt empty without her today. I hope I have many more years to enjoy her blithe, happy spirit in my life.