Slightly Insane Mom

"All mothers are slightly insane." –J.D. Salinger
April 26th, 2014

The Stiffy

You would think when starting a blog, that I would tell you about my husband or my kids, but instead I’m going to tell you about my dog, Shithead. No, that’s not his actual name. Go rent The Jerk, for pete’s sake.

Shithead is a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, a foo-foo breed of canine known for being a companion animal, excellent with children, and also for needing little exercise. Perfect for couch potatoes like me and The Dude. When we got Shithead, we assumed a certain amount of maintenance in terms of grooming, vaccinations, and the usual dog upkeep. We did not, however, count on things like bladder stones, with which Shithead is unfortunately cursed.

Last year, conveniently around the time Mr. Mischief was born, Shithead developed a nasty case of bladder stones, which had him peeing like a 90-year-old man. So off we went to the vet for a pricey stone removal surgery, followed by a special prescription diet that costs lots of money and is apparently the only food he can safely eat for the rest of his life.

At any rate, when he had the surgery, the vet sternly warned me to watch for signs of more bladder stones, because if one gets lodged in his urethra, it could mean IMMINENT DEATH, for either Shithead and/or my new family room carpet.

One day a few months back, I noticed that Shithead was spendingĀ  more time lazing about on my bed than usual. I was alarmed, and drew upon that one youtube video I watched my vast veterinary knowledge to examine him. And what I found was a lump. A big, firm lump right in his abdominal area.

So, fearing for my dog’s imminent demise, I packed up the boys and the dog, and off we went to the vet.

We get there, and they immediately gather up Shithead and hustle him off to the doggy x-ray room. Meanwhile, Mr. Mischief is amusing himself by putting his mouth on every conceivable fur-covered surface in the exam room, and Sgt. Snowflake is whining about playing Angry Birds on my phone. And for some reason, I’m having one of those “Am I suddenly menopausal and I didn’t get the memo?” sweat attacks.

After a while, the doc comes back with Shithead in tow. She has a slight grin on her face.

“Well,” she says, “I have good news. We didn’t find any bladder stones. Shithead is just fine.”

“I’m confused,” I say. “What’s that big mass in his belly?”

“Well, you see,” she says, the smirk growing just a smidge. “Don’t be embarrassed, it happens to dog owners a lot. We see this at least once a week. There’s a thing that happens in the dog’s urinary bulbous glandis blah something… when the dog gets… excited…”

“Oh, don’t tell me,” I say, facepalming. “I brought my dog to see you because he’s horny?”

“Yep,” she says. “On the bright side, no bladder stones!”

So off we went, Mischief, Snowflake, Shithead, and I, after forking over $80 to find out my dog had a boner.