This is my first time participating in Wendy’s “Life is Funny.” Join her for some giggles! No promises I’ll be back next week. I’m a random blog carnee.
We waited many years to get a dog at our house. I never grew up with one, but since Ron Burgundy continued with his nightly prayers “God bless Duke, Scampy, the other Scampy, Cookie, Tiger, Becky Paulson….
Becky Paulson?? We need to find another dog for the prayer list and get that old girlfriend out of there.
So along came Buddy, a brand new pup born to my secretary’s prize pooch. Beautiful purebred black lab. The cutest little puppy we’d ever seen. It was love at first lick.
We waited a few months to get Buddy feminized. Nobody’s leg was safe in the house, and with the kids in high school, his humping was becoming a spectator sport fast.
I called on the local vet, who had been a friend of ours for years. I got the instructions – keep him without food from 10 pm on, and bring him in at 9 am. He’ll be ready to pick up at 4.
When I took him in, I said to Dr. Phil (no joke) “So what do you do with those testicles, anyway?”
“We cut them off.”
“No, I mean, do you just throw them away?” I’m not sure why I wanted to know. It was the nurse in me, I guess. I didn’t want any part of illegal dispositon of body parts, and testicles in particular.
“We can save them for you if you like. Perhaps you’d like some lovely jewelry.”
In the back of my mind, I knew Dr. Phil, and I knew he was up to something.
When I picked Buddy up at 4, I was presented with a very dopey dog and a white gauze package. Dr. Phil couldn’t wait to see the look on my face.
When I unwrapped the gauze, there they were, in all their glory. Buddy’s family jewels. Each one had a jumbo paper clip stuck through the narrow end, making some oh-so-gross earrings!
I laughed until I thought I’d cry. These were special.
I took them home, laid them on the kitchen counter, and couldn’t wait to show Ron Burgundy Dr. Phil’s handiwork. But alas, it was never to be seen.
Poor Buddy, starving from not having eaten all day, had a nose for raw meat. And after laying sleepily on the floor for an hour, he suddenly jumped up, placed his paws on the kitchen counter (he was a rather large black lab), and promptly grabbed those testicles. I was across the room and leaped toward him, but to no avail.
He was already eating them. I was able to wrestle the paper clips away – he didn’t have much interest in them.
The testicles. Were. Gone.
In a panic, I called the vet, but the office was now closed and I got the answering service.
“I don’t know what to do! My dog just ate his testicles!”
“Um, yeah, Ma’am, they do like to lick them sometimes, but they won’t actually eat them.”
“You don’t understand…you see, Dr. Phil made me these earrings….” My voice drifted off. This could not be happening. “I’ll call him at home. I need to talk to him now,” and I hung up the phone.
“PHIL!!!” I screamed in the phone. Buddy just ate his testicles! What should I do??”