Expectantly Waiting

December 23, 2013

     Eight days from now, tens of thousands of revelers in Times Square, as well as the millions of people watching around the globe, will be waiting for the ball atop a building there to drop, heralding the coming of New Year 2014.

     I will be at home waiting, too, but for another kind of ball to drop --Beau's.

     Beau's testicles have not dropped completely yet.  One is palpable, but the other has gone missing.  Some say spaniels' testicles drop later than other breeds, although the veterinarian never heard such a thing.  He does say that it is a genetic defect carried in the mother's genes, but he is not making a final diagnosis just yet.  He is willing to wait another four months (when Beau will be eight months old) to see if in that time the question resolves itself.

     Dogs are usually neutered at six months, but as Beau is sweet-natured, there's also no rush to remove his testes.  Notwithstanding, Beau's hormones are working their way into his bloodstream: he now jumps up and grabs one of my calves with his front paws and gives the calf a couple of bumps before I shake him off.  I'm flattered (I'm in effect Jocasta to his Oedipus), but it's can't continue.  Whenever it happens, I'm to throw him on his back, to teach him his manners.

     Having had his second round of distemper shots, Beau is now free to meet other dogs, and to play with them.  He still needs two more vaccinations (for bordatella and Lyme disease), but he no longer has to be confined at home.

     Accordingly, we walk to PETCO to return a giant sausage I'd bought on suggestion of the trainer who came by last Sunday.  The meat is too rich for Beau, so I'm training him with kibble and biscuits, which is much easier on his digestive tract, and ultimately on me.  I am constantly cleaning messes off the floor, and laundering clothes and towels --but that's a part of country life with dogs, if not horses (even more work).

     Although today is a red-letter day for Beau, it's not the best day to celebrate the fact: it has been pouring rain all day.  Nonetheless, we walk the twenty blocks back and forth to PETCO, returning soaked to the skin.  Beau soldiers manfully through the deep puddles, the drenching rain and wind, although his efforts to tuck inside building doorways tell me he can't wait to get home.

     Finally we make it back home and I tie him up to a staircase's finial while I enter the apartment to obtain towels to dry him off with.  Now he breaks: he cries pitifully, and I race to get him towels --and biscuits, to reward his steadfastness in the wet.  Once next to him, I drop to the floor and start toweling him vigorously: within moments he is his feisty self again, trying to take the towel away and wiggling furiously as I dry off his armpits --could he be ticklish?

     Beau weighs over fifteen pounds now, at four months of age.  He ought to reach forty pounds when full grown, at about a year old.  Four months before he may be operated on for purposes of locating and removing his testicles.  If the testicles have not descended by then, the surgery will be major.

     It sounds odd to say it, but if they don't drop, they could be anywhere.  Beau might have to be cut from (to use a sailing metaphor) stem to stern, so the doctors can find where exactly the gonads are lodged.  It will also be a longer healing period than a normal neutering procedure.  Not to mention considerably more expensive.

     That's why it was a good idea to buy dog insurance.   Notwithstanding, I hope major surgery won't be necessary.  That is why, for possibly a total of four months, I will be expectantly waiting for Beau's balls to drop.  In the grand scheme of things, that seems much more important than anything happening in Times Square in eight days.