monsoonmartin

In honor of his successful surgery today, I thought I’d let Bunk write this post reflecting on his experiences. Enjoy!

Hey, everybody! Has anyone seen my nuts?

But I kid. How they hangin'? Just a little joke among us castrati.

Earlier today I was neutered. I was asleep for it, but I’m not going to lie: I’ve got some lingering groin tenderness.

I know all about why it’s good and right for me to have undergone this surgery. I’ll live longer, I’ll stop pissing on the vacuum cleaner at the doggy day care, and I can stop all the damned humping already. (Not that I was known for it or anything—my owners nipped that in the bud the first time I got a little too friendly with a leg—but every now and again, when the testosterone started flowing...well, a dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do.)

I spent the first hour or two after my owners brought me home in utter misery. As if the whole castration thing weren't indignity enough, I’ve got this goddamned Elizabethan collar on my head to stop me from biting the wound. I’m trying to walk around the house, and I don’t have peripheral vision worth a good god damn, so I keep running into shit. Mr. and Mrs. Monsoon keep stifling laughs when that happens, like it’s adorable and pathetic all at once. Maybe I’ll bite one of them on the ankle, and then when they hop around bleeding and screaming, I’ll snicker about how adorable and pathetic they look. Hey—a dog can dream...

After laying and whining for a bit, then trying futilely to rid myself of this infernal collar, I had a bit of a nosh and then conked out in front of the door. I’m supposed to wear this thing 24/7 for ten days, and I can’t run and jump for a week and a half either (no worries there—I don’t think Monsoon would be elevating for any dunks after having his tatties lopped off, you know what I’m saying?).

Below are a few pictures, some of which will enable you to enjoy a titter at my expense. Go on. Laugh it up, Chuckles. I may be a fuzzy ball of unimaginable cuteness, but I'll ... well, suffice it to say I’ve met some pretty unsavory bitches at doggy day care.

The BUNK

I gaze out the window in simpler times, just days before the surgery: pre-collar, pre-"fixing." It just ain't right. 

Trying to get a bite to eat.  Pondering the indignity of it all.

Monsoon