Oops, Forgot Your Ovary!

So the Fortnight of Andrew continues, even if today has been unceremonious. The morning started with protein shake and then some abdominal crunches. I can do a thousand now.

Then I took Harley to the vet's office for her exploratory surgery. Despite the fact that she was not given any food or drink after 10 last night, I don't think Harley had any idea what she was in for. I do, however, think that Harley has acquired a raging distaste for the vet's office. If not before, then surely now.

After I dropped her off, I headed back home where I caught up on some DVR'd episodes of Pornucopia. I had seen all of them several times before, but for some reason they just don't get old. While watching Pornucopia, I made an oversized goosedown pillow that I will give to the third homeless man or woman I encounter next Tuesday, assuming he or she can answer the following question correctly: "How many feathers are in this pillow?" An incorrect answer results in me yelling "wrong!" then ripping the pillow open and counting the feathers out loud, one by one. When finished, I will condescendingly yell, "See?!" Then I'll burn a $100 bill in front of them as I walk away singing "My Way" by Frank Sinatra.

My stitching was interrupted by a call from the vet. Harley, though groggy and a little lighter, was still alive. It turns out that whoever performed the spaying back when Harley was a puppy was, how you say, not so good. Maybe spayings are performed differently in southwestern Ohio than they are in the rest of the world, but whoever spayed Harley (we'll call him Dr. Cletus) took out the uterus. And Dr. Cletus out that pesky left ovary. But I'll be damned if Dr. Cletus didn't just go ahead and LEAVE THE ENTIRE RIGHT OVARY INSIDE THE DOG. I don't claim to be a vet -- at least not on Tuesdays -- but I think I know enough about anatomy to know that when spaying or neutering a dog, the best results are achieved when all reproductive organs are removed.

This "right ovary" that Dr. Cletus left inside my dog was just doing its job, making Harley's teats swell and secrete a "milk like" fluid, making Harley's vagina emit a "blood like" substance, and making Harley's vagina swell and emit a scent to attract red rockets at the dog park. Oh yeah, and making a new uterus. Yes, my dog was regenerating the uterus that Dr. Cletus so carefully removed.

So, the lesson to be learned is that when you get a dog that has allegedly been spayed from a rescue in Cincinnati, make sure to ask whether it was fully spayed or if it just got the ol' Cincinnati Spay. I want to say I'm surprised, but what the hell do I expect from a town that roots for a football team appropriately referred to as the Bungles?

Anywho, Harley gets to stay at the vet's office -- most likely cursing me nonstop -- until tomorrow afternoon, at which time I will pick her up and bludgeon most of my hopes for the Fortnight of Andrew, since I will have to constantly make sure that Harley is not biting her stitches. Hopefully they give her one of those hilarious head cones. Rest assured, if they do, a photo of her pathetic coned head will make it onto the World Wide Web somehow.

To calm my rage from the Cincinnati Spay, I rearranged the entire apartment, and then put it back to how it was before. Then I hit the laundromat to see how many slugs it takes to break one of those huge triple washers. The answer is one.

Currently I'm watching Goonies while challenging myself to a Martha Plimpton soundalike contest. Soon I will depart for a gymnasium, where I will use a medicine ball and calisthenics to ensure physical fitness.