Sugarless

Sugar and I arose with the morning sun as usual and took our morning constitutional. But there the similarity with our morning routine ended. Sugar was not allowed to eat anything. We didn't even go back in the house. I hustled her into the back seat of the car and before she knew what was happening, off we drove to the vets. Her time had come.

I delayed the inevitable as long as I could, using the excuse of cancer and not feeling quite up to snuff. But I could put it off no longer. Sugar must be fixed. Not that she's broken, mind you. But at 6 months, one is supposed to intervene with nature's normal course and prevent anything resembling more puppies from occurring.

We arrived on that gray drizzly morning with four or five other surgery patients and checked in. Sugar was quite excited about visiting with other canines, not realizing what was about to happen. Her first clue was when the assistant appeared with a blue and white choke collar leash and snapped it smartly over her head. Suddenly Sugar stopped playing and began struggling against the leash.

She turned and looked at me with wild eyes, as if to say, "No! No! Don't let them take me!" I figured the best defense was a hasty retreat. The house was oddly silent and still for the rest of the day. No jumping, licking, squirming puppy to greet me at the door when I came home for lunch. No door scratching begging after dinner. No wriggly reticent ball of fur to tuck into her tent bed at night.

How amazing that in a few short months Sugar has so worked her way into our lives and hearts! Who would have thought? She comes home tomorrow anew woman. I can't wait.