I screwed up.
Cody should have gone to the vet for a little snippy snippy of his manhood right before we went on vacation. He had by then turned six months old, and since we have never had any intentions of letting him be fruitful and spread his furry genes on to another generation, there was no reason to delay. However, I thought I would be a genius and delay that little snippy snippy project until after we returned. I frankly didn't want to deal with it while I was in the midst of my Disney Anticipation Buzz. Then we got back, and of course a vacation isn't a Real Vacation unless your return from it flat-ass broke. Which we did.
Excuse after excuse, delay after delay, and somehow the furball made it a few months too many with all his berries intact. It wasn't until I started thinking "DAMN, why is this really smart dog still refusing to learn to be housebroken?" that it dawned on me.
Boy dog. Not neutered. Peeing all over our house.
Oh yes, he was.
I immediately called the vet to make an appointment for that little snippy snippy, but OF COURSE there was an additional two-week wait to get his furry little butt in.
Enter the Urine Scene Investigator (credit to plbrickner for that GENIUS title).
Oh yes, Mr. Husband went out and bought a black light so he could find out everywhere that Mr. I Want My Balls Hacked Off with a Spork had peed. Judging by the amount of cussing that went on the first time the Urine Scene Investigator donned his equipment, it was baaaaad. And everywhere.
Yet, I still felt a widdle bit bad for the stupid dog this morning when it was time to load him in the car and take him to the vet for his snippy snippy. I don't know if it's because I'm such a compassionate fool or because I'm just glad *I* will never need snippy snippy, but I looked into his big brown eyes and felt guilty.
Then I saw it.
I had set my camera bag on the floor so I could grab Alexis' lunch bag. Cody apparently mistook Mr. Canon and his wondrous travel accommodations as his territory. Right about then it was probably a REALLY good thing Cody barely even qualifies as a dog. His just-barely-bigger-than-a-football stature meant he didn't quite get enough lift, and ended up just getting the wood floor. BUT HE TRIED TO PEE ON MY BELOVED MR. CANON.
I was so mad I wanted to kick a puppy. And, hey! Look! It's Cody! He's a puppy!
He's damn lucky his only punishment was a little snippy snippy and a little yanky yanky.
Thursday, April 16
I screwed up.