Nutered or Neutered?

Our dog was neutered this past week.
It’s a simple procedure where in twenty minutes time under heavy anaesthesia, they remove one of his male parts and he’s left emasculated with a plastic cone around his neck to show for it.

I’m not laughing when I see him crash against the walls, crash against the floor or crash against us… at least, not on the outside.

It seems awful of me, but believe me: I can’t help it.

I’m being all tender with him: giving him treats, brushing his hair, and petting him more than usual to compensate for the cone-wearing state I have left him after a visit to the Vet.
My husband chastises me all the time because I stifle some giggles while helping Buono get onto his bed or while playing whit him and seeing how he can’t pick-up his favourite toy from the ground.

His cone is always on his way, he can’t even eat properly but growls at me when I get near his food.
I’ve come up with a strategy to make him learn faster how to properly walk for the next ten days: every time he has to walk some place and bums into chairs or the table, I grab his cone, and help him walk while saying: “up, up, keep it up”.

He looks at me with annoyance in his face, most surely thinking: how is it possible that I’m the uncoordinated one now?

Buono knows that I can’t walk straight and am always stumbling onto something.

I’ve seen him dreadfully looking at me when I’m stepping over him, afraid that I might fall over and make dog-puree out of him.

Now, I’m the one on the lookout, keeping an eye for “the cone”, hoping for him not to bump me from behind, because we’ll end up, both of us, splattered onto the floor: the clumsy one and the cone-head.

 Clumsy-Cone Puree

Tap-Water, Video and Meringue

Last Friday we celebrated C.T.’s B-day.
Our group is compound by three couples with very different backgrounds.

My husband who’s from Dominican Republic, C.T.’s husband who’s from Germany, and R.B.’s husband who’s from Switzerland. Me and my girlfriends are the only ones 100% pure Argentineans in the lot.

Every time we get together, I find these new and amazing facts about their lives that surprise me: like when I came across the fact that R.B.’s husband might (or might not) has been a Swiss porn start; his acting career reduced to only one line on the big screen: Aufmerksamkeit (Attention!).

One can only imagine the circumstances when this line was delivered.

Or this other time, when C.T.’s husband was found to have a weakness for Kahlua with berry juice: some story about it being an aphrodisiac for one of his early life girlfriends.
As he explained, the drink transformed the so called girl into this ‘experimental’ person.
With that, I came to the conclusion that: first, he’s really old (thirty five years versus our average twenty eight years calls for a lot more experience; experience equals age), second, he wants to see you wasted (he offers alcoholic drinks like candy; Germans have a lot of resistance to alcohol) and third, when being in a ‘happy’ state, he coughs in your face.

I, on the other hand, get stimulated with diet coke and tap-water.

-          Bring on the hard stuff!! – I said, and the waiter kept them coming.

Let me tell you, after seeing me laugh my ass off, everybody wanted to try tap-water straight up.
That’s to show you that you don’t need to get wasted in order to act insane.

My husband, on the other hand, behaves himself as the Prince he is: elbowing away under the table to every misplaced comment I did under my tap-water stupor, and always complaining about the music of choice by the deaf DJ (mostly dreadful Meringue).

R.B. always sits two miles away from her husband on the table, mostly to talk to him (screaming is more like it) over a sea of people and share dishes over everybody else’s dinner. She never heard about discretion and prudence.

C.B. is pregnant so, she finally has a real excuse not to drink (“I’m the designated driver” was getting old so she decided to get pregnant instead), and of course, we pamper her constantly when we’re together.

The night ended at 10:30 pm: to show that we’re crazy-nighters, party-goers, heavy-drinkers and most importantly, getting old.

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