Some­thing Miss­ing

Isis Town and Country - - Opinion - By NANCE BUR­NETT

A SAV­AGE Great Dane at seventy ki­los plus –

(So gen­tle, soft and lov­ing, but only with us),

Had caused so many rows with tem­pers frayed.

“He goes to the vet,” I cried. “I’ll have him spayed!”

(I meant cas­trated. Bad luck he’s not a bitch.)

I prayed the vet could cope with­out a hitch.

The great day dawned and Lance with seda­tives filled

Ar­rived at the vet’s and dread within me chilled.

A calf chain pulled up tight around a post –

The vet crept up be­hind, just like a ghost.

With empty sy­ringe he beat a hasty retreat.

We watched as Lancelot stag­gered on his feet.

The surgery cleared of dogs and staff, we three

Went in – yes, Bill, a stag­ger­ing Lance and me.

We held him down, a towel cov­ered his head.

The vet crept in. “The anaes­thetic,” he said.

“No way will I be here when he comes round:

Be here – one hour – so we’ll be safe and sound.”

We drove back on the hour as spec­i­fied.

“The surgery still stands,” my hus­band cried.

“So sorry I fixed him like a horse on the ground.

He would not fit on my surgery ta­ble, I found.

Here’s a scalpel,” the vet cried out. “No way

Will I re­move those stitches a week to­day!”

At home Jack checked him out and then sat down

To check his jew­els and look at me and frown.

“Don’t worry, Jack. It’s only Lance who’s lighter.

A kilo lost. We hope it curbs the blighter!”

Aware and awake by now my Lancelot

Then checked his gear and glared: Oh, thanks a lot!

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