Eden M. Kennedy

mission accomplished, pal

Eden M. Kennedy is the co-author (with Alice Bradley) of the book Let's Panic About Babies! (St. Martin's Press, 2011).

A former college-radio DJ, Mrs. Kennedy has driven cross-country six times in a 1973 Volkswagen Bug and enjoys standing on her head.

Currently she works at a nonprofit and is just about finished writing her first novel.

The Usual Half-assed Animal Husbandry

So NATURALLY Cookie went into another heat cycle, because apparently I don't own a calendar, or any anticipatory consciousness whatsoever. Well, that's not true. Last month I'd gotten her in for a heart scan to make sure she'd be okay going under anaesthesia -- most vets worry about putting bulldogs under due to their mashed-up snouts and, in Cookie's particular case, a little click her heart was making that no one could figure out. And they still can't, but it wasn't something that would prevent her from being spayed, for which an appointment was helpfully scheduled, by me, to coincide with yet another biannual bleed.

Now, I wasn't all that worried about Cookie getting knocked up accidentally because Peewee's only, what, seven months old? Yeah, well, it turns out I have a Googling deficiency as well because seven dog months isn't the same as seven people months. Seven-month-old human boys have barely discovered their own ball sacks, whereas seven-month-old puppies have fully-matured sperm that would really like to meet any available fertile eggs you might be willing to introduce them to.

Except that Peewee, comically, doesn't have a fucking clue how to get 'em up in there.

I was loading the dishwasher this morning when behind me I heard an ominous thump! thump! thump! thunp! and I turned around and found Peewee trying to hump Cookie's head while it banged into the refrigerator. If he's not trying to hump Cookie's face -- hell, half the time we find her trying to hump him -- he's got his face buried in her coochie while she stands there quivering. If it goes on too long she just flops down and goes to sleep.

"Hey, she's just like you," says Jack. Ha ha.

Anyway, now Peewee's taking Cookie's neutering appointment, and by this time tomorrow his fuzzy little balls will be floating in a keepsake Mason jar on my desk. Oh, I thought about getting him some prosthetic balls, but they'd be for me, not for him, he's too stubby to get his nose down there for a peek, much less a lick.

So farewell, Peewee's balls! Although the vet says you'll still have sperm for up to another month and we need to keep you and Cookie separated, just say the word and I will carefully duct tape a bag of frozen peas to your affected area until the swelling goes down.

Balls!