What needs "fixing?"

Today I took Linus to the veterinarian to get "fixed." Let's ponder that word for a moment, shall we? To be fixed, I would think, is to be improved, upgraded, set right or adjusted to an optimal state of being or existence. When my car breaks down, I usually go get it fixed. The outcome: the car runs just as it was made to run. It functions properly and is able to perform the tasks or objectives it was created to accomplish, such as get me from Point A to Point B.

So, when I go get Linus "fixed," as I am told by innumerable dog owners and veterinarians, he's going to be made right... right? I've struggled with this issue for quite some time now. There's nothing "fixed" about having your natural, God-given reproductive organs removed from your body. It doesn't seem fair to me, especially when you're dealing with a dog as low-key, good-natured and, let's be honest, non-sexual as Linus. If he was embarrassing himself by accosting his fellow dogs all the time, then we'd have been to see Dr. Stoops several months ago. But, with the exception of a couple of incidents, he's really seemed unmotivated by sexuality. And, as the saying goes, if it's not broke, why fix it?

I think part of me has held out hope that we would run into some pretty little female bulldog who Linus would fall madly in love with, and they would have babies and live happilly ever after. I think I have had that fantasy for my dog (and myself... with a human man) since I saw Pongo and Perdie fall in love in a park in the original 101 Dalmations. I've practically bribed my sister to find an unrelated female"wife" for Linus. But I've gotten no dibs, though admittedly, my search has been constrained, and we've reached a point where we had to make a decision.

When I lifted Linus into the passenger's seat of my car this morning, he was innocently excited to go for a ride. Though I could sense he was suspicious - it's not common for us to wake up without breakfast and immediately take a ride. It was spouting rain and I was in a strange state of mourning (over Linus' ensuing loss of reproductive abilities). By the time we arrived to the vet's office, I knew he could sense something was about to go down.

I carried him across the puddles and up the stairs into Woodford Animal Hospital. I set him on the scale to get his weight. "Wow, we're 26 pounds now. All growed up." I could feel him quivering on the scale, and I knew he wasn't cold. He was scared.

We were led into an examination room where I helped Linus balance his shaky body on an examining table. A warm and way-too-awake for 7 a.m. vet technician entered shortly after us, and Linus greeted her with his usual enthusiasm for people. The questioning was standard as she sifted through the paperwork. But she detected my strife as I struggled to keep the tears back. As she held him on the table, I admitted to her I was nervous and didn't fully understand the benefits of this surgery. I expected that she would react with the same disbelief and annoyance as other dog owners had displayed when I brought up my anxiety about this "routine" procecdure. Instead she very knowledgably and empathetically shared facts with me about how I will be preventing prostate cancer in my dog by going through with this surgery. (SOLD!) She asked me his age, then followed up by saying he could still display more extreme signs of "dominance" in just a few months, and getting the problem taken care of now was a smart decision for both of us. She also told me the quick and easy procedure would likely not affect his pleasant personality.

"Unless you are dead set on breeding him, you are doing him a favor," she said.

Wow. Those words made such a difference to me. It struck me, the skeptic: this "fix" could possibly be something good for him. And while he was born with these natural reproductive parts that could be used for procreation, it's not mandatory. In fact, I would even say it's not important to him. 

I kissed my puppy on the head and released him into her arms. I turned on the radio and tried not to think about the surgery as I made my way to work. Just over an hour after I walked in my office, I received a call.

"Ms. Troutman, Linus just got out of surgery, and he did great."

Now that was a quick fix.