"Buzz, honey, sometimes pet parents have to ... Buzz, come back here. Put my new flip flop down! That's not a chew toy, get your Kong. As I was saying Buzz, sometimes pet parents have to do something that they don't want to do but have to because it's right for...Buzz, come back here. Stop chewing on the throw rug. Please, come here." Buzz walked back over to where I was sitting, sat in front of me and tilted his head like the RCA dog. I continued. "Sometimes we have to do what's right and responsible and...hey, where are you going now? That's YOUR tail, if you catch it you end up biting yourself. Listen, I need to tell you something important here. Come back."
At this point,he bolted into the kitchen. I followed, exasperated that our communication was so difficult. I found him with his head buried in the corner by the fridge. "Buzz...Buzz? Buzz!" His head popped up like a critter in a Whack a Mole game and he was crunching something. "What do you have there Buzz? Is that ice? I guess the kids dropped a cube on the floor...listen, I need to let you know about something that is going to be happening this week. We are going to be taking you to the doctor. Buzz, honey, you need an operation. Wait! Don't run away again. Where did you get that playbill? Give that to me. Now listen..." And off he ran, up the stairs and under the bed.
He must already know. Most men have a psychic connection to their testicles. Why should he be any different? I sighed heavily and decided to let it go. If he didn't know yet, he'd know soon enough. It was Sunday and his appointment was this coming Tuesday.
Later in the morning, I went up to my room and there he was on the bed, licking his little man area. I backed out of the room quietly and closed the door. Best to give him his privacy and let him enjoy them while he has them. Adios testicles, you were good company while you were here.