it came out sounding a lot like, “Woof, woof.”
We were directed to the second sitting room where we awaited the arrival of my primary care physician.
Thoughts continued to bounce around in the cavern of my brain. Life couldn’t be so cruel as to give me a home and a doting family, only to snatch it away, could it? I vowed to get a second opinion, especially if the diagnosis on my chart was spelled Kancer.
After quite some time, the vet opened the door and came in. He was tall and skinny, and he wore a white lab coat.
As this was the first time my mother required the services of a pet doctor—I had only been with the family for a month—she had many questions for him. I had some, too.
The first was, “Where are my balls?” and the second was, “Can I have them back?”
Before I could even open my mouth to ask, my mother began firing questions at him. After some time he was able to assure her that he was a licensed practitioner in the state of New York and that he was up to speed on all things dog. This seemed to calm my mother down, although the fresh smell of his diploma on the wall made me uneasy.
Quickly thereafter my mother told him of the lumps all over my chest and stomach. The more she talked the more hysterical she got.
This prompted Dr. Feelgood to grope me all over. After a few strokes here, a pat there, and an inappropriate touch later, the doctor said he couldn’t find a thing. I felt like telling him to leave a twenty-dollar bill on the table for the good time, but before I could he asked my mother to point out what she had felt.
She quickly found the first lump, a second, and then a third. There were more and they were everywhere. I was as good as dead…three weeks, maybe a month to live by my estimation. I’d never have the opportunity to pee on a Frenchman in Paris, to sniff an Italian crotch at the Vatican, or to outwit a Polack in Warsaw.*
I rolled glumly toward the doc so he could verify the prognosis.
He confirmed my mother’s fears, “You’re right. There are growths all over his body.”
I waited for the fateful words to pass his lips, “I’m sorry, but Bo has cancer,” but they never came.
In fact, according to the doc, they weren’t cancerous at all. “What you’re feeling there ma’am, are called nipples. Dogs, both female and male, have them all over their bodies. You did know that male dogs have nipples, didn’t you?”
“It’s not cancer, then?” my mortified mother asked.
“Uhmm, no,” the doctor said. And then with a small laugh he asked, “Did you know men have nipples, too?”
“I’m not an idiot. Of course I knew that!” my mother responded, although in the back of my mind I wondered if she really did.
As he left the room, the doctor gave my mother some final words of wisdom: “Oh, if you’re wondering what that big growth is at the base of his belly, that’s a penis.”
With that and a wink, he was gone, not only out of the room but as my primary care physician as well.
After the door shut, I jumped up and down with relief. I had my life back. I had my life back! My mother, however, stood there like a cigar store Indian, trying to make sense of what just transpired.
I quickly came to realize some humans were superior beings after all. It’s just that my mother wasn’t one of them.
Even though the day started out ominously, it ended with no enduring consequences. Well, none other than the annual mammograms my mother now has me get.
CHAPTER 4
Twisted Sister
They met, quite by chance, at my father’s apartment. Both my parents had just graduated college and were looking to enjoy a final summer of freedom. As luck would have it, my father’s roommate was dating my mother’s friend. And thus it transpired that a casual stop by my father’s apartment turned into a lifelong romance.
As my father tells it, he was immediately impressed with her and, being the go-getter that he is, ignored her. He was of the school, pay no heed to them and they’ll want you more. That’s probably why he spent the majority of his college years standing next to a keg, by himself.
As my mother tells it, he was just a shy guy on the couch who wouldn’t say boo, but he was cute in a quiet kind of way.
Destiny would provide for several more chance encounters throughout the summer, allowing them to get to know each other. After a street festival filled with drinks, my father finally got up the nerve to ask her out.
Their first dinner was at Margarita’s, their first movie Crocodile Dundee, and their first kiss was in an apartment overlooking a Dunkin’ Donuts. If it was me, I would have passed on the kiss and opted for an apple fritter instead. The important thing was that my parents had found each other, and in the process someone they could each count on when times got tough.
Now, many years later, they were completing the first year of their marriage and getting to know me—their first dog.
Over the few months I’d been with them, I noticed they had a loving relationship. They didn’t show it in traditional ways like licking each other, or smelling each other’s crotch, but rather by giving a pat on the rear here and a smooch there. With some people you can just tell they were made for each other.
As a rule, I didn’t generally trust humans, although these two were tough to resist. Take for instance my mother. Although I wasn’t sure why she wasn’t working, it allowed us to take many walks, go on spur of the moment car rides, or just lay around watching TV during the day. I loved the feel of her hand on my head, the sound of my name passing her lips, and the smell of her Chef Boyardee cooking. The tentacles of a lifelong bond started to grow.
The relationship with my father, on the other hand, was based on the games we played in the limited hours we spent together when he got home from work. Most notably we played tug-of-war. With my strong jaws, I won easily unless he cheated, which he often did by blowing in my face. Trust me, you would have let go of the rope, too—the man did not like to use Scope. Regardless, I’d still let him win every once in a while. It helped to boost his confidence and it brought us closer together.
All in all, things were progressing rather nicely and I was slowly letting my guard down.
It wasn’t long, however, before my mother found work outside of the home and changed the dynamics of our routine.
She held a criminal justice degree and was eager to put it to use. Her opportunity came in the form of a paralegal position for a real estate attorney. Her primary job duties were to file this, copy that, and collate it all until her head hit the desk. If her doing this wasn’t a crime, she didn’t know what was, but it helped pay the bills. At least for a few weeks, anyway.
Top Ten Reasons I Love My Mother
1. She feeds me.
2. She saved me from a life in the big house.
3. When I bark at her,
