Lowballed

Celebrating a Deathday™: Our beloved Bloomfield’s ballsack. ‘Twas on this day — March 24, 2014 — that we carted off the poor buggerer to go under the knife the doggie doc. The sack whacking was uneventful, as these things go — easy for me to say, as I remain in possession of my family jewelry — but whilst the procedure went off without a hitch — if not a stitch — recovery wasn’t as “lickety-split.” Not long after the anesthesia wore off, our ball-less best friend was overcome with quiet puzzlement followed by full blown despair. By the time we arrived home, he was sulking around as though he lost his two bestest buddies. Bloody hell. ‘Twas a long road back — with goodly measures and patience and encouragement — along with many readings of author Anne Welsh Guy’s "Good-bye, Testicles" — before ‘ole Bloomfield was back in the saddle, humping the leg on the davenport and dumping on the neighbor’s lawn at will. He no longer swayed below — to and fro — but his familiar swagger had returned! Thanks again to the ball cutters at Goddard Veterinarian Group in London, and a special doff of the nurse’s cap to Ms. Anne Welsh Guy for a sensitive subject, “well handled." Go nads!