A Spay Odyssey

"Are you sure you want to do this," asked the veterinarian in Spanish. "She could be worth a lot of money to you in puppies."

No, I was not feeling at all sure I wanted to spay Brynn. But not because I thought I might want to breed her. For all I know, she is the only Pembroke Welsh Corgi in all of Nicaragua, though I think I might have seen one in Managua. My hesitancy was more immediate. I looked around the modest vet office, at all the typical dusty dirt on the floor, on the counter, clinging to every surface. The medicine case was well-stocked with drugs and remedies for every sort of farm animal, dogs, cats, and birds. Marvin, the vet, also known as "Gato," for his dark blue (cat's) eyes, has the physique of an avid soccer player, with handfuls of long dark curly hair, and an infectious smile. He seems a tad hyperactive and talks so fast, I needed help from my friend Rey, who is Marvin's cousin, to translate.

My heart was in my throat as Gato filled a syringe and jabbed it into Brynn's hind leg, something to make her drowsy. Gato did not ask me if she had fasted (she had) or how much she weighs. He gave her a second shot to knock her out, and carried her limp body back into another room. All I could do was sit on the tattered sofa, admiring the many soccer trophies lined up against the wall, and talking to Rey and his wife Mildred for about a half hour. I was spaying Brynn in an excess of caution to try and forestall the cancer that claimed the life of my first corgi, Sugarbunny. I knew that most vets' facilities here are a far cry from the antiseptic, well-equipped and staffed clinics in the U.S., but I also believe that much of the sterility of those lavishly appointed suites is for the comfort and benefit of the pet owners. Surely it is possible to create a sterile field on a table for a surgery, and I crossed my fingers to make it so.

When Gato brought Brynn out to me, she was limp, tongue lolling, her belly orange from the disinfectant, with a neat incision in the center. Gato wrote out instructions for medicines and care, and charged me $40. We went home in a taxi. No sleeping in the dirt with the other dogs for the next few days for Brynn. She was not cooperative with her tummy swabs or pills, but her appetite soon returned, and now, six days later, she is more herself than ever.

Phew.