|Article Overview: When
a new bride asks her new husband to castrate his two dogs, what
happens? Does Vigilance or Terrorism rule the roost. Last
night I was thrust in the center of a discussion/debate over the value
of urine-free love. I chose the cowardly path--and
assumed the role of Complacency. Did I let "Urine
Terrorism" prosper, or did I simply protect myself from a war I
couldn't win? Find out in this "Tale of Castration!"
2003—Ground Zero Plus 773
Castrating The Dogs--A Newlywed's
Editor, New York City Combat Correspondent News
GROUND ZER0, New York, N.Y.--Oct. 25, 2003-- Last
night I visited a dear old friend who had recently been married.
The marriage was thirteen days old to be exact, not exactly a lucky
The conversation was even unluckier.
At least, that is, for the two scruffy
little dogs my friend inherited when she married the love of her life
almost two weeks ago.
It seems my friend's love for her new
husband blinded her to the reality of marriage--that she would have
two dogs plus one husband to love and care for. But, the
blindness of love prior to marriage made her either overlook, ignore,
deny or blatantly wait in ambush for the right time and place to
suggest to her new husband that his two little dogs, age four, be
whisked to the vets for an operation to remove their testicles.
"Snip-snip," she called it. "Snip-snip!"
have had a "snip[snip"
Her new husband's reaction
was a deep grimace and to scoop up the two male dogletts in his burly
arms, hug them to his chest and respond: "Only over my dead
Well, even if he didn't quite say those words,
they were written upon his face, kind of like the close-up of the guy
who had just been kneed in the groin by Alias star, Jennifer Garner.
My friend, whom I will call Lane, deeply
loves her new husband. Of that there is no doubt.
She is a successful professional woman here in New York City.
Her husband, whom for identity purposes I will call Bill, is a "manly
man," a rugged individualist persona whom the average person would not
spend one minute in argument with on any issue that might raise his
He worships Lane up to a point.
That point came to sharp edge last night when Lane asked my support in
promoting the castration of Bill's two terrier male urination
Yorkies are Terrorizing my friend by marking her and her new
It seems the
two little Yorkshire Terriers (teacup size) like to lift their legs
and mark the apartment. In more crude terms, they
pee on about anything and everything.
Bill has been a bachelor for quite a number
of years. His job required him to work long hours, and, ala a
Seinfield television script, the dogs virtually ruled the roost.
House training the dogs was low on Bill's list of priorities.
Lane, on the other hand, has a fetish for
cleanliness. The idea that two little male dogs
sneak about in the day and night searching for places to lift their
tiny legs and mark the limited confines of a New York City apartment
makes her shudder.
Her solution, sprung upon the attendees of
her first married dinner party last night (remember, the 13th day of
marriage), was for them to support her desire to have the two male
Yorkshires rendered into eunuchs.
I was the center of the discussion.
Years ago I had a rambunctious male Husky
named Zonka. My wife to this day shakes her head and sighs
"he was such a bad dog". He was nearly 100 pounds of rabid fury,
constantly raising his leg and marking everything in sight.
Male dogs mark their territory by
surrounding the things they claim as their property with a ring of
urine to let any intruder--such as a Terrorist dog--know the Sentinels
of Canine Vigilance are standing guard. Urine is a
dog's Homeland Security force.
Zonka was a
gift from my wife
Zonka was a gift to
me from my wife, Lori, many years ago. He was the "brute"
of the litter, big and tough and with an automatic leg that lifted so
he could spray his Vigilance Protection on anything or anyone he
One of the more insane stories of his
urinifaction of the world legends that made me the epicenter of
discussion was Zonka's trip to Dana Point Beach when he was about a
Male Husky dogs are amicable with other dogs up
until the first year. It seems after that time they tend to want
to fight every other male dog to near death, and are not noted for
I took Zonka to Dana Point Beach in sunny
Southern California where we lived at the time and let him romp with
other dogs. Humans were also at the beach sunning
themselves and enjoy the beauty of a warm summer's day.
I noted that Zonka was chasing another dog around
some people about 100 yards away. He was getting quite
excited, singling out one dog I assumed might be a female.
He was running near a couple of young women
sitting on the sand. One of them didn't have a swimsuit on, and
was sitting with her friend talking when I gasped in horror.
Zonka stood behind the woman and lifted his leg.
I froze. It couldn't be, I thought. He couldn't be
doing what it looked like he was doing. I let out a
deep breath when the woman didn't move. My perspective from afar
made it appear that Zonka might have just been peeing in the sand.
That's when Zonka turned and lifted his other leg and took the stance
of any Sentinel of Vigilance warding off impending Terrorists to his
I ran to the scene, hoping that my eyes
deceived me. I was sure he hadn't hit the mark
because the woman didn't move.
As I approached Zonka and latched the leash
onto his collar, I glanced at the woman's back. She was wearing
a pink blouse. It was soaked in urine, a kind of "Z" mark etched
across her back from both a left-right double leg lift.
Zonka was a
canine bulldozer when he sniffed a female in heat
She glared at me.
"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," I begged.
"Please, let me pay for your blouse."
The young woman just sat there, her
face frozen in disgust. "No thank you," she harrumphed.
Red-faced, I skulked away with Zonka in tow, not quite believing what
Later, I was to assume that the young
woman had just experienced the worst week of her life.
Perhaps, I conjured, she had gone to work and found a pink slip at her
desk, ending her job. Later that day her boyfriend must
have called her and told her he was breaking up with her.
And, perhaps the IRS had sent her an audit request the same day.
In desperation of a horrible day in her life, she went to the beach to
sit with a friend and enjoy a respite from life's cruel nature, only
to have a dog come up behind her and urinate, not once, but twice on
Her lack of reaction must have been a
sign of ultimate resignation to the world's cruelty. Why else
would she not have jumped up, screamed, shouted and demanded
"Cut off that dog's balls!" She could have
screamed with ultimate justification.
I thought of that story as Lane urged me to
tell Bill how Zonka's nature as a urnination machine had shifted once
he was castrated.
I looked at Bill.
Poor Bill, I thought. Here, just
thirteen days into his marriage, his new wife was urging him to lop
off the testicles of his two dogs. It was not unlike
she was asking him to cut off part of himself.
I looked at the Yorkshires. One of them was
shivering in my lap, as Yorkshires shiver when they sit on anyone's
lap. Their tiny bodies seem vulnerable, innocent, unless you're
Lane watching them lift their legs on pieces of furniture, or stalking
your beautiful pillows to turn the pure silk coverings into stinky
Castration was a radical alternative Lane threw
out in my direction. I wanted to duck the issue.
Bill looked at me, man-to-man, to rally against Lane's diagnosis that
the problem of the two little dogs peeing on everything in sight could
be ended by a vet's deft "snip-snip."
My throat went dry.
Lane has been a close, close friend of our family
since she was a little tyke. She knew all about our family
history, and especially about how Zonka's nature changed once I had
him "snip-snipped." Of course, the reason I had Zonka
fixed was whenever a female dog in the neighborhood went into heat he
escaped over the eight-foot fence I had built and turned into a
neighborhood serial dog rapist.
He was also dangerous to human beings
during mating season. His eyes would cloud over as though he
were drugged by the scent of lust. He would howl endless
and often threw his massive body against the garage door like he was a
battering ram. If you got in the way of his desire to break
free, he would bowl you over. He could even hurt you in his frenzied
attempts to escape.
named after Larry Csonka, linebacker leading the Miami Dolphins to
three Superbowl experiences
We had named
him Zonka after watching Larry Csonka in a Superbowl. The huge
linebacker crashed through other people like a raging bull, and our
Zonka was not unlike him. Thus, when Zonka was anywhere near a
female dog in heat, he was a canine bulldozer.
I looked at the fluffy little
Yorkshire's, their tiny bodies shaking and wiggling about, about as
far from a pair of serial canine rapists as I could imagine.
"Well, Cliff, back me up on this snip-snip
subject. Tell Bill how castration helped calm down Zonka."
Lane was all but glaring at my silent face.
I stumbled out a few words about Zonka, but as I spoke, I saw Bill's
face scrunching up. It was as though we were all talking about
having his testicles snipped. Even as I tried to
support Lane, I felt a sharp pain in my own groin.
Alas, the dinner was great but the
conversation not so glorious. On the subway home, I
laughed at the scenario. Here, on the thirteenth day of
marriage, our old and dear friend Lane was facing the Urine
Terrorists. They were threatening her sense of
order, sense of cleanliness, sense of femininity.
Poor Bill, fiercely in love with
Lane, had faced a great dilemma: Love of Lane versus love of his dog's
It was, without question, an evening
Lane obviously slept with one eye
open, keeping her mind tuned in the darkness to the sounds that might
signal a tiny Yorkshire leg lifting to spray urine upon some precious
artifact she brought to the marriage.
Then, there was Bill, sleeping also with
one eye open, fearful that Lane might rise in the dark of night and
"snip-snip" his buddies' balls, or steal them out of the apartment to
the all-night, drive-through vet.
Bill has a good
argument against the radical surgery of removing his dogs' four
testicles (two each for those who are counting). His point
is: "No snip-snip until I'm convinced there is scientific
evidence the castration will eliminate the marking."
Unfortunately for Lane, I have to agree.
Emasculating the dogs without any assurance
their "marks-a-lot" behavior will change seems, without question, an
extreme act. So, I'm tempted to research the issue and
offer my evidence, weak or strong.
But, I've decided to duck the issue.
I know that Vigilance require more Courage than
Fear, more Conviction than Intimidation, and more Right Action than
Complacency to battle the Beast of Terror and stand victorious.
However, the Yorkshire Urine Terrorists leave me
little choice but to assume the role of a Fearful, Intimidated and
Complacent friend about taking sides on the issue.
One might castigate (that's different from
castrate) me for ducking and running on the issue. But, I
figure, this a Terrorism-Vigilance issue better left to be resolved
between Lane and Bill.
owners can live with Urine Terrorism and some can not
It means that sometimes we all have to face
the fork in the road. Do we take the Lane Road or the Bill Road?
Do we advocate for the castration of a couple of dogs in hopes they
will stop lifting their legs and fouling the new nest Lane is trying
to arrange "urine free," or, do we skulk away in the night when no one
is looking and run like hell away from the battlefield?
I remember the scene at Dana Point Beach.
I remember running away from the woman with the urine-soaked back.
I wish today I would have gotten her phone
I would give it to Lane.
There are people who can live with Urine Terrorism.
And me. Well, in this case I can
swallow a big squirt of Complacency.