Mourn for the Loki Balls!

I took my adorable little Italian Greyhound Loki in tonight to have his testicles cut off tomorrow morning. Right now he's probably huddled in a little frightened ball in an anonymous pen on top of my sweatshirt, certain only that things aren't normal. Little does he know. I feel very guilty. All the reasons this is probably a good choice don't change that. I wouldn't like it if a Republican decided that non-Republicans would be happier if they couldn't reproduce and cut *my* balls off. I'm reminded of a line from one of Elizabeth Marshall Thomas's books on dogs where she observes that dogs are basically our slaves. On some levels our relationship with them is very symbiotic, but that doesn't make it less true.

I've been considering a similar treatment for myself recently, but at least I have a choice, and would get to keep my testosterone.

I take some small comfort in the fact that I live in the country that invented Neuticles.