Oh My, I think those are testicles...

Where to start? Let me begin at the beginning of my day. I opened my eyes to a dreary skyscape this morning. Not rainy- not sunny- and I knew it was going to be one of those days.  Maybe because I've begun a new diet (one of many in a long succession), but I just don't seem to leap out of bed with the same verve or zest I once did. I am a creature driven by hunger. I used to live from meal to meal- now I just exist from meal to measly meal.

Anyway, I crawled out of bed then downed a miserly breakfast and trudged to the office to organize my day.  I discovered a 140 pound Great Pyreneese dog waiting there for me to shave (or in this case- shear). His owners had called the kennel in a tither- they suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to have their dog groomed before he spent another night in the middle of their bed. Upon his arrival, everyone else jumped ship, bailed, and became otherwise engaged. Ah, the joys of being the Boss.  The job was left to me to complete. He had not see a groomer- or a bathtub- for nearly 4 years. There was a colony of fleas living on his great white hide which could have single handedly brought back the Bubonic Plague. And his owner left instructions that he had several tumor-like growths that we would need to be mindful of.

Andy was a beast of a dog. I retrieved the "Super Dooper" clippers from their heavy dusty case and began to remove years of hair, dirt, and debris. The fleas resembled tiny little passengers from the Titanic as they began to look for lifeboats and jump ship. Thankfully, we had administered an oral flea preventative to Andy an hour earlier which would serve to annihilate his flea colony within 20-30 minutes. As the tiny universe of insects lay collapsing before me, I continued to shave the big fella.

I worked my way around his body and he began to take the shape of a dog.  I clipped the top of his body then moved to his underbelly and down his long legs. Andy is ten years old and seemed to enjoy the experience. He graciously lifted his giant paws as I trimmed his claw-like toenails and cleaned the overgrown hair between the pads of his feet.

Feeling rather industrious, I surveyed my masterpiece. There he stood, giant white snowy dog with only his rear end left to shear. Re-energized by the outcome of my previous work, I began to tackle his tail and the remaining section of rear end which was still thick with mats and debris. As I reached the clippers under his hind end- they sputtered to a stop. This scene had been played out repeatedly already today. The clippers would protest at each thickly matted clump and I would remove it with scissors.

I  gently (given the delicate area in which I was cutting) began to remove the matted hair. There in the path of my recently sharpened blades was a growth. I began to carefully disect the air away from the meaty growth. This was considerably larger that I had been led to expect but having found no other growths on the dog yet, I surmised this must be it.  Confused, I opted to confer with a colleague for a second opinion. This tumor was pretty large. Wayne settled in beside me to inspect the tumor. He carefully looked at it over the rim of his glasses.

"Honey, " he began slowly, " I hate to tell you, but those are testicles."

I gasped. Surely not. As an experience dog groomer, I have seen my share of testicles. I finished grooming Andy and when his owner came to pick him up, I told her that I had found no growths on him. She immediately reached down between his hind legs and said, "But there was a big growth right here."

In my most professional groomer voice, I announced, "Oh my, I think those are testicles."