It finally happened, one of our own went to the vet, was told, the old gray mares just were not what they use to be and it was time for them to go. Yes, the poor girl snarfed and whined, but on the bright side, no more carrying forks to twirl em, throwing them over her shoulder, no more getting them caught in the clapper.
The other sheep threw her a party for them, got her drunk, reminded her of all the times they entered the room before she did. Men applauded her, gave her the thumbs up and told her, while they were once spectacular, they were only a small part of her personality.
Bertha and the dog took her implant shopping, picking out just the right pair. Too full they would bounce, too light, they would float, too heavy, they would cause her to toot.The three settled on a pair that was just right, and to her amazement, came with tattoos. Brilliant, now not only did she not need a sling, she could sport a tasteful tat, one for this, and one for that. They drove her to the vet, drunk, hung over and wobbling at the desk. Not realizing what he agreed to, the dog also followed her in and together, they ended up with a mismatched set. Hers were better than her old ones, but his? Ahem, they came with a fork, a lift and a sling. When she awoke, she was amazed, they looked marvelous.
The dog however, was another story. Bertha stared at him, what the hell had he done? The dog looked down and when he tried to stand up, fell over. He use to have dreams of this, but never in a million years did he expect to go get them. They screamed mui macho! The problem with this much machismo, when he walked they followed him. When he went to take a pee, they knocked him over. The sheep ran into him, and stared. All she could do was snarf and laugh. It was payback. The dog after a few weeks of getting the high-five from the other mutts, went in, looked down and just said ciao. The vet questioned him to be sure. After weeks of tripping over them, he knew he had no choice. Off they went.
Back to normalcy, no more back pain, forks, slings, and looked wonderful. There is a moral to this story, what makes us isn’t what we think we had, or lost, but what is inside. The dog took a bow, kissed her hand, and agreed.