Brad’s castration

Luckily Brad wanted to get castrated anyways. “The libido is only distracting me from achieving world domination.” But I didn’t tell him, for a male lamb that was raised with the bottle and didn’t get sold for breeding, there are only two possibilities: Castration or slaughtering (sounds like the name of a heavy metal band). He is six months old, but quite big for his age and it was a pain to get him in the trunk of the car. The trunk had no cover, it was like a special lamb seat, with some plastic sheets and towels to make it comfy. Brad was wearing a dog-harness. “Green fits the colour of my eyes.” And I attached it to a dog-safety-belt in the car.

The Brad-express. Rudi came with us as a bodyguard. Own photo, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported

Brad didn’t like driving by car much. “Don’t drive so fast.” When we entered Lieurey we ran into a police checkpoint. Brad said very nasty things to the policemen (“You servants of the dictatorship of the cannibals.”) and even more nasty things to the policewomen (“Come over here and £%!§ my #@, it’s your last chance.”) Luckily they didn’t understand him, because he was insulting them in sheep. When we arrived at the vet, they wanted him to stand outside at a fence, next to a horse. That was quite cute. The horse was pressing its face to Brad’s face during the operation. “Horses are okay, very big sheep, good for my army.”

He got local anaesthetics. “Are you sure I will need that?” The vet made a cut, took one testicle after another out and rolled them in a towel drenched in disinfecting solution. He took it like a man (I was holding him). Then he was “painted” with “blue” (antibiotic spray). “It fits the colour of my eyes.” -“You said that about the green harness too.” -“Everything fits the colour of my eyes.” And got some kind of injection, no idea what was in it. I guess it was drugs. He was a bit dizzy afterwards and didn’t notice that the vet made the usual testicle-jokes. “Yummy with tomato sauce.” “No, really it’s a delicacy in Spain.” On the way back Brad was complaining again though. “I can feel every pot-hole of this %£$@ road.”

Brad’s testicles. No, I don’t really want to eat that with tomato sauce. Own photo, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported

At home I had to help him out of the car. I lay an empty rubbish bin in front of the trunk, lifted him on it and he stepped on the ground. “It wasn’t like I expected”. “I got to sit down for a moment.” “You got to make sacrifices for the greater good.”

Back home, standing with his legs apart. Own photo, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported

He didn’t move away from the car and castle during the night. He didn’t even want food. This morning he felt much better and ate a bowl of granulated sheepfood. But walking still hurts.

I got to sit down for a moment. The food is okay, but I’m a bit tired. -falls asleep in the bowl- Own photo, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported

A tired Brad. Own photo, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported

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bradauto.jpg, kotz.jpg, bradblut.jpg, bradnapf.jpg and bradnapf1.jpg by stanze is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

3 thoughts on “Brad’s castration

  1. Autsch.

    • Er war sehr tapfer. Ich schreib das wahrscheinlich auch noch auf Deutsch, dann wird es aber mehr Alkotest-Schelte enthalten und weniger Brads Allmachtsphantasien. Gestern war Brad auch ganz lieb und hat sich kraulen lassen, ohne mit dem Kopf Keulenschwingen zu spielen.

  2. […] his castration Brad change a lot. At first he had a high-pitched voice and he didn’t want to eat with the […]

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