This weekend, I found out the hard way that the dogs get their period. I’m not kidding. And I say the hard way, because Comet shares my bed.

The most bizarre part of the experience was going online late at night to get more information about this phenomenon. That was truly humbling. Here I was, flashbacking to Bali, the sick and crusty dog capital of the world, where horribly mangy wild pooches walk the streets everywhere. I was trying to understand what’s happening, if it’s normal, if she’s sick, if I have to take her to the vet, if I have to avoid taking her outside, if it’s an early sign of fatal heartworm disease etc, and all I could find were sites trying to sell me feminine hygiene products for canines. You heard me.

In my foggy state of mind, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that this was happening, much less that it was normal enough that someone had actually invented doggie diapers for this specific purpose. And I thought following a lower lifeform around with a plastic bag was bad.

This is when having a veterinarian friend is handy. I called him on my appropriately-red telephone:

“Well, she’s… uh, bleeding.”
- BLEEDING?
- Yeah, out her…
- Ah, she’s bleeding out of her (whistles). [Don’t you hate it when doctors use their jargon?]
- Yeah. And you know when you used to say “the plot thickens, la plotte épaissit”?
- Ah yes. Well, that’s normal, she’s just in heat.
- Yeah. Ok. Great. So, can we, uh, make it stop?
- Yeah, just bring her in this weekend and we’ll fix her.

Well what do you know. My baby’s all growns up. Still it’s a good thing she isn’t a cat. When Lynne’s cat went into heat and drove her insane with the horny meowing, Matt’s advice was to simply indulge the kitty with a Q-tip. Apparently that would cause ovulation and shut her up for a few days. No, really.