Great Balls of Fire

We wanted to name him Nolan, but my mother insisted on Trigvy. "I want at least one member of the family to have an Icelandic name," declared my mother. The compromise was Trigvy Nolan, but we yelled for Trig.  The only male child in the house, Trig's favourite sport was sprinting. When he broke out for a run, we piled into our green Ford Torino and drove around the court - slowly - with a piece of white bread as dog bait.

Trig ran like a pumped up rabbit and had us whipped like no other pet we'd owned. He was a real boy, a pure breed, destined to sire a great line of show dogs - until we cut off his balls. My mother took the position that Trig's forebears had led horrible lives and she was not about to see Trig suffer long hours of grooming and training. Trig's failure in puppy school after puking up a box of elastics (which my Dad stuffed neatly into his suit pocket) had nothing to do with my mom's decision.

When the time came, Mom took Trigvy off to the vet to be fixed. Just on the cusp of adolescence, I was more than interested in the mechanics of this operation and had great expectations about the changes I might notice. The best information I had from Mom was that Trig would "settle down" after the surgery. "He'll be less rambunctious," is how she put it. I took her at her word, but was hoping for something more dramatic. These were his parts, for God's sake, and I could only wonder what it might mean to have my newly sprouted breasts lopped off for the sake of behaviour modification.

Had we placed a bet on the outcome, Mom and I, I would have won. Trig came home more than a little stoned and took his position in the middle of the kitchen floor. Sprawled out on his back, Trig clearly needed air to cool the heat of his groin. His scrotum were like red baseballs, rolling casually over his white belly. Castrating the poor dude was a bad idea and, once the swelling went down, there was no difference in Trig's behaviour. I got my drama alright, but Trig was the ultimate victor.  One week later, we were out chasing Trig in the Ford.