THE BOB BARKER TREATMENT- Yes, the One All Males Fear The Stroupe family cat, Smokey, got the Bob Barker treatment the other day. If you’ve seen Shrek 2, you know that this term refers to an animal getting "fixed". I know we all have to do our part to help control the animal population, but why poor Smokey? Don’t we need a few good ole’ boys to remain fertile to assure that cat heritage is passed down from one generation to the next? Maybe so, but it won’t be Smokey filling that role from now on. It’s not like a veterinarian’s office is a pleasant place to visit in the first place. I think I’ve discovered why animal doctors have to endure all those extra years of school. For one, they have to keep their cool when an animal starts passing worms and it looks like a plate of spaghetti come to life. But even more important, they have to conquer the smells. They have to be able to recognize, identify, and tolerate more pungent odors than one would ever encounter at a garbage dump on a hundred degree afternoon. I once entered a vet’s office just moments after an intern had performed the always delicate anal flush procedure on a German Shepherd. Lucky me. I was completely impressed with how the intern, casually and without emotion or expression, explained how she had accomplished the anal gland expression. That was the exact way she described it, as an anal gland expression. How professional sounding. Fearful that she might be led to enlighten me further, I decided not to pursue the topic beyond that point. Oblivious to the stench, she went about her animal tending business as the members of my family scavenged the immediate area in search of paper or plastic bags in which to breathe. On that particular visit, our poor dog had waited patiently for his moment to arrive. But the look in his eyes told me that he knew what was coming. "Sorry, boy, but it’s got to be done," I told him. "Yeah, well you jump up here and let ‘em try it on you first," he barked. "You’ve got three kids, surely you’re done for this lifetime." Though he had a point, I decided not to take him up on his challenge. At that point, our family was politely encouraged to depart and return the following day. When my wife arrived home with our humiliated dog that next day, it was all I could do to contain myself when I saw the upside-down-lampshade thing he was wearing around his neck. Then a horrible thought crossed my mind as anxiety rushed rampant throughout my body. Panic stricken, I asked my wife, "If I decide to get the Bob Barker treatment someday, will I have to wear the lampshade?" She just stared at me with one of those looks women give you when you’ve asked a stupid question and they think you’re trying to be funny. I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized I would never have to explain the lampshade to the guys at work. When my wife returned home from having Smokey the cat "fixed" the other day, I told her we should start calling him (or it) "Andro", short for androgynous. She just gave me that same look again. I’m sorry, Smokey, but it had to be done. It’s not your fault. Your irresponsible ancestors ruined it for your generation and now you’re paying the price for their "cattin’ around." But cheer up, it could be worse. At least you don’t have to wear the lampshade.