I have a foul mouth and a penchant for typos.  One post can singlehandedly have my mom praying to the Guadalupe, make my dad’s eyes bleed and suck all the life from my writer hubby.  It’s a gift.  But I still can’t get over my reaction to the proper reference to a female dog.

Now into my 4th year of vet school, the term bitch being casually tossed around in lectures, on powerpoint slides and textbooks still jars me.  It’s not a word I’m accustomed to venerable professionals using.  Which is why my head about damn near exploded while at EHF.

Sitting at the table eating breakfast and someone yells across the room, “Hey guys, stop scheduling bitch spays for Wednesday.”  It throws you, ya know?  Get three veterinarians in one spot and they will have you reaching for your nerve pills.  “Bitch spays are the scariest surgeries you’ll ever do”.  “Oh, I know.  Bitch spays take so much more time”.  And the ever so unexpected, “These big bitch vessels are so tricky.”  All said over morning cereal.

But perhaps the most wonderful one, “Is she a big bitch?”  Because if any woman happened to accidentally walk by our open windows when that innocent question was asked, I’m sure she must have wondered what she did to make that kind of an impression.

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