I’ve spent the day on the verge of tears. We–I–decided last week to get the beloved puppy spayed. Honestly, I didn’t want to. But it’s the law in Santa Cruz, and I felt surprisingly uncomfortable about knowingly violating the law. (Back before I knew it was the law, I didn’t care at all.)

It wasn’t that I truly believed we’d want Zelda to have puppies. Even though she’s an incredibly perfect dog who should certainly be passing her genes along…well, there are plenty of dogs in the world. I do resent the law, though: it seems like such a Republican effort, to make puppies either criminal or for profit, with nothing in between.

But more than that, it’s major surgery. We have to keep her quiet for two weeks. WEEKS! Zelda! Quiet!! No jumping, no running. These phrases are oxymorons–things that simply do not belong together. As I told the vet last year when we cancelled our first appointment to get her spayed, asking this dog not to jump would be like asking her not to breathe. It’s not an option.

But I did it anyway. I took her in this morning and left her at the vet’s. It’s the safer choice, it’s the legal choice, the world doesn’t need more puppies. But I just want to cry.