Tooth Trauma

Dear Readers,

After my latest dental prophylaxis (or as I like to call it, torture), I have eleven teeth left. But, don’t you worry, dear readers, I may be doggie down, but I’m not out. I can still take sustenance and report to you about life with Momma.

It’s been ruff two weeks, no two ways about it. It all started on September 5, when Momma drove me up to Blue Pearl Vet Hospital, about an hour north of our house. She, of course, had this appointment prearranged but I had no clue what was about to take place. And since I’d always had fun and been fawned over at BP, I was not in the least bit concerned. Here I am happily prancing into one of the waiting rooms, and with Jennifer Ficken, my trusty vet tech. All was cool, right?

Wrong. When they whisked me away from Momma, it dawned on me that I was in trouble. I think it was the fake-cheerful hospital-issue blanket that gave finally gave it away. And even my most pitiful/spare me look did no good.

Later that day, I was put under and (after assurances from my vet, Dr. Edstrom, that my tongue would not permanently be hanging out, and an okay from Momma), I was minus eighteen teeth. And Momma was minus a small fortune. (Don’t forget to mention they gave you a “free” nail trim, Lina,” Momma grumbled.)

When Momma made the voyage to collect me that evening, we were both miserable. Me because, well, mouth surgery, and Momma because she was worried about me and aftercare. After getting instructions from Dr. Edstrom, (keep me away from steps, I may drool blood, try giving me food, administer my pain and anti-inflammatory pills, call if there’s an emergency, etc.), we set out for the long journey home. Momma had placed me in a crate in the back of Sparky and tried not to drive crazy so I wouldn’t throw up. She also had range anxiety because Sparky was running low on charge so she didn’t dare turn the on the air conditioning. Could she not find a hospital closer to home? Or maybe charge the car before she left?

Anyway, we finally made it home, and Momma, pawrsuant to instructions, tried to feed me. Hello? — have you ever tried to eat after having eighteen teeth removed? Momma was at wits end. How would she get me to eat my pills if she couldn’t hide them in my food? Digging deep, she finally remembered that she was supposed to tuck them into a piece of a meat, and that “did the trick.” Here I am wondering what happened to me, and letting Momma know that there were not enough treats in the world for me to forgive her.

I do have to woof, however, that Dr. Edstrom did a pawsome job — my mouth is feeling good, and I’m getting stronger every day! And Momma has been busy reading up on doggie dental care. She has now decided that, no matter what, she will not put me or her pocketbook through this trauma again. She has been busy shopping for Greenie treats, water additives, sprays, gels, toothbrushes, toothpaste and tooth wipes. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or not.

In the meantime, I’ve been getting back to normal, taking walks, playing frisbee, doing agility class and I even went to Camp Bow Wow while Momma golfed on Sunday. Here I am during my personal enrichment time. And no, my tongue does not stick out all the time.