by alldogsbigandsmall.com

Created on: December 19, 2009

Adventures in Doggie Dentistry

I suppose I should have expected it. After all, it was Monday. Just as I was reaching for my coat to leave work, the phone rang. It was the receptionist at the vet's office, suggesting I bring a stool sample so my dog, Boots, could be checked for parasites. I explained that I was running late and still had to stop by the house to pick up Boots. The receptionist, Trudy, assured me that they would not mind waiting and that it really would be in Boots' best interest if I could bring the specimen. As I hurried home to collect the dog, and the requested sample, I should have known…

My husband and I had only recently acquired Boots. The adoption was occasioned by my grandfather's moving, for he could not take her to his new home. Boots was a cross between a Chihuahua and a terrier, black and tan, and, for the past few years, showing some gray mixed in. Her overall appearance was similar to what you might get by subjecting a Doberman Pinscher to the Shrinky Dink process, only her eyes remained the original size. Boots had been with us only a week when I'd discovered her rabies shot was due, so here we were, off to the vet.

"Haven't you ever smelled this breath?" the somewhat disheveled doctor was soon asking me in an accusatory tone. Well, of course I had. Was it my fault the dog had bad breath? I mean, they don't make doggie mouthwash, do they? "These teeth will have to come out," the vet said with authority. "You can bring her in tomorrow morning." Startled, for I had been preoccupied with wondering whether the doctor's assistant was actually choking Boots, or whether the poor dog was simply making those gagging noises out of fear, I realized he was serious. He wanted to pull my dog's teeth. Somehow, this seemed barbaric. Maybe he was a sadist? Angry, perhaps, because she'd tried to bite him? Determined to get revenge? I had to speak up before it was too late. "Won't this be rather hard on her?" I ventured. "After all, she is fifteen years old." "Well, if you want to let them rot out one by one, and put Boots through a lot of unnecessary suffering, okay," he retorted.

Questions darted through my mind. "How will she eat?" I asked. I suddenly had a hysterical image of this little dog being fitted for dentures. As if she could read my mind, Boots began dancing around, her toenails clicking on the stainless steel exam table. She even sneezed, her favorite strategy for getting my attention. "Get me out of here," she seemed to

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