Tory's grandpa is Flying Train and we lovingly call her "Train Wreck" because she's epileptic and she has Pannus. Fortunately, both disorders are well controlled with phenobarb and eyedrops twice daily, but I readily admit I'm a little more protective of her. Case in point - I'd been putting off her dental for some months now.
I brush her teeth regularly and, thanks to Joni's tutelage, even scale them regularly, but Tory's breath lately had been telling me there were issues I wasn't reaching. Still, I was fearful the anesthesia might somehow trigger seizures again. Or perhaps all of her teeth would have to be pulled? But I'd also begun to fear she was in more danger from the side effects of bad teeth than from anesthesia.
Please understand, my fears were just that - no scientific basis. But you know how fear is. Once it gets a foot in the door, it quickly becomes huge and hairy and slathering until you're hiding under the bed quivering with absolute certainty of impending doom.
Still, I made up my mind that it couldn't be put off any longer. On Wednesday morning I picked up the phone and asked for an appointment with Minot Pruyn, DVM, because I'd been told from several sources he is the canine dental expert in our area. The receptionist cheerfully informed me they could take her "first thing tomorrow." Gulp. So soon? Several excuses coursed through my head about why Thursday wouldn't possibly work but none of them flew with my rational side. I confirmed the appointment and spent a relatively sleepless night.
Thursday morning I loaded Tory in the car and away we went. Dr. Pruyn glanced in her mouth and confirmed that she had a pretty bad case of gingivitis. He very kindly didn't gasp or snicker when I confessed that my best efforts usually result in brushing her teeth only once per week. He told me recent studies are showing that brushing three times per week or less does absolutely no good. It must be done every day, particularly with a mouth like Tory's. Every day?
I left my beloved red dog there, headed off to work, and spent the day bargaining with the Fates. "If I can just have my Tory back whole and with a few teeth left, I promise I'll brush them every single day." I was perched on the edge of my seat most of the morning until they called to say she would be ready to go any time after 1:00 p.m.
When I got to the vet's, I was greeted by an inordinately perky Tory. I waited for the bad news about how many teeth she'd lost. Not one. Not a single one. She climbed in my lap and kissed my face with the sweetest doggie breath imaginable! Hallelujah!
Daily brushings for everyone from now on. A deal's a deal.
I brush her teeth regularly and, thanks to Joni's tutelage, even scale them regularly, but Tory's breath lately had been telling me there were issues I wasn't reaching. Still, I was fearful the anesthesia might somehow trigger seizures again. Or perhaps all of her teeth would have to be pulled? But I'd also begun to fear she was in more danger from the side effects of bad teeth than from anesthesia.
Please understand, my fears were just that - no scientific basis. But you know how fear is. Once it gets a foot in the door, it quickly becomes huge and hairy and slathering until you're hiding under the bed quivering with absolute certainty of impending doom.
Still, I made up my mind that it couldn't be put off any longer. On Wednesday morning I picked up the phone and asked for an appointment with Minot Pruyn, DVM, because I'd been told from several sources he is the canine dental expert in our area. The receptionist cheerfully informed me they could take her "first thing tomorrow." Gulp. So soon? Several excuses coursed through my head about why Thursday wouldn't possibly work but none of them flew with my rational side. I confirmed the appointment and spent a relatively sleepless night.
Thursday morning I loaded Tory in the car and away we went. Dr. Pruyn glanced in her mouth and confirmed that she had a pretty bad case of gingivitis. He very kindly didn't gasp or snicker when I confessed that my best efforts usually result in brushing her teeth only once per week. He told me recent studies are showing that brushing three times per week or less does absolutely no good. It must be done every day, particularly with a mouth like Tory's. Every day?
I left my beloved red dog there, headed off to work, and spent the day bargaining with the Fates. "If I can just have my Tory back whole and with a few teeth left, I promise I'll brush them every single day." I was perched on the edge of my seat most of the morning until they called to say she would be ready to go any time after 1:00 p.m.
When I got to the vet's, I was greeted by an inordinately perky Tory. I waited for the bad news about how many teeth she'd lost. Not one. Not a single one. She climbed in my lap and kissed my face with the sweetest doggie breath imaginable! Hallelujah!
Daily brushings for everyone from now on. A deal's a deal.
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