The Truth About my Tooth by Pocket

Last week, in this very space, my sister made a dishonest claim that last Tuesday I arrived home drunk after getting in a bar fight.  I am here to clear my name.  Unlike my sister Foley, inventor of, and often a consumer of,  the Foleytini, I do not drink.  It is bad for my tummy and my complexion.

I was not drinking last Tuesday.  The truth is, over the last several months, I have been suffering from a sore mouth.  I masked this from my parents and did not confide in my friends, because, with my friends suffering serious illnesses, I did not want to complain about a toothache.

Tuesday was my personal D-Day.  Dentist day began with me being removed from the house without breakfast.  For you young pups a word of warning:  When this occurs something awful is about to happen.

I was brought to the vet, and left there, even after giving my parents the most pitiful look.  I was put in a cage that smelled of scared dogs.  I was then taken out.  What was going to happen?  Was something going to get cut off?  Was I going to get anally probed?

They took some blood and put me back in the cage.  I wish they had magazines,  I was there for a long time.  Then a nice lady came and took me out.  She brought me into a clean, well-lit room where there were lots of sharp instruments and women wearing masks.  Yep, it was an anal probe.  One of the ladies gave me what she called “sleepy juice” in my arm, and I fell asleep.

My angel friends Foley, Odie, Scooby, Leo, Meika and many others came to keep me company and calm.  I very much appreciated it.  

When I woke up, I didn’t know what happened.  I knew my mouth hurt, and my anus didn’t so it was all good to me.  I ran my tongue around my mouth, and the painful teeth were gone.  That was a relief.   My gums hurt but they gave me some splendid drugs.  Usually, I would have been worried, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to be scared.

My parents came.  I wasn’t as excited to see them as I usually was because, in my purple haze, I was having a hard time remembering who they were.  When I got home and sat on Mommy’s lap for a half hour, everything came back to me.  I was home and safe.  I don’t know why they denied me food or water for a few hours, but I was sure happy when they gave it to me.

My parents were worried because I am their delicate flower.  They were sure I wouldn’t eat, be lethargic, and have a bad tummy for days.  But I showed them.  By Wednesday morning I was eating everything in sight (wet food is yummy), running around the house, and producing perfect poops.  My recovery went much better than they thought.

Nine days later I am doing very well.  I am eating my food, not showing any signs of pain or any side effects.  And my mouth feels much better.  I guess you don’t have to fear the vet all the time.

But you do need to worry about the anal probe.