Tooth Angst

We took Pappy to the vet last weekend to get his shots and a general checkup. He was very brave and calm entering the office, given that when we last came to get his stitches out he was a quivering wreck.

Everything was going great until the vet checked on Pappy's teeth. Pappy's canines have shown noticeable wear since we got him, and are quite flattened at the tips at just two years old (like his tooth-grinding owner). The vet warned that if things keep up at this pace he may require a doggy root canal one of these days.

He's a diligent little chewer, but I couldn't think of anything he gets that would be abrasive. The vet cautioned that Pappy shouldn't play with tennis balls because they can cause a lot of wear, and my jaw dropped. Pappy without tennis balls is like The Green Giant without Li'l Sprout, Quisp without Quake, Anita Bryant without orange juice (I guess I'm dating myself here... I hope Anita doesn't come after me). This is the space age, why can't the vet graft some walrus tusk DNA onto Pappy's fangs or something?

At the dog park on Sunday we brought along a vet approved rubber ball rather than letting him play with the tennis balls in the enclosure; I wouldn't normally bring toys, but Pappy's not at all possessive so I don't anticipate problems. Gad, I never thought my stoic dog would require special instructions-- "Don't let him have that tennis ball, he needs this special orthopedic ball. And he's allergic to tree nuts, and here's his inhaler..."