My dentist has ordered her to perform daily tooth-brushing, which is fine, if puzzling. There was such excitement about my allegedly superlative teeth (“Oh, wow, we’ve never seen such superfantastic teeth” and “My my, whatever you’ve been doing, keep doing it!“). Wait. If they were so off the charts, why a) was I rendered unconscious and put through multiple invasive dentistry violations, including but not limited to irradiation, b) was I brought back in for a “follow-up” so she could drop the gross domestic product of Chile on dental chews, dental gel and this shit that turns my water green, and c) do we have to play Crest or “Poultry Flavored Dextrose-Laced Dog Product” roulette every night now, rather than the once a week Crest Certainty that culminated in “Oh, wow, we’ve never seen such superfantastic teeth.”
And yet in spite of Greenies having also been formally prescribed for me, I continue to get quark-sized ones. Typical.
On the other hand, for no apparent reason, the cuisine has been substantially upgraded. Could be guilt (Siam Sam and Turtle get home-cooked) or could be I have days or weeks to live. I’ll be dead and rendered into mittens and my sparkling teeth won’t help me.
Oh, and a new dog has moved in across the street. I’m not sure how I feel about this.