Mummy said my front teeth looked a little long when she did my weekly check on Saturday. She said my weight was good, though. She asked me about my breathing – I still wheeze when I’m lying in certain positions, but not badly or loudly, so I told her no, I didn’t need the Vick stuff. She looked through my coat to make sure I didn’t have any unwanted visitors (I could have told you I didn’t) but she said that Midge had a suspicious spot which could be mites, so she wasn’t taking any chances. Well, that’s fair enough.
Then she rolled me onto my back and asked me to let her measure my teeth. I don’t like that, but eventually I agreed she could. She had a card which shows the average length for top and bottom incisors. She said my lower incisors were too long, just as she suspected. My upper molars were all right but a little crooked. So she trimmed my lower ones and filed my upper ones. Well she trimmed the lower ones on Saturday and filed the upper ones on Sunday because I wasn’t standing (or even lying) for any more of this business than I could help. When she checked them today she said she might have to file the lower ones if they weren’t completely right by Wednesday, so I could gnaw my wooden ball and my grassy tunnel and my cardboard tubes to get them right if I didn’t want her messing with them.
Okay, Mummy, I get the message.