Teeth: The necessary horror show

    Come on.  Be honest.  Is there anyone, anywhere on this spinning planet, who actually enjoys going to the dentist?  I'm not talking about liking your dentist as a person.  Mine have been perfectly pleasant, some even family friends.  But enjoying the experience of reclining helplessly while someone approaches your open mount with metal tools that look like they were borrowed from a medieval torture museum?  No.  Absolutely not.

    And yet, like a dutiful citizen with a survival instinct, I show up.  I know that maintaining teeth is essential to general health, including heart maintenance.  (Nothing says trouble like plaque and arteries.) 

    Horses feel the same way about dentistry.  They may adore the veterinarian, but the moment the dental kit appears, their eyes widen with the same expression I get when my dentist says, "You might feel a little pinch."  Over the years we have learned that equine teeth are extremely important.  If you cannot chew, eating becomes problematic for horses and humans alike.  But horses do not get to cancel their appointments by claiming they might be coming down with something.

    I try to have my horses inspected every six months.  I'm negligent, but no more than any other horse partner who has ever looked at a calendar and thought, "Surely it hasn't been that long."  It has.  It always has. 

    My personal library is full of horse books: fiction, nonfiction, training manuals and memoirs.  However, equine teeth rarely get more than a polite nod.  Most books are far more interested in teaching you how to guess a horse's age by inspecting their teeth.  I have never mastered the trick.  My vets assure me it's more a general guideline anyway, which is comforting because I have never wanted to pry open a horse's mouth and squint at incisors like a fortune teller reading enamel tea leaves. 

    Google, of course, is more informative.  My books vaguely say horses have "about 40 teeth."  About?  Online I learned that male horses can have 40-44 teeth, while females usually have 36-40.  Apparently genetics plays a role, which means some horses are simply over or underachievers in the dental department. 

    I've always been fascinated by the fact that adult horse teeth continue to grow.  Until I lost a molar, I didn't realize human teeth do this too, just not with the same enthusiasm. (I really do like my present dentist who explained this to me.  I just do not like the procedure.  Or the chair.  Or the suction tube that sounds like it's trying to steal my soul.)

    Back in the old days, before the 1990s, when equine dentistry became a specialty, my concern about horse teeth was minimal.  I can't remember why I decided our old Quarter Horse, Jodee, needed her teeth inspected, but I do remember Dr. S. coming out to float her teeth.  He knew her impeccable manners, and decided to treat her without anesthetic.  Then came the moment that still haunts me.

    He grabbed Jodee's tongue and commenced sawing away in her mouth with the files. 

    She tolerated it with long-suffering patience.  I, on the other hand, nearly needed a sedative.

    Then came Spice and his legendary wolf teeth.  When Dr. B. attempted to remove them he grunted under Spice's jaw and said, "I have never seen wolf teeth so large or firmly entrenched in any horse's mouth."

    This is not what you want to hear from a professional holding pliers inside your pony's mouth.

 

    I ended up using a bit-less bridle most of the time. Spice forgave me ordering the extraction, but only because horses are impish saints.

    By the 1990s, equine dentistry had exploded: articles everywhere, specialists popping up like mushrooms after rain.  One lived near us, but his rates were worse that a cardiologist's.  I called Dr B. instead.  He had attended classes and was now equipped for modern equine dentistry.  Bless that man.

    Now my vets arrive with anesthetics, files, drills, headlamps, mirrors and a mouth speculum that looks suspiciously like the one my dentist uses on me - just scaled up to prehistoric herbivore size.  The horse is positioned on a headrest like a patient in a very tall, very judgmental backward dentist's chair.  There are electric tools .  There are sounds.  There are smells.  The whole thing feels like a cross between a spa day and a horror film. 

    Horse teeth don't always get the respect they deserve.  That is changing.  We all need to see a dentist.  I just wish it was more comfortable, and less reminiscent of a scene where someone says, "You might feel a little pinch," right before the soundtrack turns ominous.