Max and the Eight Stages of Dental Anxiety

Just back from the yard where I attended upon Max for his annual visit from the equine dentist. This is the fourth time we’ve been through this together, and today it became obvious that Max’s memory is long.

The first time he was four. He had wolf teeth that needed removing, and this meant sedation by the vet, then extraction of two teeth. Max recovered well. The vet said, "Wait a day before you put a bit back in his mouth." When the vet left the dentist said, "If you're OK with it, it would be kinder to leave him at least three days without a bit." Yeah, I was very OK with that.

The next visit, Max was five and just needed a little rasping. Last year we had a prolonged session which involved a lot of sharp edges being removed. The dentist thought we might need sedation, but it would be less traumatic for Max if we could go without, so he went for it and succeeded, but it was a very long and aggressive session. Which leads us to today.

Being a dental phobic myself, I completely understand Max’s anxiety. I spent years upon years being told to “Get a grip, this doesn’t hurt!”. But the truth was it bloomin’ well did hurt, was excruciating, in fact, and the pain was NOT all in my head, as was suggested time and time again. Well, in my head yes, because my teeth are in my head, but not in my head "mental".

I came to believe it was some massive conspiracy when even friends and family insisted there was no pain involved in having a filling, some people choose not to have freezing at all because it's such a doddle, and there was certainly no call for making such a fuss about it.

Turns out I don’t freeze easily and once that was sorted the whole thing became less traumatic. Despite that, the lingering anxiety that it might be excruciating again is something I will never be able to shake off.

Some horses, and I do know of them, don’t mind the dentist one bit and practically fall asleep while being rasped. Max is not one of them. I also know people who insist they love having their teeth cleaned and find it very relaxing. Nut jobs!

Stage One – Trepidation: I arrived before Max’s appointment and spent a long time in his box thinking calm thoughts and removing the mud from his tail with my fingers. Max was peaceful, but this changed as soon as the dentist appeared at his door.

Would I say that Max recognised him? Absolutely he did. Max welcomes all visitors eagerly and politely, but at the sight of the dentist, he turned sharply and retreated to the back of his box. He even raised a back leg as if to cow kick, but being the well mannered boy that he is, he didn’t follow through with the threat.

There was no escape for Max at the back of his box and in no time at all the contraption that forces his mouth open was fitted and the bucket of rasps was in situ, looking for all the world like a bucket of swords prepared for torture.

Stage Two – High Anxiety: The work began and Max continually backed himself into a corner and used his strong neck to try and keep his head out of reach. His eyes rolled and kept fixing on me, which led to Stage One for me, tremendous guilt. “It’s for your own good” offered no comfort to either of us.

Stage Three: Is my face bovvered?: I whispered and clucked to him, and tried to adjust my body language to convey to my terrified boy that no harm would come to him and it would all be over soon. When there was an opportunity not to be "in the way" I moved closer to Max and rested my hand on him, hoping that my touch would give him some comfort.

The dentist said, by way of assurance “He’s not that bothered really, he just doesn’t like it.” I nodded but silently disagreed. Max was very bothered.

The hard work continued. Lots of sharp edges again and they needed to go. Max was now making little grunts and gasps of protest, the only noises he could make with his mouth forced open. My heart broke a little.

To pass the time and keep my energy calm, the dentist and I talked about the difference between wild horses and their survival without equine dentists, against our domestic horses, who need their gnashers attended to keep them healthy and able to chew properly. It’s partly diet (hard feed and rye grass as opposed to meadowy scrub), partly being ridden (the bit, the pressure on the mouth) and partly being domesticated, not left to roam and “rip” at their grazing as they go, keeping their teeth filed down naturally.

"So," I wondered aloud, "Who was the first person who decided to stick their arm down a horse's gob and think "Hmm... I think I should get a file and rasp those teeth?" The dentist surmised it was probably someone who noticed a horse having trouble with his grub, or trouble with his bit and decided to go in and have a feel, coming out again thinking "That back tooth felt bad - if I could do something about that, I might be able to make this situation better."

Stage Four – Appeal: The aggressive rasping done, there was a little fine rasping left. Max relaxed slightly at the reprieve, but as the rasps were swapped yet again, he took the opportunity of a moment's freedom to come forward and to me. He rested his head against me and breathed heavily. The dentist came back with a new rasp, and Max tried to bury his head under my arm for respite. My heart broke a little more as I had to turn that big solace-seeking head away from me to let the rasp do its work again.

“Almost done,” I said trying to encourage him for the final onslaught. “Ugh” grunted the dentist as he fought yet again with Max’s straining to get away head.

Stage Five – Release: The last bit of fine rasping seemed to go on forever, but it wasn’t as harsh. I watched tiny drops of blood appear on Max's tongue and told him the same thing happens to me now and again when I floss. “This is a lot more aggressive than flossing,” said the dentist. “No kidding!” I thought, but didn’t say. “It’s horrible to watch, isn’t it?” the dentist continued. Oh yes, it surely is.

But then it was done. “Finished” said the dentist with satisfaction. “He may have a little trouble with his hay for a bit, but he’ll be fine." With that, the contraption was removed, the bucket was removed and the dentist was removed.

“All right, Max?” I asked, giving his forehead a rub. He turned his head and leaned into me with a big sigh.

Stage Six – Shock: I was prepared. I had brought his grooming kit into the box and retrieved his mint lick from it. I offered it to him, thinking it would take away the bad taste in his mouth, and the action of licking would be soothing for him. We stood for ages, Max with his head tucked into me, licking for all he was worth. His ear was by my mouth, so I whispered to him, consoling words and apologies. His eyes seemed glazed and stunned but he held no grudge against me. Still didn’t like the dentist though, and when he saw him walk past on his way to another stable, he retreated and tried to hide his head behind my back.

Moments later our friend, The Gardener appeared at his box door and Max retreated further, mistrustful. She was full of sympathy and I gestured her in to reassure Max that visitors were not all out to have a go at his teeth.

Stage Seven – Comfort: The Gardener and I chatted to each other, and soothingly to Max. He was done with his mint lick now, but had no wish to go back to his hay. Instead he stood quietly, stuck to my side. I had my arm draped protectively over his back and idly began to give his withers a good scratch. Max began to nod his head and doze off. A very good thing.

Stage Eight – Happy Pony: The Gardener left, Max stood a little longer with me and then took an interest in his hay. It was hard going at first, but while he was munching, I nipped out and got him his pear from my car. This was offered and rather than his usual down in one gobble, he took it in three bites, while I held my hand under his mouth to catch any dribbles.

I had no thoughts of “doing” anything with him after this – no way could I put a bit in his mouth, or ask anything of him, but Max offered his nose for a kiss and seemed eager to be getting on with something distracting, so I got out his clicker bag of pony nuts and started a short session in his box to take his mind off things and give him a new focus.

What a clever lad he is. He has worked out the difference between a touch on his elbow (raise that foreleg), a flat hand on his shoulder (move that shoulder away), pressure on his side (move your whole self sideways) and a raised hand towards his rear (quarters over).

He went through it all eagerly, didn’t matter how I mixed the commands up, he offered what was required and eagerly sucked up his pony nut treat for each click.

Another year until we have to go through this again, but I have no doubt the second he sees that dentist man, he will retreat again and when it is done, he will not hold it against me.

I have had a thought that I would rather not be there for these dental visits so that Max never associates the unpleasantness surrounding it with my presence. As difficult as it is though, I prefer to be there. I hope he has an inkling that the fact that I’m there means no harm will come to him and it’s certainly better that I’m there afterwards, so he doesn’t have to recover on his own, but has me to lean against and divert him.

Oh, but he's just a horse. It doesn't matter, he'll forget all about it.

But he's not "just a horse", he's my Max, and his memory is long. But his heart is very generous. It occurred to me while all this was going on, with his strength he could have properly protested and made short work of the dentist if he’d put his mind to it. He could have struck out with his fronts, he could have used that initial hovering back leg for a well placed wallop, he could have knocked either of us sideways with that strong neck and head. He didn’t. He cowered, he grunted his protest but in the end he bore it, not graciously, but as passively as he could.

Just like I do, when I’m in the dentist chair. Can’t keep my feet from trying to run, but I stay in that chair.

And like Max, I end up with a little froth of sweat under my mane, a bit of quivering in my limbs, and a little exhilaration at putting it behind me.