Dental trauma

What a day! I knew we had the equine dentist lined up for two days, and Max would get his annual check up either today or tomorrow. I wasn't worried about it in any more than a distracted way because it tends to be pretty unpleasant, but done with quickly.

I popped round to the yard at lunch time to check on Max because I hadn't done so in the morning. Shouldn't have really, since I was going to be there in a couple of hours for yard duties anyway, but felt the need to go, so I did.

As it turns out, my timing was perfect as the dentist was lined up with Max as his next patient.

The headcollar contraption that the dentist has to put on to keep the horse's mouth open looks like an instrument of torture, and that's bad enough, although all the horses seem to accept it with a surprised stoicism.

But then there was an "Uh oh..."

Our dentist is lovely, gentle, speaks kindly to the neds even when he doesn't know anybody is listening. When Max had to have two wolf teeth pulled and some machine grinding a couple of years ago under sedation, the vet in attendance advised that I could ride Max the next day as usual, while the dentist took me aside and quietly said "It would be kinder not to put a bit in his mouth for at least two days, better three, if that's OK with you", so I like him fine.

What he saw, and explained, is that Max's jaw doesn't meet straight on (just like me!) and he had a couple of sharp bits on his back teeth which needed seeing to as a result. He wasn't sure if he could do it by hand, because it's a difficult job, it takes a while, and we might need to get a vet in for sedation and that grinding machine. He had a go though.

I don't know if I can describe accurately to those who haven't experienced watching a horse get its teeth rasped down. There's the contraption holding the mouth open, there's the sheer physicality of trying to contain a protesting horse as ridiculously long and sharp instruments are inserted and used with great force.

Looking on, it seems nothing less than a wholly brutal process. Does it hurt? I don't know. Does getting our teeth cleaned hurt? Not necessarily, but it's not a walk in the park, either, and when it's done to us, there's generally not a lot of force.

Max was backed up into his back wall. He put himself there, we didn't push him there. The dentist was working and trying to keep him steady, and I was by his head, there to keep his head still with my hands. My shoulders were aching with the exertion.

All the while, I was watching Max's rolling eyes, his fear and confusion, his unbelievable willingness, under protest, to stay relatively calm and not just dash us both against the walls and run, which must have been his instinct, and was also well within his capabilities.

The dentist and I chatted, and I kept one hand against Max's head, and with the other, scratched his withers and tried to soothe.

"Don't fuss him," my YO advised. "Don't worry him with your worry. Do you want me to take over?"

I hesitated. Yes, part of me did want her to take over because I didn't want Max to associate me with what he was going through. But no, I declined and stuck with it because... I don't know why. Because I felt I should be there so he could have someone he trusts by his side. Because I could try to explain to him what was happening, knowing the words meant nothing, but hoping my voice would be a beacon.

"Good boy!" I encouraged. "You're almost there, and this is so much better than the vet and that machine. Please try to be brave and keep it together. Done soon, I promise."

The dentist retrieved another tool and got stuck in.

"Was I lying to him when I told him we were almost done?" I asked.

"Yes, but keep lying to him. It's keeping him calm."

Heart sank. "Please let this be over soon!" I pleaded to myself.

"He's really strong..." the dentist offered a few minutes later.

"Umm... yeah. He is."

"He's also really good. I didn't think we'd be able to get through this without the machine, but we will. He's a really good boy."

Pat on the neck of admiration from the dentist, and a blinking back of tears from me.

"Don't cry, you idiot!" I admonished myself, but man, did I want to sob.

I tried a few lines of our peaceful song, and Max's eyes rolled again, but this time with a "For the love of God woman! Are you singing?" edge to them. No Kookaburra for Max on dentist day.

Half an hour dragged by like it had a dead weight attached to it, but eventually, the dentist put down the last nasty tool with satisfaction and said "We're done. What a good boy!"

He removed the contraption from Max's head, gave him a pet and said his mouth would feel a bit strange for a bit, and if I saw him picking up hay and spitting it back out not to be alarmed, it would come good in a little while.

I thanked him and he left the box, door open, Max was unrestrained with me by his side and the open door beckoning escape.

He was sweating along his chest and under his mane I could feel it too.

Did he run for freedom? Did he heck. Beautiful boy stuck by my side.

"All right,Max?" I asked, tentatively.

"Gah! Ack! Ptoeey!" with wide, shocked eyes.

My poor man! I couldn't explain, I couldn't apologise, and I focused on horses living in the moment.

In that moment, post dental assault, he gasped and rested his head against me, blowing mighty breaths. Then endearingly lifted his nose for our "kiss" signal. In this case, a gesture of reassurance, I felt, a question: "Is it done? No more of that?"

"No more, Max. We're done."

I offered him a mint to take the taste of metal out of his mouth and stayed with him for a bit to make sure he returned to his hay and wasn't freaked out.

Had to go home and change, and should have had lunch myself, but couldn't eat because I felt sick with having watched my boy go through all that. I think I was more traumatised than he was!

Returned in about half an hour bearing appetising bites of pear, apple and carrot, and was lifted my Max's lusty welcome as I parked up, and equally lifted by his eager eating of the goodies while I knelt by his head.

The dentist is done for a year, and tomorrow is another day, but it is a bitless day, a bitless week. Max has had enough metal in his mouth to last him a while, I think.

None the worse for wear, out into his field for a roll and a play with his field mates.

What do we put them through, eh? And ourselves into the bargain.

At one point, when YO was in the doorway and dentist was working away, with Max agog with no route of escape, I said, "This is just so unnatural for them, isn't it?"

"I think pretty much everything we do to them is unnatural." was YO's reply.

Indeed. Quite sobering, that. I could write pages and pages on that, not just horses, but all domestic creatures under our domain... But I won't.

I will think, though, and my thoughts, at the moment, are that we are unworthy of such grace and trust. We should respect it a hell of a lot more than we do.