Dogs, glasses, and papas teeth

I know how to raise a puppy.  I do. 

A tenant of raising any young thing is if you don’t want it destroyed don’t leave it within reach. Especially if you require them for driving, say.


Now this is not so bad. I have an old pair that will probably more or less do. And I actually had the thought (then acted on it shockingly) to order a set from
So I’ll squint for a few days. 

Papa story. He had a full set of false teeth. A legacy of a car crash in his teens. There was also a dog, Buddy. Papa placed his teeth on the night stand and began his shower as was his custom. When he returned for his teeth, gone. He searched, questioned mom, no teeth. Had they been knocked off by bed making activities? No. Had he left them somewhere odd? No. Where could they be?

Toothless papa, wandering thru the house, growing increasingly pissed, looking for the d*mn things. I can imagine mom trailing behind, frantically searching.

Then a thought – where’s the dog?

The search for papas beautifully crafted (New Zealand originals?) pearly whites carries on to the back yard. And there, between the paws of moms self proclaimed wolf dog, they were.

A rubble of porcelain and shattered gums. Sad remnant of a proud mouth. Never more to gnaw bones or rend steaks, chomp the end of a pipe. 

Papas cheeks remained hollow for weeks. I’d like to have heard the conversation with the insurance company. ‘No really Mr Henderson, we need to know what happened”grumble mutter dog grumble’.

There was a lot of soup in the weeks that followed. And a lot of good natured jibes from the men dad supported in the heavy machinery industry. The new teeth eventually made their home in his mouth. Never as white, never as good, never as comfortable as that New Zealand set.

Dog trophies. 

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