Togo Goes Dental

Daddy reads stories to me. One of my favorites is “Little Red Riding Hood” — mainly because it has a wolf in it. It might have been one of my ancestors, except for that part where the wolf doesn’t get out alive in the end. 

But enough sadness. What I really like about that story is when Little Red Riding Hood says, “Grandma, what big teeth you have!” A little silly of her, of course, since it was actually the wolf in disguise. (Just an aside here, but whoever wrote that story wasn’t good at naming characters. I mean, really. Little Red Riding Hood?! And Big Bad Wolf?!)

I did like the part about the teeth, though. I’m particularly proud of my teeth. 

One thing about having nice teeth is that you want to let people know you have them. Humans smile a lot to show their teeth. I’m not much of a smiler. So I do the other thing you do. I chew on things. 

Some things, like my tug-of-war rope, are made to be chewed on. Or like this big green, guaranteed-indestructible chew toy that my friend, Laurie, gave me.

There are other things that, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have chewed on. Like our neighbors’ kids’ soccer ball. 

Or the handle on Daddy’s barbecue grill.

Or the handle on the door of the shed Daddy bought to put his barbecue grill in so that I wouldn’t chew on it.

And honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking that night I carved my teeth marks in my dog igloo. 

But if you got ‘em, you ought to flaunt them, I always say! 

Daddy says I should “floss,” not “flaunt.” Noted — but not heeded.