Poor old Jonty had to have some dental work this week. I've been avoiding it, because he has to be anaesthetised and that always makes me anxious. But the state of the Pug Breath meant action had to be taken. I made the appointment for Monday, and delivered him, all unsuspecting, into the hands of the vet. It needed to be done. He had eight extractions, and a general clean up. The vet said when I picked him up that he might not want to eat that night, and not to worry. A pug not eat? I took him home, and had already prepared a little bowl of chicken tenderloin. He ate one tenderloin rapid quick. Then another. And another. Yet another. I cooked the rest for my own dinner, and he had some of it cooked afterwards. A pug not eating is a dead pug.
The teeth remaining (yes, there are plenty left - one website gives the number as 42) are gleaming. Well worth doing, we hope he will be chomping away for years to come. More bones, toothbrushing, all these are on the agenda and more.