I busted a toof

Yesterday was the roundup and all that stuff. I started the morning off by using up a whole battery charge with our new weed whacker, then plugged it in to do another round. Meanwhile Karla went up to the old house to help out with breakfast for the people who would be doing the heavy lifting: The vet and the shoer. (My computer highlights the word shoer as if to day "that's not a word, dummy" but I say it is.) Both of those gentlemen will be doing the most physical work and they need to be prepped with tummies full of good food.

For the first time since 1981 I won't be cooking breakfast. Nor will I be barbecuing tri-tip steaks for lunch. We have actual cooks who will be handling those duties so I am free to chop weeds instead! Lucky me. I had intended to get up to the ranch a little after noon, but something happened to change that plan—I broke a tooth! Not just any tooth, but number 10! That's dentist-speak for my upper left side lateral incisor, the one right next to the big central incisor. So I had to be on the phone instead, setting up a visit to the dentist and answering the question, "Does it hurt?"

No, it doesn't hurt. I guess they ask that in order to determine how quickly they have to act. It's funny since a few years back (like 15 or more) I had broken off number 7, the other lateral incisor. That got me to the dentist in Mariposa whom I still use. That one didn't hurt either.

Tomorrow morning I have an appointment at 9:30 with another dentist in Oakhurst who specializes in root canal surgery. If he's done by 11 o'clock, I'll notify my Mariposa dentist and he'll see me by 1 o'clock to outfit me with a temporary incisor. Then three weeks later, I'll get a permanent tooth put in.

Then I'll go home and wait for the next tooth to break and repeat the whole thing. That is if I'm around in another fifteen years.