Here's to living life in the dental fast lane

I lost a tooth the other day. It was the molar on the northwest side next to my only wisdom tooth that ever came in. Which explains why sometimes I go over the edge of common sense.

I mean, how many wise men would pass a policeman on a double yellow line, pass up an opportunity to invest in USTRC at its beginning, and put Brown Swiss bulls big as box cars in with a pen of replacement heifers?

I was born with no teeth. … Really. And four of the permanents never came in.

It’s genetic because my father and uncles were missing lateral incisors. We were born to take a bit. I asked my dentist if I was evolving up or down the food chain? He said people’s jaws were getting smaller and we don’t need as many teeth as Adam and Eve, therefore I was in the fast lane.

Which reminds me, I also got a ticket for going too slow in the fast lane in California.

I mentioned my kinfolks. I confess, by the time I was old enough to pay any attention to my dental history, they’d already lost all their teeth and wore dentures. They were raised pre-fluoride-in-the-water and in-the-toothpaste.

I’ve often wondered if we had lived in Lubbock more than two years, maybe I’d have stronger teeth? There was so much fluoride in that Texas Panhandle water kids rarely had cavities. Although, the fluoride turned their teeth brown. A small price to pay.

A kind word about dentists: They are a misunderstood profession. I have friends who compare dental work to water boarding, but not I. Look at what they have accomplished improving the condition of teeth in the U.S.A., and all without appointing a dental czar.

I go to the dentist to relax. Maybe it’s the chair, or the music, or the smell of burning hair … whatever, just wake me when it’s over.

That’s how I felt after I received two tickets for speeding between El Paso and Alamogordo. Two days in a row. One going, and one coming back.

An older couple sat at the café counter in Hooper, Neb. He had a hamburger cut in half on his plate. His sweet wife sat next to him, patiently with nothing in front of her. A stranger walked in, observed and in a moment of generous compassion offered to buy the missus her own burger.

“No, Thank you,” the old man said smiling, “We share everything.”

The stranger went and washed his hands. Upon returning his heart swelled and he offered again.

“Thank you, but no.” answered the old man. “As I said we share everything.”

The frustrated stranger turned to the sweet lady. “Wouldn’t you like your own hamburger?”

“Thanks anyway, Sonny. I’m waiting for the teeth!”

Baxter Black is a self-described cowboy poet, ex-veterinarian and sorry team roper. He can be contacted at 1-800-654-2550 or by e-mail at:
headcowboy@baxterblack.com