When I was growing up, our pets never seemed to need much care. We had Airedales, but the fluffy, unkempt kind, not the classic, sharply shorn kind. They ate dry kibble and a dinner of the family's leftovers. The cats roamed indoors and out, and ate what they caught alongside some dry cat food. We only washed them for the sport of it and when the fleas couldn't be ignored (Houston fleas are the size of sesame seeds).

The first hint I had that this could be different was one summer that I was staying in Maine with a friend. I came out the door of her farmhouse and found her on the lawn bending over her husky. As I moved closer, I realized that she was brushing his teeth. "I don't like dog breath in my face when I'm driving," she said, referring to an upcoming trip to Boston, when Seek would be riding in the back seat of the car. Then she got the vacuum cleaner and vacuumed off his shedding fur.

This came to mind recently, because we took the cats in for their annual rabies shots and the vet discovered that they both have gingivitis, one severely. They claim--could this be true?--that pets can start developing tooth problems at about three years old. I guess ours are typical, then. Nearly four figures later, ten tooth extractions, a basket full of antibiotics, and a damaged cat-owner relationship, we have a cured cat, instructions to brush the teeth of both felines regularly, and some prescription anti-tartar food. Pity no one thought to brush their teeth when they were kittens, they don't intend to get used to it.

That might be why New Skete recommends brushing your dog's teeth from puppyhood--who cares about dog breath, it's the vet bills that make you reel.