The horse dentist is handsome, with blond windswept hair and a weather-beaten face. There is something Heathcliffian about him, something wild and sexy.
On the other hand, he dresses in overalls, brandishes grim tools, and looks a lot like a medieval torturer.
He cheers me up with his gallows humour, but also he scares me. The overall effect is what you would call a frisson.
He regales me with rude jokes as he gets stuck in with gigantic pliers. Hard to know whether to laugh or scream.
On this occasion, I called him out primarily to look at Tara, the old mare. I had been through the usual expensive vet visit, which consisted of me telling the vet I knew exactly what was wrong with the animal I had owned for 20 years, and the twentysomething vet telling me my instinct was completely wrong.
I told this vet: ‘Look, she’s got a dodgy tummy but there’s nothing else wrong with her.
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