Ten Years Old: Teeth Notes and Snuffle Watch
Grandpa Mint is ten. Recent vet visit for snuffles (runny eye and nose) meant an x-ray. Slight tooth-root overgrowth, very minimal, plus a small blockage to watch. I am just the note-taker here. This post is my nurse’s chart: exactly what the vet said (copied word for word), what I tick twice daily, and what hay speed tells me. Not vet advice in any direction, no suggestions, no remedies, no interpretation. Only my log. Senior bunnies need slow days and fast note-taking.
Vet’s words, copied exactly
My sheet’s top box, dated visit day, vet’s name and clinic on the line above: slight tooth-root overgrowth, very minimal, recheck in three months. Small blockage to watch, report appetite changes promptly. Eyes wiped, nose noted, weight steady. Instructions I was given: keep routine stable, track sneezes and appetite, return sooner if eating slows. That box is read-only, I never edit it, never paraphrase it, never add to it. Everything below is my ticking, not their medicine. The skull looks scary on the screen and cute in the room: the x-ray glowed on the monitor like a lantern while Mint himself sat in the carrier demanding parsley. Both images stay in the diary, the lantern and the demanding face.
What I track after vet visits: the twice-daily ticks
- Vet words copied exactly into my sheet, top box, dated, read-only
- Sneezes, eyes, nose: morning + evening tick, tally marks, 7:30 and 19:00, with eye-wipe noted
- Hay eating speed, first sign I notice: flower heads gone in minutes (normal) versus nibbled over the hour (note it)
Week log since the visit
Sneezes counted morning and evening: week reads 2-1, 1-0, 3-2, 0-0, 1-1, 2-1, 1-0, low single digits, no trend, each day initialed. Eyes wiped when damp (4 mornings of 7), nose noted dry or damp in one word. Hay speed normal every evening, flower heads gone in minutes, the diary’s favorite sentence. Senior care is mostly watching closely and writing it down: same hours, same order, same gentle pace as his days. Slow days for him, fast note-taking for me. Next recheck dated on the calendar with two reminders. Until then: ticks, wipes, hay speed, love. The chart continues.
Comfort log: slow days, well kept
Slow-day provisions that earned their keep: the tile-path mat (morning route cushioned), the closer hay pile (less commuting for old legs), the low-entry litter corner (step-over retired), the unchanging evening order (routine is medicine-adjacent comfort, vet-approved as routine stability). Binky days still outnumber slow ones 4 to 3 this month, each binky logged with its exclamation mark, each slow day with its extra mat. Grooming help within my lane: soft brush sessions twice weekly (logged with the grooming diary), no mats found, coat sleek. What I never do: adjust anything the vet didn’t order, skip tick days (zero missed this month), or read the numbers as anything but numbers. The chart’s job is to be complete when the vet asks, complete, dated, and honest. Grandpa Mint’s job is to nap in sunbeams, performed daily, excellently.
Calendar: rechecks and rhythms
Recheck in three months, dated with two reminders (phone plus notebook margin). Between now and then: ticks twice daily, eyes wiped when damp, hay speed watched with love. Rhythm notes: sneezes cluster on dusty days (2 extra on the windy Tuesday, balcony door closed earlier now), eyes clearest after morning wipe, appetite steadiest on tunnel-play evenings. None of this is conclusion, it is weather, recorded. The nurse’s chart stays open on the shelf, pencil attached by string (lost pencils: 3 this year, string installed, problem solved). Ten years old, watched closely, written down daily. That is the entire senior program: slow days, fast pencil, vet’s words on top.
Letters to future me: why the chart matters
Future me, reading this when Mint is slower: the chart is your memory. You will forget whether sneezes rose in May or June, the ticks remember. You will wonder if appetite dipped, hay speed rows answer. Bring the sheet to every visit; vets light up at dated rows the way I light up at binkies. The chart also protects against two failures: panic (numbers steady? breathe) and complacency (numbers drifting? call early). Both failures love worried humans; dated ticks defeat both. Ten years earned this system; the system earns the next years. Keep ticking, keep wiping, keep watching hay disappear at full speed. That speed is the whole ballgame, and Mint still plays it fast.
Chart footer, every page: slow days, fast pencil. Mint naps, I tick. The vet decides; the log provides. Ten years young, watched with love, written with care. Next tick at nineteen hundred.
Ticks continue morning and evening; the chart never sleeps even when Mint does.
Grandpa naps on; ticks keep time.
Slow days, fast pencil, always.
Chart open.
Ten years watched closely and written down daily.
Loved.
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