I’m learning to smile at some of the warnings I get every day. Social media is a daycare for worriers and warners. There is never a shortage of things we can be warned about.

(above: this photo captures what it feels like on the eve of our arctic weekend weather.)

I get a warning almost daily from anxious people who see danger everywhere.

Their favorite thing to warm me about it is my dogs.

Many things can kill them or make them deadly ill, don’t you know? And all kinds of things can poison them, especially on a farm. I’m dubious – I’ve lived with many dogs on my two farms, and many of them would eat everything that wasn’t frozen to the ground and some things that were.

No casualties so far.

And it’s not just the dogs. You would hardly believe everything that can kill a chicken out there, although I have yet to lose a hen to a plant.

I’ve stopped telling people when I take Zinnia out in the car anytime between May and October. It is a miracle that she is alive today, given my presumed ignorance of harming dogs in the heat.

Yesterday, I was warned that grain could kill our sheep with bloat (news to me,  I’ve been giving them grain since I had hair) and that Bud would perish in extreme cold (true, but we know that).

The best of the day was this warning: “Jon, I read that you are going to see a periodontist about your infected gums. Be careful; my sister went to the dentist and was diagnosed with tooth cancer.” I wondered if she didn’t mean oral cancer or gum cancer, but her message was quite specific.

This was something new to me that I had never been warned about, and also to Dr. Merryman, my dentist, who looked at me strangely when  I asked him (mischievously) to check my teeth for tooth cancer. He even went to look it up to make sure, but when I couldn’t stop laughing, we both made a joke. “Thanks for not finding tooth cancer,”  I said.

He is a good sport.

My gum infection had resisted antibiotics and was too deep for him to get at.

So that made it serious. I went to see a periodontist in Saratoga Springs at his request.

He was great, another blessed man who loves what he does and is open, honest, and warm. I liked him writing away.

He looked at the X-ray and explained what it showed and what we could do about it. ‘You’re not going to like it,” he said, and I didn’t.

Dr. Gleck had hair down to his shoulders, and I couldn’t resist asking him about it; I’d never seen that on a male doctor who wasn’t an intern. He explained that he lets it grow, then cuts it off and sends it to cancer patients who have lost their hair to chemotherapy.

He walked me through the problem in dense dental talk, and after a while, I confessed, “Look, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t want to waste your time. It sounds like the problem is complex, and saving the tooth will be difficult and expensive.

“What about pulling it?” I asked. My mouth will be healthier, and we’ll figure out what to do afterward. It’s not going to make me any uglier than I am…”

Dr. Dweck smiled and said he thought getting rid of the tooth was a good decision. The infection was deep, and a crown next to it was too large, trapping the bacteria below. He said I could get an implant, a bridge, or leave it alone and see what happened. I’ll deal with that later. Getting rid of this tooth will keep the rest of my mouth healthy.

Dr. Merryman said my other teeth look great.

Done and done; the bill will be around $333, much less than I feared. I loved this doctor; Saratoga Springs is a lucky place for me healthcare-wise.

I have even found male doctors who like talking to their patients and have a sense of humor. Dr. Dweck is a kindred spirit; he is even a passionate photographer. I forgot to bring my Leica.

I’ll probably get the tooth pulled in June; he’s booked up.

I couldn’t resist. “So you don’t think I have tooth cancer, right?”

I had him there; he didn’t know quite what to do. Then he just laughed. I better be careful about playing with a periodontist, I thought.

He will get the last word.