I must admit, if there's one thing I kept thinking on Saturday afternoon as I knelt in the mud with my camera, and tried (unsuccessfully) to persuade Amelie to feed the giant duck again so that I could get a photo of it savaging her hand, it was that this whole experience might just give her a lifelong fear of the dentist.

Admittedly, to the casual observer, that might not seem like the most obvious connection to make, but the problem is that for the past year, the only dentist Amelie has ever known is this one:


That's Dr Biteright, the avian answer to Orin Scrivello, from the book 'Maisy, Charley and the Wobbly Tooth'.

And here's the quack who bit her on Saturday:


He's like a legless Dr Biteright. Which makes him even more like Orin Scrivello.

Amelie had her first ever dentist appointment this afternoon, a momentous occasion which we've spent weeks preparing her for, by teaching her to open her mouth wide for Dr Biteright, so that he can check for wobbly teeth. Not that she needs much practice in opening her mouth. To be honest, it's rarely shut.

At least until this afternoon. We anticipated an exciting new experience for Amelie to get her teeth into. As it transpired, the occasion wasn't quite jaw-dropping enough. After weeks of planning and practice, the girl wouldn't even open her mouth.

I was at work during the actual appointment, but I could tell from the look on Lisa's face when I picked them both up from the surgery, that things hadn't quite gone according to plan. So I ignored the clenched teeth of my wife, and got the story straight from the horse's mouth:

Me: Did you open wide for Dr Biteright?

Amelie: No, I didn't.

Me: Why not?

Amelie: Because I was crying.

That duck has a lot to answer for. I couldn't really complain though. I have the same conversation with Lisa every time she goes to the dentist.