One of the remaining Garfields suggested that what Peter-Bowman really needed to do if he wanted to achieve a magnificent work of life was to go to the dentist. 'Oral hygiene is far more important than most people think,' said the Garfield. 'If I was not a mere stuffed oracular toy, I would most certainly go to the dentist every day.'
Peter-Bowman found this to be excellent advice. He found it in his shoe, which is often the best place to search for advice. Immediately, he sought a dentist.
Luckily, there was a dentist just setting up shop on the pavement outside Peter-Bowman's phone box, so he didn't have far to go. He was quite sure that bus travel was not for him anymore, and very few taxis agreed to make pickups from his phone box. Peter-Bowman helped the dentist plug his chair into a nearby street light.
'Just a little off the sides today', said Peter-Bowman as he lay back in the chair. He had heard it on the television, and it seemed a smart thing to say. If he gained nothing else from this expedition, it seemed certain that soon Peter-Bowman would be looking very tidy indeed. So it was in the case of every person on television that Peter-Bowman had seen visit the dentist. Often they even had very shiny teeth, though Peter-Bowman was not entirely sure if that was a necessary condition of visiting the dentist, or a mere coincidence.
'A little off the sides it is,' said the dentist, and plucked out Peter-Bowman's wisdom teeth. 'I think you'll find it more comfortable with all that weight off your head. Nice and cool for summer.'
Peter-Bowman couldn't agree more. His head felt most extraordinary, it seemed to have expanded to be the size of a minor zeppelin - just a little run about, nothing huge. But still. A head the size of a zeppelin! Peter-Bowman was very grateful to the dentist for this. 'I expect I am sure to discover a true work of life with this head on,' he chuckled to the dentist.
'Of course you will,' said the cheerful dentist. 'I know I did.'
'You have a work of life?' Peter-Bowman was delighted and offered the dentist a chocolate cigar.
'Thank you. Yes. I am a dentist.'
Peter-Bowman had never thought of dentistry as a possible work of life. He considered the matter carefully. He did of course have a large collection of teeth in his phone box, but that was more a personal matter and perhaps not an indication of the direction he should take. However, people always needed dentists after all. They were like private detectives, in that regard.
Peter-Bowman had had an elderly Labrador in his childhood. This dog had been a most famous private detective. She was excellent at tracking down notorious bank robbers and eating them. This made for a tremendous saving on dog food. Peter-Bowman mildly wondered if his lack of success as a bank robber had anything to do with his fond memories of his only childhood companion. Since he had only just remembered her, he rather thought not. But it made for an interesting session with the dentist during which the two of them successfully mined Peter-Bowman's psyche for all sorts of useful tidbits:
Peter-Bowman was allergic to radishes.
Peter-Bowman had once been bitten by an enormous snake.
Peter-Bowman's favourite colour was yellow.
Peter-Bowman's favourite food was chocolate covered radishes, but he couldn't eat them because the chocolate might dissolve his teeth and make them all fall out.
When he was a child, Peter-Bowman's favourite past time had been radishing.
Peter-Bowman's hair was brown.
Peter-Bowman thanked the dentist for his miraculous techniques, but decided the skill was beyond him. He just couldn't cope with the psychology involved, and was also a little uncertain about his ability to comb hair. The dentist assured him that such things could easily be picked up on the job, but Peter-Bowman had long decided that his work of life must be a pillar of magnificence from the very start. The whole must be perfect, and dentistry, while tempting, didn't seem to meet Peter-Bowman's exacting requirements.
Peter-Bowman helped the dentist to pack up his chair when the policeman asked if he had a license to practice dentistry on a public footpath. It was unfortunate that the dentist had left it in his other white coat that morning, as it meant he would have to pay a large fine. Peter-Bowman was so thrilled by meeting an actual dentist, that he immediately paid the fine himself.