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Jasmine the Nurse Dog
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I think Jasmine, in her former incarnation, was a nurse. She has given me the most incredible care and attention a patient could ever want or need, except that she can't drive a car or use the telephone.

She hasn't left my side in a week, except to go outdoors to relieve herself or grab a quick mouthful of food. One morning I struggled down to the kitchen to get some juice, with her padding along beside me. She headed to her food bowl while I went to the refrigerator.

I snagged the juice and headed upstairs. She opened her mouth, let the food fall to the floor, and came to my side to accompany me. How many nurses do you know to be that attentive and caring? They are as scarce as hen's teeth.

While I was bedridden, Jasmine would come and check on me, taking deep sniffs of my hands and breath (her version of checking my vitals). Satisfied, I guess, that I wasn't dead yet, she'd flop back down on the floor right next to me and lie there, head on paws, watching for signs of life.

Note to self: Dog sleeps right next to bed. During next bathroom emergency, watch where you step. A broken leg would only complicate matters.

Jasmine has given me a level of concern and attention that has raised my expectation level. Now, instead of being left to my own devices and care unless I specifically ask for help (which I can't do if I can't breathe or talk), I expect my caregiver (this week, my spouse) to check on me every couple of hours and see if I'm ok and do I need anything.

No, I don't expect him to sleep on the floor next to my bed.

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