when your dog is your nurse

Skye and I have spent the past four days in bed, save a trip to the Dollar store on Friday to get supplies for the long anticipated haul of sickness, and a trip to the urgent care clinic Sunday when the long anticipated haul of sickness turned into too-much-to-freaking-handle-on-my-own.

She rotated between the love seat (which is also her space)

to my bed, and what a great bedmate she is, especially when I'm sick and my feet are cold and she seems to know this and adjusts her body just so that she's laying on them, but not crushing them. And then they become warm.


If I woke up in my fevered haze and could not find her beside me, or four feet away from me on the love seat, I would find her next to my bed on the other side...sleeping.

She became a master at detecting by what stumble to what room I was headed to. I was allowed to pee solo, but any trip to the kitchen or beyond had to accompanied by her. She was annoying only twice when she mistook my throwing off the covers as my hearty way to greet the morning (or, in our case, the rise from our third 2-hour nap) and deciding that trampling over my body was the best way to celebrate. No, Skye, unfortunately, it is not.

So, here's to Skye, and the best nurse a girl could ask for. Unless, of course, I needed someone to bring me food or medicine or Sprite. And here's to all the friends and family who called to check on me and offer to bring me piles of stuff, and to my boss who called today to tell me to stop working from my bed, and to the doctor who "snuck me in" and told me I was too old to have ear infections (two of them!), but that strep was the preliminary culprit behind my illness.

And regretfully, this was the weekend of dear friends visiting Dallas and the Saturday we would spend together, but did not because of double ear infections and strep. I'm blowing you kisses.

Here's to health.