Thursday, November 23, 2017

It’s My Job

February 8, 2011 by  
Filed under Tale Waggers

Every dog needs a job. Jesse is my husband Blake’s caretaker. After open heart surgery, to repair a mitral valve, I took some time off from work to oversee my spouse’s recovery,little did I know that I would be in the way. Each time I went to adjust a pillow, refill a water glass or give a kiss, Jesse beat me to it. After two weeks of tripping over an eighty-five pound greyhound, I went back to work. Blake was in good hands.

I’ve read articles about how dogs can sense illness in their masters. Jesse is no exception. He seems to anticipate Blake’s level of discomfort.  Part of my husband’s recovery includes several short daily walks.  It took a few days for Jesse to get the timing right, but as I leave the house, I know that our dog will be, without fail, at Blake’s elbow every three hours. If the patient is asleep, a face lick acts as a reminder.

“C’mon Dad . . . Doctor’s orders . . . Time to walk . . . Mom will be mad if we don’t go . . . C’mon . . . It’s my job.”

Jesse gently leads Blake at a steady pace to the end of the block then stops, looks up, and waits. “Can we go farther today?”

“Okay . . . just a little,” Blake answers his helpmate.

Two weeks later, they’re going for a full mile, mostly flat with a few short inclines. Jesse keeps the slow, steady pace, but if fatigue sets in, the dog stops and sniffs his owner, waits a minute, and turns them both around.

You may think I’m exaggerating. But, I’d love to know how many of you out there in cyberspace have similar stories about dogs as caretakers.

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