Some folks would argue that it isn't the drugs that made me feel better, but my beloved bodyguard dog. It is due to her unflagging care and devotion, they might say, that has made the difference.
When I am in bed, she checks on me every 15 minutes. First, she licks the arm/hand/face closest to her, then burrows her nose in to wherever my nose is - I guess she's making sure I am still breathing. She then drools on me for 60 seconds or so, before going to the bedroom door and ordering the other dogs "Out".
If I am on the couch, she comes up, does a physical, then, if the findings are good, she flops down on the floor to pant in my face. If the findings aren't quite...up to snuff, she'll climb up on the couch to plant herself on my feet - seeing's how it's *awfully* cold in the house (78*) and, obviously, my wool-blend socks and flannel lounging pants (and long sleeve flannel nightshirt) just aren't cutting it in the warmth department. (Neither is the quilt, apparantly)
When I get up to wander into the kitchen for a Jell-o refill, she does recon for me, to make sure the evil refridgerator monster doesn't get me.
I am trembling to think of what she'll do when I finally decide to attempt a shower......