There
was an old woman who was ill and stayed home most of the time
because
she had COPD. She was on oxygen. Her closest friend was a little
white
dog who went everywhere with her, even slept with her until of late.
The dog
and the
old lady were getting older and they both tossed a lot in their
sleep
and were finding most nights more comfortable sleeping alone.
The faithful little white dog still slept close by until the little old
lady fell off
to sleep.
Then the little white dog would wander into the living room and get into
the recliner
or on the couch. Usually though, the little white dog slept on the
floor
by the
side of the little old lady, on a doggie pillow that she had made for her
friend.
When
she became frightened or had a nightmare, or an asthma attack or became
short
of breath
she would put her hand down to the little white dog and the little white
dog
would
lick it reassuringly.
One night the little old lady was reading her newspaper just before going
to sleep.
She shivered
and pulled the comforter up around her as she read that a mental patient
had wandered
off from a nearby hospital. No one knew if the patient was dangerous
or
not;
he was a suspect in the murders of several women who had lived alone.
The woman turned out the lights and tried to sleep, but she was frightened,
and
tossed
and turned fitfully. Finally, she reached down to where the little
white dog
slept.
Sure enough, a warm, wet tongue began to lick her hand. The woman felt
reassured
and safe, and left her hand dangling off the bed as she turned and settled
in comfortably.
She opened her eyes for a moment and looked through the open door
into
the living room.
There fast asleep in the recliner in front of the fireplace, was her little
white dog.
And down
beside the bed, something was still licking her hand
