I'm on Day Four of a mystery illness that's really starting to tick me off, and I'm reminded of just how much 20 pounds of noisy rat terrier have changed our lives.
"I" is for Isis. She's many things, but lately, she's been my protector.
This respiratory thing has rendered me unable to do much more than wander around the house as if I'm walking through soup. Mainly, I sleep. And when I sleep, Isis is there, guarding me.
Sometimes at night, she'll sleep, too, curled around my legs. But in the daytime, if I'm in bed, she'll stand sentry, growling at anyone who enters the room.
I've always loved our dogs, but Isis is different. She came along shortly after both my kids had left the nest; in fact, Scott picked her out for me, from the animal shelter in Ames, and Caroline and her friend Kelsey made the trip north to meet her and bring her home.
Apparently the part of my personality that needed to nurture someone or something came to the forefront, and this noisy little girl terrier jumped in to fill a void.
Kevin is crazy about her, too, but make no mistake -- she's my dog. And right now, she's especially my dog. She can tell something is not quite right, and she's trying her darnedest to make it so. A while ago, she brought one of her rawhides and dropped it on my stomach. When I cough, she cocks her head at me, then gives me messy dog kisses. She gives what she can.
I read a saying not long ago about the fact that although our dogs are only a part of our lives, we're 100 percent of theirs. But as I look into the kind brown eyes of this little pup, I think she knows that in all actuality, she is, as they say, the one who rescued us.
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