Hey Jasper,

Another day of tail-wagging therapy at the Pawsburg Vet – patched up spirits, lent ears to humans and furries alike, and touched a few hearts. Left feeling like the dog version of Florence Nightingale. Home now, ready for porch cuddles and dreams scented with wisterias.

Sweet dreams,
Blanche 🐾✨

The first light of dawn hadn’t yet kissed the rooftops of Pawsburg when the chorus of Panting Post newspaper boys, all beagles, commenced their barking broadcast. I lay sprawled across the porch, my white coat bathed in the soft pre-dawn glow, with an ear cocked, listening, waiting. Today wasn’t a day for loafing in sunbeams – today, I had a purpose.

The patients at the Pawsburg Veterinary Hospital needed me. Sure, I wasn’t a nurse or a doctor, but the comfort I could offer as I strolled through those linoleum corridors was my true vocation, a balm as soothing as Jasper’s beef stew on a winter’s evening.

I sauntered past Pet Partners Pet Supplies, giving a respectful nod to Rex, the old St. Bernard who guarded the door. My destination lay further ahead, but a savory scent beckoned to me. Shepherd’s Shawarma was starting its day, and even I couldn’t resist a quick peek inside. But today, there were lives to be swept up by hope, my presence a promise of better hours. I steeled myself and plodded on.

The hospital’s sliding doors welcomed me with the whoosh of a pet who truly understood freedom. The staff – a medley of focused canine caregivers – moved with a precision that spoke of practiced paws and caring noses. They didn’t wear scrubs, but each bore a badge, a silent vow of service to those in fur or feather.

“Good morning, Dr. Sniffer,” I greeted the venerable Beagle, bent over his clipboard. His snout poked above the rims of his spectacles, eyes glinting with the wisdom of many stitched wounds and healed hearts.

“Blanche!” He exclaimed, folding his ear back as if doffing a hat. “Right on time.”

As I patrolled the wards, I couldn’t help but notice Sasha, a frail cocker spaniel with her head buried into her paws. I nudged her with my nose, my smirk softening at her feeble tail wag.

“Tough night, huh?”

She lifted her head, her eyes glazed with pain but alight with gratitude. “They say it’s my hips, but I’ll be chasing dragonflies in no time, right?”

“Right,” I assured her, with more confidence than I felt. I spent a moment with her, sharing silent support.

The day unfolded in a blur – a torrent of whimpers calmed, anxieties quelled, and doctors’ furrowed brows smoothed by my mere sitting beside them. I wasn’t merely Blanche; I was their confidante, a stalwart silent type, less mare and more therapy.

It was during one of my quieter moments in the breakroom, lapping at a bowl of water next to Maximus, who’d snuck in for refuge from the bookstore, that a frantic commotion erupted. A yelping was followed by an emergency – a dachshund with a twisted paw, distress palpable in his eyes.

“You’re going to be just fine,” I murmured, as the medical team swirled around him like leaves in a tempest. My words were for him, but also for me, a mantra to hold onto in the turmoil.

Hours later, as the pumpkin hue of twilight bathed Pawsburg, I made my way back to Maple Lane, where the comforting scent of wisterias was still waking from its slumber. A day at the hospital could drain the spirit, but it was never about me. It was always about being there, being steady – a rock in the stream of disquiet.

I didn’t need words to tell Jasper about my day. The telltale smudges of antiseptic on my coat and the weary satisfaction in my eyes said enough. As the night settled around us, and I curled beside him on the porch, Jasper’s hand found my head and stroked it softly. I closed my eyes and drifted, not towards sleep, but toward the serenity of a job done well – a balm within a balm, a healer healing.

The End.