Connie lived in a gated community for seniors. As I approached her door a charcoal welcome mat with bright red letters caught my eye. It said:

I was still chuckling as a tiny, elderly lady slowly pulled open the steel security door. Her hands were so gnarled with arthritis that she could barely cling to her walker.

"Yip, Yip, Yip," a fat little white and gray dog barked at me. He kept a low "grrr" rolling in the back of his throat as his teeny tail stood straight up in the air.

"Hi," I said, giving the Chihuahua a wide berth for the sake of my ankles. "I'm Rachel, the home health nurse. I see the warning on the mat is serious."

"Yes," Connie replied with a vigorous nod of her gray head. "Hercules is my protector. He makes sure no one hurts me." She looked down at Hercules fondly. "She's okay, big boy. She's supposed to come. Now go and eat your supper."

The dog ignored her reassurances and continued to watch me suspiciously as Connie added, "Have you heard that the news said there's a rapist in this neighborhood? You can never be too careful."

Hercules yipped again as if in agreement, then trotted ahead of Connie as she walked haltingly toward the kitchen. Connie's arms rested atop well-padded armrests that were mounted on top of her five-inch-wheeled walker. Once there, the dog pawed at a plate heaped with table scraps. I observed with a smile that it was a pretty hefty serving, certainly larger than his own bitty size. As though he could read my mind, Hercules eyed me closely and kept his paws on top of his stash. I suppose he wanted to make sure I didn't try to filch any of his prized meal of bit-sized steak with gravy and mashed potatoes.

As I took Connie's vital signs, she told me that faithful Hercules was her only remaining companion. Her husband had died ten years earlier, and they had no children. Her eyes rested lovingly on Hercules as she spoke. "He's getting so old; he used to be almost all black. I don't want him to die before me. I couldn't bear it."

I proceeded to change the dressing on Connie's port-a-cath, a central intravenous catheter that is implanted beneath the skin that she had for receiving her chemo therapy once a week. As I worked, Hercules hopped up on the arm of the easy chair to better supervise each move I made to make sure I did it right. First his little nose sniffed the air to check out every item I pulled from my bag, then he bowed his head as if to give approval.

You sure do have a good buddy there," I told Connie. "I hope he lives a while yet too." I nudged a tennis ball that was on the floor near my feet. Hercules immediately ran to fetch it and rolled it back by my toes. I continued to prod the ball in different directions and Hercules nosed it back every time. We played our game the whole time I filled out paperwork with Connie looking on.

"I can't even do that much for him," she said. "He must be bored watching me sit all day."

I couldn't resist staying an extra ten minutes to play with Hercules. When he finally lay down, panting and out of breath, I told Connie, "Just call me any time you need someone to play with your "Godzilla tamer.' I love dogs."

Connie's delighted laugh turned to a groan as she struggled to get to her feet. "And we could say that you're here to rehabilitate the security system. My big boy got more exercise today than he's had in months." I could hear her laughing again and complimenting her protector on his workout even after the security screen closed and locked behind my back.