James Herriot is one of my favourite authors, as was the TV series *All Creatures Great and Small.
Here is a story from one of his books.
JESS: THE NURSE DOG
I first met Jess the Sheepdog when I was treating Eric's bullock for wooden tongue. The bullock was only a young one and the farmer admitted ruefully that he had neglected it because it was almost a walking skeleton.
'Damn!' Eric grunted. 'He's been runnin' out with that bunch in the far fields and I must have missed 'im. I never knew he'd got to this state.'
When actinobacillosis affects the tongue it should be treated right at the start, when the first symptoms of salivation and swelling beneath the jaw appear. Otherwise the tongue becomes harder and harder till finally it sticks out of the front of the mouth, as unyielding as the wood which give the disease its ancient name.

This skinny little creature had reached that state, so that he not only looked pathetic but also slightly comic, as though he were making a derisive gesture at me. But with a tongue like that he just couldn't eat and was literally starving to death. He lay quietly as though he didn't care. 'There's one thing, Eric,' I said. 'Giving him an intravenous injection won't be any problem. He hasn't the strength to resist.' The great new treatment at that time was sodium iodide into the vein - modern and spectacular. Before that the farmers used to paint the tongue with tincture of iodine, a tedious procedure which sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. The sodium iodide was a magical improvement and showed results within a few days. I inserted the needle into the jugular and tipped up the bottle of clear fluid. Two drachms of iodide I used to use, in eight ounces of distilled water, and it didn't take long to flow in. In fact the bottle was nearly empty before I noticed Jess.

I had been aware of a big dog sitting near me all the time, but as I neared the end of the injection a black nose moved ever closer till it was almost touching the needle. Then the nose moved along the rubber tube up to the bottle and back again, sniffing with the utmost concentration. When I removed the needle the nose began a careful inspection of the injection site. Then a tongue appeared and began to lick the bullock's neck methodically. I squatted back on my heels and watched. This was something more than mere curiosity; everything in the dog's attitude suggested intense interest and concern. 'You know, Eric,' I said, 'I have the impression that this dog isn't just watching me. She's supervising the whole job.' The farmer laughed. 'You're right there. She's a funny old bitch is Jess - a sort of nurse. If there's anything amiss she's on duty. You can't keep her away.'
Jess looked up quickly at the sound of her name. She was a handsome animal; not the usual colour, but a variegated brindle with waving lines of brown and grey mingling with the normal black and white of the farm collie. Maybe there was a cross somewhere, but the result was very attractive and the effect was heightened by her bright-eyed, laughing-mouthed friendliness. I reached out and tickled the backs of her ears and she wagged mightily - not just her tail but her entire rear end. 'I suppose she's just good-natured.'
'Oh aye, she is,' the farmer said. 'But it's not only that. It sounds daft but I think Jess feels a sense of responsibility to all the stock on t'farm.'
I nodded. 'I believe you. Anyway, let's get this beast on to his chest.'
We got down in the straw and with our hands under the backbone, rolled the bullock till he was resting on his sternum. We balanced him there with straw bales on eighter side, then covered him with a horse rug. In that position he didn't look as moribund as before, but the emaciated head with the useless jutting tongue lolled feebly on his shoulders and the saliva drooled uncontrolled on to the straw. I wondered if I'd ever see him alive again. Jess, however, didn't appear to share my pessimism. After a thorough sniffing examination of rung and bales she moved to the front, apllied an encouraging tongue to the shaggy forehead, then stationed herself comfortably facing the bullock very like a night nurse keeping an eye on her patient. 'Will she stay there?' I closed the half-door and took a last look inside.
'Aye, nothing'll shift her till he's dead or better,' Eric replied.
'She's in her element now.'
'Well, you never know, she may give him an interest in life, just sitting there. He certainly needs some help. You must keep him alive with milk or gruel till the injection starts to work. If he'll drink it it'll do him most good, but otherwise you'll have to bottle it into him. But be careful - you can choke a beast that way.'
A case like this had more than the usual share of the old fascination because I was using a therapeutic agent which really worked - something that didn't happen too often at that time. So I was eager to get back to see if I had been able to pull that bullock from the brink of death. But I knew I had to give the drug a chance and keep away for five days. When I walked across the yard to the box I knew there would be no further doubts. He would either be dead or on the road to recovery. The sound of my steps on the cobbles hadn't gone unnoticed. Jesse's head, ears cocked, appeared above the half-door. A little well of triumph brimmed in me. If the nurse was still on duty then the patient must be alive. And I felt even more certain when the big dog disappeared for a second, then came soaring effortlessly over the door and capered up to me, working her hind end into convolutions of delight. She seemed to be doing her best to tell me all was well. Inside the box the bullock was still lying down but he turned to look at me and I noticed a strand of hay hanging from his mouth. The tongue itself had disappeared behind the lips.

'Well, we're winnin', aren't we?' Eric Abbot came in from the yard. 'Without a doubt,' I said. 'The tongue's much softer and I see he's been trying to eat hay.'
'Aye, can't quite manage it yet, but he's suppin' the milk and gruel like a good 'un. He's been up a time or two but he's very wobbly on his pins.'
I produced another bottle of sodium iodide and repeated the injection with Jess's nose again almost touching the needle as she sniffed avidly. Her eyes were focused on the injection site with fierce concentration and so intent was she on extracting the full savour that she occasionally blew out her nostrils with a sharp blast before recommencing her inspection. When I had finished she took up her position at the head and as I prepared to leave I noticed a voluptuous swaying of her hips which were embedded in the straw. I was a little puzzled until I realised she was wagging in the sitting position. 'Well, Jess's happy at the way things are goin,' I said. The farmer nodded. 'Yes, she is. She likes to be in charge. Do you know, she gives every new-born calf a good lick over as soon as it comes into t'world and it's the same whenever one of our cats 'as kittens.'
'Bit of a midwife, too, eh?'
'You could say that. And another funny thing about 'er - she lives with the livestock in the buildings. She's got a nice warm kennel but she never bothers with it sleeps with the beasts in the straw every night. I revisited the bullock a week later and this time he galloped round the box like a racehorse when I approached him. When I finally trapped him in a corner and caught his nose I was breathless but happy. I slipped my fingers into his mouth; the tongue was pliable and almost normal.
'One more shot, Eric,' I said. 'Wooden tongue is the very devil for recurring if you don't get it cleared up thoroughly.'
I began to unwind the rubber tube.
'By the way, I don't see Jess around.'
'Oh, I reckon she feels he's cured now, and anyway, she has summat else on her plate this mornin'. Can you see her over there?
I looked through the doorway. Jess was stalking importantly across the yard. She had something in her mouth - a yellow, fluffy object.

I craned out further. 'What is she carrying?'
'It's a chicken.'
'A chicken?'
'Aye, there's a brood of them runnin' around just now. They're only a month old and t'awd bitch seems to think they'd be better off in the stable. She's made a bed for them in there and she keeps tryin' to curl herself round them. But the little things won't 'ave it.'
I watch Jess disappear into the stable. Very soon she came out, trotted after a group of tiny chicks which were pecking happily among the cobbles and gently scooped one up. Busily she made her way back to the stable but as she entered, the previous chick reappeared in the doorway and pottered over to rejoin his friends. She was having a frustrating time but I knew she would keep at it because that was the way she was. Jess the nurse dog was still on duty.
The caring instinct in animals is manifested most obviously in the maternal feeling, surely one of the most powerful and most commonly observed characteristics, but Jess is the only animal I have ever know whose concern embraced all her fellow creatures. As Eric Abbot said, she was in her element when there was any sickness among his livestock. She was a natural canine nurse, and so unique in my experience that I have often wondered if anybody else has encountered one like her.
JAMES HERRIOT