As he entered the patient’s room, he could hardly believe his eyes.
It would have been extremely hard for him to express the emotions that flooded through him at that moment; not that anybody would have asked, of course. This was just something that only he knew about. This was about him, the man in the bed. He recognised him immediately. This was the man in the park, the day his best friend was injured. He saw how it had happened. It was a momentary thing. His dog, Muffin, was such a loving animal and his main companion since his wife had passed away with a medical condition that was even beyond his own professional calling to cure. That had been the day it had been so viciously booted on its rump. The dog had unwittingly crossed this man’s path, causing him to trip and nearly fall over. What happened next was hard to watch, even from a distance. This brute had kicked him. From where he stood, holding his dog’s lead, he had heard Muffin’s yelp.
Later that day, the vet was as disturbed by the brutality of the incident as the owner, but he said there were no bones broken and that medication and time would do the healing. Muffin was obviously in pain and for several long days had spent time indoors, limping around the house.
The patient in the bed was asleep, but had been insisting that he receive something stronger for the pain. The doctor paused to consider for the briefest moment. After all, it was about Muffin; it was about cruelty. When the nurse returned, he would make sure she saw his note.
‘No painkillers, for religious reasons.’