Unlike all your coworkers, you actually loved working nights. It was quiet, you rarely had any emergencies, and you could take care of both the animals and the paperwork without feeling rushed. You were more of a night owl anyway, so the darkness outside didn’t cradle you to sleep, but rather give you more energy.

If anyone did come in, it would still snap you out of routine procedures like vaccines and whatnot, so you would never fall into a slump. It brought you an immense sense of pride, knowing that you had the ability to cure them. Nothing could beat the face on the owners’ faces when they would see their furry friends back in shape.

That night was relatively quiet as well, fixing the appointment schedules for the next few days when the doorbell started to ring uncontrollably. You almost jumped out of your skin, springing up from your chair to go open the door. Your heart fell to your feet. There stood a man, a German Shepherd at his side, and a mutt pup in his arms, looking terribly injured.

You immediately took him into a room, doing everything you could to stabilize his vitals. The man - Simon - only told you that the dog wasn’t his, but he couldn’t leave him there. You knew there was more to the story, because after he went to wash his hands, his knuckles were still bright red and busted. His German Shepherd looked fine, docile and glued to his owner’s side.

The small pup had suffered a lot, old and fresh wounds indicating some form of neglect and abuse that had been going on for some time. It broke your heart. Once you were able to stabilize him, you gave him some painkillers to help him rest. But your job wasn’t done yet.

When you came out of the room to update Simon, you were holding a first-aid kit in your hands. He raised a brow, sceptic. “What’s that for?” He asked. “That little guy wasn’t the only one who needed help.” You replied softly. He chuckled, but the sound lacked any mirth. “If I had needed help, I would’ve gone to a damn hospital.”