Euthanize him?” I questioned.
“Yes,” the owner responded plainly, “I don’t want him anymore.”
The puppy tugged playfully at my robe with sharp little teeth. Despite the unfamiliar scents of the examination room, the white coat of the strange man, and the fact that his own owner planned to dispose of him in the harshest way possible, his bright, mischievous eyes held no trace of fear.
“But he has no health issues or aggressive behavior,” I tried to reason with the woman.
“So what? I simply don’t want him!” she insisted.
In truth, the puppy did have a considerable problem. It wasn’t health-related, but rather one of breed and appearance. At six months, puppies often look awkward, caught between losing their charming baby features and not yet reaching their full adult size. This little dog had been purchased at a market as a Griffon—a small, snub-nosed dog with a wiry coat and playful temperament.
Although some breed characteristics were present, the puppy had already outgrown the largest Griffon and was quickly approaching the size of a medium Schnauzer. His large lower jaw with an overbite gave him a Boxer-like appearance, while one erect ear and the other drooping resembled traits common to shepherd dogs. His wiry fur stuck out at odd angles. Frankly, if there were a contest for the “ugliest dog,” he would likely rank among the top five.
“I wanted a small dog,” the displeased woman continued complaining, “instead, they sold me this ugly mutt.”
“You don’t buy purebred dogs at markets,” I muttered grimly, stating a fact.
“True! And do you know how much they cost at kennels?”
“I am aware,” I replied with irritation.
Contemplating the predicament, I realized there were three possible solutions. The first was tempting: dousing the woman with a bottle of brilliant green antiseptic so she’d spend a week scrubbing it off. However, potential legal complications and trouble for the clinic deterred me. The second option was less severe: simply telling her firmly that we don’t euthanize healthy animals. But this risked losing the client to another clinic or worse, abandonment of the puppy in harsh January cold. The third, though most troublesome, involved calling an animal shelter to take the pup in.
I sighed heavily and dialed the shelter’s number.
“Hi, Sveta. Can you find a home for a six-month-old male puppy? He looks like a bulldog-terrier mix—ugly as I look after a night shift, but kind. I’ll send a photo. Can’t you keep him? Full shelter again? Alright, he’ll stay with me for now but please act quickly. The clinic owner isn’t thrilled.”
After hanging up, I met the owner’s surprised gaze. Clearly, she wasn’t about to give the dog away so easily. I’d need to find the right approach.
“Here’s the deal,” I said with a voice colder than the frosty window outside, “I can’t euthanize him. However, since it’s the holidays, the price will be doubled. You’ll also have to pay for corpse removal, cremation, and storage. The disposal truck only comes Monday—holiday season, you understand.”
“What? This is outrageous!” The woman’s face twisted in disgust.
“I agree it’s unfair,” I acknowledged. “But I’m not the one setting fees here. To save you money, I suggest signing a waiver to relinquish the dog. I’ll deliver him to a shelter where he can find a new owner.”
“A new owner?” Her eyes widened incredulously. “Who would want such an ugly dog?”
“Or,” I said, noticing a flicker of suspicion, “maybe it’s a rare breed, and you plan to sell him for a lot?”
Mentally, I chastised myself for nearly grabbing that bottle of antiseptic. I reminded myself to stay calm and professional.
“You could try selling him at the market,” I offered. “Does he have any vaccinations?”
“Vaccinations?” She was clearly confused.
“You’ll have to pay for them before selling,” I added unfazed.
“Pay for vaccinations? Isn’t selling without them allowed?”
“You can try,” I said indifferently. “If caught, you’ll face fines.”
“No thanks!” The woman removed the collar, stuffed it into her bag, and nudged the dog toward me.
“Take this miracle away. He’s already chewed all my furniture. What should I sign?”
I took a photo of the puppy and sent it to Sveta, who promised to post it on the website immediately. I fed the pup and placed him in a kennel within the clinic’s inpatient area. With no further visitors, I settled comfortably, ready to watch the entrance and sing quietly to lift my spirits.
Key Insight: Singing has a powerful way to restore a bright outlook, even during taxing days.
“Misty morning, gray dawn,” I sang in a deliberate baritone.
“Wow!” came a playful response from the kennel.
“You can sing?” I asked amazed. “That’s your name then—Miracle! Let’s duet!”
We performed “Morning,” followed by “Black Raven,” and harmonized so well with “Out to the Field with My Horse” that I did not notice the door opening. Suddenly, applause startled me.
“Bravo, bravo!” chuckled a slender elderly man who slipped in unnoticed—it was my friend, client, and treating veterinarian, Alexander Ivanovich, nicknamed Shurik.
“Shurik, you scared me!”
“No, you scared me! Walking by, I heard howling and thought you’d finally cracked. I came to check if you needed professional help.”
“Actually, yes! Can you shelter the animal for a week or two? Our shelter’s full again.”
“That was probably a mistake. After Mukhtar died, I vowed never to have a dog again,” Shurik said solemnly.
Last year we buried Mukhtar, a dog who took half his owner’s heart with him. But the puppy needed care, so I added a pleading tone.
“It’s only temporary. Think of him as a patient you’re watching while a bed in therapy becomes available.”
“Don’t remind me about beds or work. I’m no doctor here. What breed is this? He looks ugly.”
“A rare breed! The only one of its kind. Still unnamed—use your imagination. He was brought for euthanasia.”
“You kept him again?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kind, Aibolit!”
“Not really. I almost poured green disinfectant on her.”
“Well, not acid at least. Okay, I’ll take your dog for a day or two tops. What’s his name?”
“Miracle. Or whatever you like.”
“No need. It suits him perfectly. Got a leash?”
“We’ll make something. The owner took everything.”
“You devil! Fine, put him on a leash while I’m still sane. What were you singing?”
“Out to the field with my horse!”
“I’ll try that too. But only a week! Call as soon as space frees up!”
Days later, when a spot opened up, I phoned Shurik.
“Forget your shelter,” he said. “I’m not selling this dog for any price. We have concerts every evening now! My wife laughs again after Mukhtar’s death. Though he’s ugly, he’s hilarious! He fetches slippers, dances, understands every word! The grandchildren come almost daily now, not just once a month. Thanks, friend!”
I hung up, watching the softly falling snow and the muted glow of holiday lights. Miracles often arrive when least expected — the saved puppy, Shurik’s renewed laughter, and I, a veterinarian, acting as the unexpected link between two destinies. How fortunate it all turned out!
The phone rang. My assistant Milа answered.
“Vet clinic, hello. Yes, we’re open today. Of course, bring the patient. No, I can’t say anything over the phone—let’s see in person.”
I tore my gaze from the window and looked at Mila.
“Car accident. Dog. Probably a fracture.”
“Prepare the operating room, Mila. Today looks like a good day. Let’s keep it that way.”