The man made his way through. He was in a hallway, brightly lit and "neatly" cluttered with wheelchairs, hanging clipboards and medical supplies. His footsteps, although blended in with the footsteps of the nurses and doctors around him, sounded almost unique. Like a tap dancer.
The man was in his early forties, with an eccentric coiffure, well-defined facial features and a broad and tall build. He was wearing a bone-white coat, dark trousers and a stethoscope hanging around his neck, clearly signifying him as a well-established doctor. He was holding a clipboard filled to the rim with important papers and notes.
Observing his surroundings carefully like a foreigner, he found himself at his first destination. It was an almond door, bearing the sign number 101. As if on a cue, it opened, and he found himself facing a smiling middle-aged woman in a light blue nurse's uniform.
"Hello, Doctor Ryder," she cooed delightfully, "Doctor Benson will be with you shortly for the report."
Nodding in reply, the nurse disappeared inside, only to be replaced by another person. It was a he this time, an old bald man with wire spectacles and a handlebar mustache.
"Ah, Doctor Ryder. How are you today?"
"I'm doing very well, thank you. What's the injury report on the two Pups?"
The bald doctor bit his lip and retrieved a folded paper from his lab pocket, "The chocolate Labrador, I think its name is Suma or something like that, only suffered a mild concussion, but strong enough to knock him out for a period of time. The second Pup, a mix-breed called Rocky, was injured more seriously. He has a serious abrasion at the back of his head, along with a serious concussion, but he will live and recover quickly."
"Thank you, Doctor Benson." smiled Doctor Ryder as the door was politely closed. Again, he walked along the hallway.
His second destination was at another almond door. This time, a note marked "For Doctor Ryder Only" was taped to it. Without a moment's wait, he pulled it off, opened it and began reading.
"Injury report for German Sheppard, Chase," he mumbled to himself, "Injuries are: multiple broken ribs, broken nose, broken right front paw, internal bleeding, multiple cuts. Will heal over course of about a month."
Taping it back against the wall, Doctor Ryder committed the note to memory and for the third time returned to the brisk stream of doctors, nurses and patients in the corridor. The flow of people moved him along quickly, and before the doctor knew it, he was brought to his third and final stop.
It was a metal door, polished and studded with Braille dots. Pushing it open, he found himself another doctor. This one was short and African-American, with trendy full-frame glasses and multiple pens adorning his lab coat.
"Doctor Ryder," he began, "To what do I owe to the pleasure of your company?"
"I would like a couple of words with the patient." Doctor Ryder responded.
"Most certainly, Doctor." The African-American left the room, leaving him alone with the patient.
The patient was on a modern hospital bed, outfitted with metal handles and wheels. He was a bare-chested boy with tall spiky hair and a round and long face. His skin was blushing and goose-bumped. His eyes were closed shut. Wires covered his chest, and his stomach and the back of his neck was heavily padded with white bandages.
Sitting down next to him, Doctor Ryder put down his clipboard, took the boy's hand, and started stroking it tenderly. Slowly, his eyes fluttered opened. He whispered just one word.
"Dad?"