The Last Dose

“You have to inject this medicine directly into his wound—just press it from behind,” the vet said, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather.

I stared at the syringe.
“But I’m neither a vet nor a doctor,” I blurted out. “I’m only a doc’s sister.”

He looked at me, steady and unflinching.
“If you wish to save that dog from dying, you have to do it.”

That was all.

The maggots had eaten their way into the wound. That was why he smelled foul, why he hid in dark corners, quietly surrendering to pain. The injection would kill the maggots. So I took a deep breath, whispered a shaky prayer, and did what needed to be done.

After that came five days of oral medicine and antibiotics—five days of negotiation, deception, and love.

Day one, he took the medicine happily, tail wagging, trusting me blindly.
Day two, suspicion crept in—but a piece of sweet barfi, his favorite, sealed the deal.
Day three required sweet words and a sweet dish.
By day four, he refused outright. I rolled the medicine into a tiny sweet, placed it on my palm, and fed him slowly, lovingly—like one feeds hope to the wounded.

“Trust,” I learned, “is fragile—but kindness can hold it together.”

Day five was war.

He wouldn’t eat. No trick worked. No sweetness tempted him. Panicked, I finally forced the medicine into his mouth—and he vomited it out.

Defeated, I rushed back to the vet.
“What do I do? He won’t take the last dose.”

The vet thought for a moment and said,
“You can mix it in a ready-made meat packet.” Then paused. “But today is the last day of Navratri. Will you give him?”

His words echoed long after he stopped speaking.

“What matters more?” I asked myself.
“My Navratri ritual—or saving the life of a stray dog?”

The answer came quietly, without drama.

A few minutes later, he was happily relishing the meat, the medicine hidden within, his eyes soft again, his body healing.

“Faith,” I understood that day, “is not what we refuse to do—it is what we choose to do when life is at stake.”

And somewhere between belief and compassion, a life was saved.

Note: At that time, I was already vaccinated with anti-rabies injections.

Pic : Wounded stray dog