They rushed the drowning dog into the facility’s medical clinic. St. Clair’s on-call doctor immediately cleared an examination table, wrapping the freezing animal in warm, dry blankets. He checked for a pulse and shook his head grimly. “I can stabilize his breathing for now,” the doctor said quietly. “But he’s severely hypothermic, and his lungs are full of water. We need a vet with real expertise, fast.”
Kelly stepped outside the clinic room to check on John. He was sitting in the hallway chairs, his head buried in his calloused hands, weeping into the quiet night. The trauma of almost losing the animal had clearly broken something deep inside his silent world.
It was a race against the clock. If the dog died tonight, John might pull away forever. Just when hope seemed entirely lost, the clinic doors burst open. The local veterinarian arrived, soaked from head to toe from the storm. For two agonizing hours, they waited in dead silence.