Call of Duty Oneshots

It's Okay (Hesh)

"Hello," the front desk lady spoke on the other side of the double doors, startling you from where you were treating a cat with a bad scratch. "What's wrong?"

"M-My dog Riley, h-he got tangled in some barbed wire chasing someone who broke into my house," a man replied, his voice shaking as if he'd run a lot in a short amount of time.

"We'll take him into the back and examine him," the front desk helper had stood up, walking around to help the man and his dog.

"He weighs eighty five pounds, let me help," the man spoke sternly.

You knew the lady couldn't do it herself and you didn't want to leave the cat you were treating. Instead of having the stranger come into the operating room, you looked to another helper fixing the IV on a small dog.

"Can you help them?"

"Of course," she was new, looking nervous, and walked bravely through the double doors to help out at the situation.

A few moments later, the two struggling women brought in Riley. He was bearing deep cuts on the hind legs and shoulders. A deep cut went along his stomach too. You quickly moved the cat to her carrier, where she felt most comfortable unlike most cats, and quickly set up a table for Riley.

The gorgeous German Shepherd whimpered as you gently ran a hand over his head, trying to soothe him. His golden eyes shifted to look at your own e/c ones as he shifted uncomfortably. You quickly moved to give him a shot of painkillers.

After a few moments of examining Riley and trying to determine the extremities of his wounds, you told someone to get Riley's owner into a room. You hated these nights at the emergency vet, but you knew there were more good times than bad.

"Be a good boy Riley," you whispered, stroking the thick-haired dog gently.

You quickly used a special hand cleaner as you moved with a clipboard to the door where the small room was. The owner would surely be waiting, you just hoped he was a calm, understanding one. Your heart was already racing just seeing Riley's wounds.

Hopeful pine green eyes snapped to you as you entered the small room. They were similarly hopeful to the ones every owner gave you as you delivered news about pets. You could never get used to the stare, because every situation was different in its own way.

"Hi," you spoke softly, settling yourself on the wheeled stool as the handsome man stared at you.

"Hey," the man sounded worried, his clasped hands only showing his twiddling thumbs. "What's wrong with Riley? Is he going to be okay?"

You almost went to the approach you used on every other owner, talking about options and their pet's life calmly. You pulled yourself away after looking into the man's eyes, you had to tell him the cold hard truth.

"Look, I'm not going to lie, because I can tell you don't want me to," you started, seeing the flicker of approval in the man's eyes. "Riley is very wounded and it will be hard to help him. I need to know what happened."

"Well," the man swallowed, "I was coming home from work like usual. Riley was in the backyard, barking defensively. When I got inside my house, a burglar bolted for the backdoor. Riley took off after him. The man made it through my fence, and into the neighbor's, yet Riley followed him. We both didn't see the barbed wire fence between the creek and the neighbor's fence. Riley got caught up in it and, well, here we are."

You had narrowed your eyes throughout the story, listening carefully. "How old is Riley?"

"Ten."