Dirt on your finger..!

An item in today’s newspaper had me sadly amused. A lady doctor who runs a pain clinic, told the press how she saw a destitute woman bleeding profusely on the pavement outside her gym. “She was bleeding profusely, it was all over the pavement and flowing onto the road. I asked the watchman to call the police, but he did not respond.”
She then called the local MLA and the municipality but they paid no heed to her pleas. Finally five hours later she called the local newspaper and the paper put pressure on the police who arranged for an ambulance and carried the woman away. I wonder whether it was too late? Five hours is a long time isn’t it? Why didn’t the lady doctor herself do something?
I remember Farida is a lady who lives quite close to my place and loves dogs. One day in the course of conversation, I told her I loved dogs too. “Why don’t you come with me to the animal hospital?” she asked. I agreed. She arrived next day and seated herself in my car with a badly wounded dog, “I hope you don’t mind Bob,” she said, as my rear seat was bloodied. At the hospital, she brought out two huge tiffin carriers of food and proceeded to feed all the hundreds of animals in their cages.
Suddenly we entered the area where the very sick dogs were kept. I watched as Farida placed food in each of their plates. We reached a kennel where a dog seemed to be having permanent convulsions. “Distemper,” said Farida to me, as she put some good in the dog’s plate and handed the plate to me. I put the plate down as near the sick animal as possible, but so bad were the shivers that the animal could not reach the good.
“Pick the dog and hold it near the good,” said Farida. “What?” I shouted in consternation. I loved dogs alright but this was beyond anything I had ever thought of doing. I looked at the poor fellow, dirty and filthy and then slowly picked it up, felt its spittle drool all over my arm, and nearly vomited with the effort as I held it near its plate. “Hold the head firmly,” said Farida. I did, and the dog ate.
“It’ll live,” said Farida as she looked at the little fellow after it had eaten. It had stopped its convulsions. I felt happy. I stooped down and touched it. I had tears in my eyes as I looked at the wetness on my hand. I didn’t attempt to wash it away. That little bit of dirt on me was worth more than all the other good deeds I could have done, and suddenly it was like a medal I had won. What we need is a little dirt on our fingers..!
—Email: bobsbanter@gmail.com

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