One day my dad came back home in his truck and there was a cage in the back. Naturally I was curious, so I went towards the truck when I noticed that there was a small little goat that wasn’t even an adult yet.

I asked my dad and he said that he bought the goat from his friend and he was going to kill it twenty minutes after he brought it home so that we would have a big meal.

My sister was there too and she was strongly for my view. We found out we got really mad at my dad and told him not to kill it. After about 10 minutes of complaining we finally convinced my dad not to kill it because we told him that there was no reason for him to kill the goat himself when he could just buy goat meat at a store.

My parents know some friends that we visit sometimes and their family really likes animals so we decided to give it to them. For about a month, they had the goat as a pet and they also had the same problems as we had because the dad wanted to kill it and eat it but the rest of the family didn’t want it to die.They also were able to persuade him not to do so. They ended up sending the goat to a family member’s farm where it would grow up happily.

Another thing that has happened to influence my belief is that I have a neighbor that really likes hunting.   One day he hunted a deer and brought the body home, but he decided to leave it outside his house for everyone to see. He just left it there as if it were some kind of award that he just won. Sadly little kids started to make fun of the body and pretended to ride on it. They laughed at it and felt no problem with there being a dead deer just laying.

I felt sick by what was happening and left because of what I had just witnessed._

It amazes me how we have changed from hunting to survive to hunting for sport._

It was Sunday. I had one last patient to see.

I approached her room in a hurry and stood at the doorway. She was an older woman, sitting on the edge of the bed, struggling to put socks on her swollen feet.

I crossed the threshold(门口), spoke quickly to the nurse, and scanned her chart, noting she was in stable condition. I was almost in the clear.

I leaned on the bed rail looking down at her. She asked if I could help put on her socks. I thought I had other priorities on the list. It’s my responsibility to arrange the issue. So instead, I launched into a monologue(独白)that went something like this: “How are you feeling? Your sugars and blood pressure were high but they’re better today. The nurse mentioned you’re anxious to see your son who’s visiting you today. It’s nice to have family visit from far away. I bet you really look forward to seeing him.”

She stopped me in a serious, authoritative voice. “Sit down, doctor. This is my story, not your story.”

I was surprised and embarrassed. I sat down. I helped her with the socks. She began to tell me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him in five years. She believed that the stress of this contributed greatly to her health problems. After hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She shook her head no and smiled. All she wanted me to do was to listen.

And, not long after, in an unexpected twist, I became the patient, with a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at age 31. Now, 20 years later, I sit all the time --- in a wheelchair. For as long as I could, I continued to see patients from my chair.

I gradually realize the patients’ stories area bond between the teller and the listener.

When my condition affected my hands, I resigned and began to teach medical students.