Ray D. Bradbury
The Dog in the Red Bandana
The patient was in the hospital only three long sad days when on a Sunday, with all the doctors mostly absent and the nurses off doing something no one knew, that the remarkable thing happened.
He could hear the approach of the remarkable event moments before its arrival because of the explosions of laughter and the welcoming cries of patients far down the hall.
At long last the remarkable event arrived in the door.
A man stood there and on the end of a leash he held the most beautiful golden retriever that anyone had ever seen.
The retriever was incredibly handsome and well groomed and had a look of bright intelligence and wore around his neck a neatly tied bandana, the color of blood.
The dog had been making the rounds at the hospital and rumor had it that on those days when the dog arrived there was a great joy in all the corridors where he visited.
This seemed only natural and the patient often wondered why there were not more such dogs in the world to visit people and raise their spirits and perhaps make them well.
The dog in the blood-red bandana hesitated for a moment at the door, glanced in at the patient, and then padded in to stand by his bed for a moment, waiting to be petted.
Then, certain that the patient was feeling better, the dog turned, went back, and padded down the hall, greeted by glad cries and welcoming shouts.
It was, indeed, a remarkable event and the patient felt better immediately.
In the following days the patient found himself waiting with a peculiar impatience. He knew not for what, but suddenly realized he wanted the dog in the red bandana to return; it seemed more important than the arrivals and departures of the doctors and the irritable attention of the nurses.
In the next week, the dog visited only once.
In the week following, as the patient’s illness persisted, the dog returned twice and the entire hospital seemed brighter and finer as a result of his visit.
In the third week, for some reason that was never explained, the dog in the red bandana came every day and walked through the halls with his bright scarf tied around his neck and with a look of complete sympathy and intelligence in his handsome face.
At the end of the first month, when the patient began to sense that he might be released any day, an even more remarkable thing happened:
Instead of the usual attendant who followed the dog, a man came through who was almost as remarkable as the dear beast.
This man was dressed in a simple khaki suit, but with a red tie around his neck. He was obviously blind, so indeed the dog had to be leading him.
This time, as before, the dog paused in the door and almost pointed to the patient who sat up and leaned forward, almost as if he expected the dog to speak.
Instead, the blind man began a conversation.
“Sir?” he said, guessing at the identity of the patient. “If someone were to ask you of all the beasts, in the sea, on the land, in the air, which of all these creatures is the most Christian?” The patient, thinking this was some sort of trick, tried to imagine and then replied, “Are you speaking of mankind?”
The blind man shook his head gently. “No. Excluding man, which creature is the most Christian?”
The patient studied the dog in the blood-red bandana, sitting in the door, again noticing his fine intelligence, and then said, “The answer is dogs.”
The blind man nodded, quietly. “Exactly right. All other creatures live, but do not know that they live.
“Cats are special and fine and dearly loved, but they exist and do not truly know that they exist, as it is with all the other creatures of the air that fly, that soar, that circle the earth, and all the field beasts who live but do not know their existence.
“All about these creatures of the field and the inhabitants of the sea and air, death occurs, but they do not know death and they do not grieve.
“But dogs not only know what life is, but sense and consider death.” The patient nodded, for he knew this to be true. He remembered the death of a friend where his dog had grieved long after the friend was gone, and the dog wandered about the house, crying mournfully, and dwindled away to darkness.
The patient said, “The more I think on this, the more remarkable are dogs.”
The blind man raised his eyes to the ceiling and said, “And if dogs should appear at the gates of Heaven, would they be admitted?”
“Immediately!” cried the patient and laughed at his quick response. “For they are without sin. Mankind would line up behind them to beg for entrance. The dogs would instantly run to stand by Saint Peter and help admit the sinful beast called man.
“So, to answer your question, of all the creatures in the world who are most Christian, forgiving, and most loving, dogs can be named with Abu Ben Adam, lead all the rest.”