I’ve seen families fight over money, property, and inheritances as a nurse at County General Hospital. But I’d never seen someone try to take a dying man’s dog — until Rachel Patterson showed up in the cardiac unit with two police officers and a folder full of legal papers.
Bull Patterson, known to friends as Marcus, had survived a triple bypass and weeks of complications. He’d coded twice, battled pneumonia, and fought infections that should have killed him. Through it all, his Great Dane, Duke, had been his anchor — the reason he kept going.
I was checking his vitals when I heard shouting in the hallway. Sharp, entitled, cold: “I have legal rights to my father’s property.” She called Duke property.
Rachel, dressed in a business suit, pushed forward with officers trailing. “I’m here to take my father’s dog. It’s dangerous. He can’t care for it.”
“Bull is awake and coherent,” I said. “You need to speak to him first.”
She ignored me. “He’s not in his right mind. Animal control is on their way.”
Duke, sensing the tension, stood protectively by Bull’s side. He wasn’t aggressive — just loyal.
Bull’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, baby girl. Don’t take him. He’s all I have.”
Rachel’s anger wasn’t about the dog. It was revenge. Embarrassment. Years of shame. She hurled accusations about his biker lifestyle, his motorcycle club, even his love for her mother.
I pressed the call button for help as Bull’s heart rate spiked. “Rachel, you need to leave. You’re causing a medical emergency.”
