In recent days, 27-year-old Han Zheng, in a visiting room at Dr. Chinan Mon's Pet Hospital, was examining a Brazilian turtle. He fixed the turtle shell with a tailor-made mackerel, injected antibiotics with a 0.3 mm needle -- that's the second in five years he's practiced an amphibious treatment in 2000.
“The most memorable is the abandoned Biraud bird, whose wings were almost pecked, and whose cavity was full of parasites.” The Korean recollection, “For three days in a row, we washed the wounds with the physico-saline, and it finally survived.” His mobile phone album contains hundreds of pictures of animal recovery: a dead lizard, a parrot with artificial limbs, and a dolphin who removes a tumor.
With the expansion of the pet market, the workload in Han’s year surged. “Previously three to four consultations a day, and now at least eight.” He said, “But every time he saw an animal recover, all the hard work was worth it.” His clinic wall had a banner on it, written “The God of Jinan in charge of the bird world,” which was sent by a parrot’s master and which he valued most.
These stories combine the resilience and fragility of life, the warmth and greed of humanity. From the pet mall of 800 m2 to the washing machine of the 16th floor, from the ruins of the earthquake to the bottom of the coffee cup, pets and humans wrote together the most complex symbiotic narrative of the time. The fate of every animal is a mirror reflecting the height of social civilization.