There Is More Light Than Dark

Chapter Fifty Three

February 2004

Peter Sampson prepared his breakfast in his own manner.

The toast would be cooked on '3' and be just brown enough to accept the butter readily.

His eggs, 2 cooked opposite each other, would wobble just enough as he shook the pan after 3 minutes and they would slide onto each piece of bread, lifted with a knife to sit in the centre.

3 grinds of salt and 4 of pepper and he would sit at the head of the empty table, his family asleep still.

As he cut the toast into the six pieces it seemed was the only way, he pondered the exciting new technology he had trialled at the weekend's conference. A tiny needle for the increasing volume of dogs and cats coming in overweight and diabetic. How owners would fret at having to give Rover or Rupert a needle for fear of hurting them.

Even though he was not a small man he would have loved to told them how the lashings of bacon and pork fat, the piles of bread they would shove down the throats of their beloved pets was doing more harm than a needle ever could. But Peter Sampson would sympathise and nurture, teach them how to do it safely and with the least likelihood of injury or harm.

And now these new needles were so small and the supply of the insulin so vast and ready he saw the opportunity for what he had pined for for so long.

This could not be rushed; it must be as meticulous as his eggs and toast.

It must be slow and it must be consistent. He already had lots of ideas of offsetting the insulin when they would no doubt think to test for it.

Peter Sampson, trusted vet and vengeful husband, had, after years of looking at this wretched little boy who was not his own, the perfect opportunity to put things right.

He congratulated himself on his intellect, his patience and his planning.

As he placed the plate carefully onto the drying rack and collected his keys from the hook he allowed himself a smile.

This would be day one of the rest of his life.