*Be a gentleman and turn away from the fight. Failing that, use the absolute minimal force required to subdue her, then call for help. You shouldn't hit a woman.*
Horace looked at his reflection in the mirror. *What a sorry mess of a doctor.* His left eye was swollen shut, and a deep slash above his lip seemed to give him the impression of a second mouth.
He touched it gingerly: he could see his gum if he pried the wound open. That much was fact - he could feel the gap on the inside of his mouth with his tongue.
Horace had never struck back at his wife. Jill had abused him continually, moving on to knives and his own scalpels from work. Nonetheless, he was too timid to report his abuse to the police.
All he could do was go to work and pray Jill was asleep when he got home. He didn't even sleep at home anymore - his bed was a bunch of hay in the old kennel.
*Every kennel needs a dog,* Jill had sneered.
Horace gritted his teeth as he went back to operating on his patient. The anesthetic was incredible. He never knew how patients managed without them.
In small doses, he could ignore his own injuries and focus on work.
He toiled long and hard, until the sun went down. His license had been revoked after discovery of his depression, but that didn't stop him from doing surgery for animals.
Finally, he was done. Grinning sadistically, he reared back and slapped the patient. She awoke, spluttering, and gasped as she saw her reflection.
Horace kicked her onto the floor, and began channeling years of pent up fury into Jill, who no longer resembled anything like a woman.
*Every kennel needs a dog.*
Horace grabbed his wife by her new snout, twisting her ears hard, and dragged her out into the yard.