It was the middle of a scorching afternoon in Madinah, and I had taken shelter beneath a crumbling wall near the well. My name isn’t important; I was just a young man trying to earn a living by helping others fetch water. I thought I knew what righteousness looked like—prayers, fasting, giving charity. But that day, I learned that mercy could take the simplest form and still reach the heights of Paradise.
The dust clung to my throat, and I was refilling my water pouch when I saw him—an older man, a traveler by the look of his dusty cloak and worn sandals. He moved slowly, the sun pressing down on him like a burden. But it wasn’t the man who caught my attention—it was the dog following him.
Its ribs showed through its skin. Its tongue hung out, and it stumbled with every step. Travelers often ignored dogs. They weren’t seen as important. But this man…he stopped.
I paused beside my bucket as he looked around, then carefully lowered himself to the mouth of the well. He took off his leather sock—called a khuff in Arabic—tied it to his belt, and used it to draw water.
I was too stunned to speak. He poured the water onto his cupped hands and held it out to the dog. The animal lapped it up greedily. When it finished, the man filled his khuff again… and gave the dog another drink.
I had never seen anyone do that—treat a dog like a guest.
Later that evening, I was with some companions of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ—may peace be upon him. One of them spoke about a hadith, a saying of the Prophet ﷺ. He said, “A man saw a dog eating the mud from thirst. So he took his shoe, filled it with water, and gave the dog a drink. For that act, Allah forgave him all his sins.”
I stood frozen as the story unfolded. That was the man by the well. And that had been the dog.
It wasn’t just a nice story—it was real. I had seen it with my own eyes.
Until that day, I hadn’t thought much about animals. I didn’t know that showing mercy to one of Allah’s creatures could matter that much. I had dismissed them as lesser beings. But in that quiet moment by the well, I saw what true kindness looked like—not in front of a crowd, not for praise, but simply because it was right.
From that day on, I tried to be softer—to animals, to people, to anything that breathed. Because if Allah rewarded a man with Paradise for watering a thirsty dog, then how many moments had I missed where I could have chosen mercy?
Inspired by Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 6009.
It was the middle of a scorching afternoon in Madinah, and I had taken shelter beneath a crumbling wall near the well. My name isn’t important; I was just a young man trying to earn a living by helping others fetch water. I thought I knew what righteousness looked like—prayers, fasting, giving charity. But that day, I learned that mercy could take the simplest form and still reach the heights of Paradise.
The dust clung to my throat, and I was refilling my water pouch when I saw him—an older man, a traveler by the look of his dusty cloak and worn sandals. He moved slowly, the sun pressing down on him like a burden. But it wasn’t the man who caught my attention—it was the dog following him.
Its ribs showed through its skin. Its tongue hung out, and it stumbled with every step. Travelers often ignored dogs. They weren’t seen as important. But this man…he stopped.
I paused beside my bucket as he looked around, then carefully lowered himself to the mouth of the well. He took off his leather sock—called a khuff in Arabic—tied it to his belt, and used it to draw water.
I was too stunned to speak. He poured the water onto his cupped hands and held it out to the dog. The animal lapped it up greedily. When it finished, the man filled his khuff again… and gave the dog another drink.
I had never seen anyone do that—treat a dog like a guest.
Later that evening, I was with some companions of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ—may peace be upon him. One of them spoke about a hadith, a saying of the Prophet ﷺ. He said, “A man saw a dog eating the mud from thirst. So he took his shoe, filled it with water, and gave the dog a drink. For that act, Allah forgave him all his sins.”
I stood frozen as the story unfolded. That was the man by the well. And that had been the dog.
It wasn’t just a nice story—it was real. I had seen it with my own eyes.
Until that day, I hadn’t thought much about animals. I didn’t know that showing mercy to one of Allah’s creatures could matter that much. I had dismissed them as lesser beings. But in that quiet moment by the well, I saw what true kindness looked like—not in front of a crowd, not for praise, but simply because it was right.
From that day on, I tried to be softer—to animals, to people, to anything that breathed. Because if Allah rewarded a man with Paradise for watering a thirsty dog, then how many moments had I missed where I could have chosen mercy?
Inspired by Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 6009.
