The midday sun burned relentlessly, heating the road surface and sending invisible waves of hot air over the earth. I was heading home after a tiring shift at work, looking forward to the coolness of the house and the reunion with my shepherd dogs — Thunder and Hurricane. The sound of gravel rustling under the car tires usually triggered their joyful barking, but today I was met with nothing but uneasy silence.
I remember how my heart stopped when I opened the gate. The kennel was empty. Not a trace of my furry companions. Panic surged down my spine like a cold wave.
“Thunder! Hurricane!” — my voice echoed off the house walls and was lost amidst the greenery of the garden.
This summer season had been special — our home had practically transformed into a family resort. My in-laws arrived with my wife’s nephews and nieces as soon as the first buds began to bloom. Marina Petrovna, my mother-in-law, and the children had severe allergies to dog hair, so my wife and I reluctantly moved our shepherds to a spacious kennel during their stay.
I rushed to the computer to check the surveillance footage. My hands trembled as I rewound the video. There it was! The time — 11:23. On the screen, I saw my father-in-law, Viktor Ivanovich, confidently opening the kennel, gently calling the dogs, and leading them to his car. My loyal companions, trustingly wagging their tails, climbed into the trunk of his old Lada. The car drove off and disappeared through the gates.
The next clip showed how, three hours later, Viktor Ivanovich returned, quickly packed his things, helped his wife and children into the car, and they all hurriedly left our house.
I felt the blood pounding in my temples. Horrifying images flashed in my mind. Where had he taken my dogs? What had happened to them? Why had they left so suddenly, without waiting for us to return?
With shaking hands, I dialed my father-in-law’s number. The ringing seemed eternal.
“Hello?” His voice sounded strained.
“Viktor Ivanovich, where are my dogs?” I tried to stay calm, but each word was hard to get out. The silence on the other end of the line made my heart tighten.
“Listen, Andrei,” he finally spoke. “I need to tell you something. Come to my friend Mikhail’s country house. Write down the address.”
I sped down the country highway, breaking all speed limits. My wife sat next to me, pale as a sheet. When I told her what had happened, she immediately called her mother. The conversation was brief and tense. After it, Katya was silent for a long time, then quietly said:
“They wanted to euthanize them. Mom, my brother, and his wife… They convinced Dad to take the dogs to the vet so we could finally have children and they could visit us without worry. They said it would be better for us.”
I slammed my hand on the steering wheel, my fingers aching from the force. My wife started crying, hiding her face in her hands.
“Katya, I swear, if something has happened to the dogs…”
“Mom didn’t let him do it,” she interrupted. “He took them to his friend Mikhail.”
The first thing I noticed when I arrived at the old wooden house on the outskirts of the garden association was my shepherds. They were running around the yard, playing with the garden hose. Safe and sound. My father-in-law was sitting on the porch, hunched over, staring at the ground. When we pulled up, he slowly stood up, his whole posture ready to accept whatever reaction I might have.
“Sorry, son,” he said when I approached. “I couldn’t do it. They are part of your family.”
Viktor Ivanovich explained how, during a family council, his wife, son, and daughter-in-law decided it was time to get rid of the “problem.” They worked on him for a long time, talking about future grandchildren, saying that the dogs were just animals, and that we were selfish for choosing them over a full family life. His father-in-law had agreed to take the dogs, but instead of going to the vet, he took them to his hunter friend who loved dogs and had experience with shepherds.
“I couldn’t take them to die, you understand?” His voice trembled. “I look into their intelligent eyes, and how could I live with myself, knowing that with my own hands…”
I silently hugged my father-in-law. Anger fought with gratitude inside me. Katya stood next to me, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The dogs, noticing us, ran up with joyful barking. They jumped around, licking our hands, whining with happiness, as if they understood they had narrowly avoided a terrible fate. I crouched down, hugging my loyal friends, burying my face in their thick fur.
“If it weren’t for these dogs, maybe I wouldn’t have married your daughter,” I said to my father-in-law. “Do you remember the first time she saw them? She said that a man who cares for his dogs will make a good husband.”
Viktor Ivanovich nodded, weakly smiling.
“And the children…” I looked at my wife. “We never refused children. Just, everything has its time.”
While we were talking, Mikhail came out of the house, a strong man of about sixty with a weathered face. I stood up and extended my hand to him.
“Thank you for taking in our dogs,” my voice betrayed me as it trembled.
“Don’t mention it,” Mikhail waved it off. “Good dogs, smart. You won’t go wrong with them. Come inside, let’s have some tea.”
On the porch, at an old wooden table covered with a faded floral-patterned tablecloth, Mikhail told how Viktor Ivanovich had arrived with two confused shepherds.
“I could see, he wasn’t himself. The dogs felt something was wrong, they were pressing against him. And he says to me, ‘Misha, help me out. They want me to euthanize them, but I can’t.'” I told him, “Leave them here, we’ll sort it out.”
Mikhail poured us strong tea from a large thermos. The tea smelled of currant leaves and something else, something vaguely familiar from childhood.
“I’ve always had dogs,” he continued. “Right now, I’ve got two Labradors who hunt with me. So, your shepherds ended up in good company. Although at first, they kept to themselves, looking at the road, waiting for someone. Those words made my heart tighten. I imagined my loyal dogs waiting for us, not understanding why their owners had suddenly disappeared from their lives.
On the way home, Katya and I talked about what had happened. About betrayal, about the feeling that the ground had shifted beneath us. About how we never thought that close family members could secretly decide the fate of our pets.
“They are like children to us,” my wife quietly said. “But Mom doesn’t understand that. She’s always thought of dogs as just animals you can get and throw away on a whim.”
“Do you know what shocked me the most?” I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “How they planned it all. It wasn’t a spontaneous decision. They discussed it, prepared for it, and picked the right moment. And your father… he agreed at first.”
“But he didn’t do it,” Katya interrupted. “At the last moment, he couldn’t. Because he saw in them what we see — souls, not just fluffy toys.”
At home, we were greeted with several angry messages from relatives. We were called selfish, accused of putting dogs above family, told we were ungrateful and insensitive. My mother-in-law sent a long message about how disappointed she was in her daughter and son-in-law. Katya’s brother claimed we were “dog-obsessed,” since we didn’t understand that children needed a safe home without allergens.
I felt a wave of anger rising inside me. I wanted to storm into their house, tear everything apart, shout, and accuse them. Katya, as if reading my thoughts, grabbed my hand tightly.
“Don’t,” she shook her head. “It’s pointless. They won’t understand. Just… let’s limit our communication with them.”
That evening, we sat for a long time on the porch with our shepherds. I stroked Thunder’s thick coat, scratched Hurricane behind the ears, and couldn’t shake the thought that I had almost lost them forever. That they might not be alive now, all because of someone else’s idea of how we should live our lives.
“You know,” Katya said, gazing at the starry sky, “maybe they’re right about some things. Maybe it’s time for us to think about having a child. But not like this, not at the cost of our dogs’ lives.”
I nodded, pulling her closer to me.
“Someday we’ll have both a child and dogs. And we’ll prove to everyone that it’s possible.”
A week passed. We slowly returned to normal life. We cut off contact with Katya’s relatives. Only my father-in-law remained in touch. Viktor Ivanovich often called to check on us, asking how things were going, how the dogs were. There was sincere concern in his voice. One evening, he stopped by. He brought special treats for the dogs, and a bottle of good cognac for us. We sat on the porch, watching the sunset, and talked about everything except that incident.
Finally, Viktor Ivanovich sighed deeply and said:
“You know, Andrei, I have to tell you something. About that day.”
I nodded silently, preparing to listen.
“When I was taking your dogs, I already knew I wouldn’t give them up for euthanasia. But I didn’t know what to do next. At first, I thought I’d bring them back when you returned. But then I realized that Marina would never forgive me for that. So, I went to Misha. And when I came back, I told them it was all done. They believed me. And you know what surprised me? They were happy. They were happy about the death of living beings. My own wife, who I’ve lived with for forty years, clapped her hands and said, ‘Finally! Now they can live normally!'”
Viktor Ivanovich fell silent, looking into the distance. I saw his hands trembling, holding a glass of cognac.
“At that moment, I realized I didn’t know this person. I didn’t know my wife, I didn’t know my son. They had become strangers to me.”
He turned to me, tears in his eyes.
“I am guilty before you and Katya. I should have refused right away, not even agreed in words. But I… I don’t know what came over me. Forgive me, son.” I patted him on the shoulder. Not knowing what to say. We sat in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.
Several months have passed since then. We rarely saw each other. Only on family holidays. My mother-in-law pretended nothing had happened every time we met. Katya’s brother and his wife pointedly avoided us. And their children, who used to tell excitedly about our “scary dogs,” now wouldn’t even speak to us.
Only Viktor Ivanovich became even closer. He stopped by frequently. Helped with house repairs. Played with the dogs, who seemed to have grown to love him as much as we did. One day, he confessed that their actions had deeply affected his relationship with his wife.
“We lived together for forty years, but it’s like I didn’t know the person,” he said sadly. “I never thought she was capable of something like this.”
One time, Katya and I were coming back from the doctor. She was silent the whole way, and then suddenly turned to me and said with a smile:
“We’re having a baby.”
I almost swerved off the road in surprise. We hugged right there in the middle of the street, laughing and crying at the same time.
Two weeks later, my mother-in-law arrived. No warning, she just knocked on the door. She stood there with a big cake.
“Viktor told me the news,” she shifted nervously. “Can I come in?”
Katya hesitated but then opened the door wider.
Over tea, Marina Petrovna talked a lot and quickly. About how happy she was for us, how long she had been waiting for grandchildren, what toys she had already picked out. Then, almost casually, she said:
“Well, now you’ll understand that we were right about the dogs. A child can’t grow up around animals. You’re going to get rid of them, right?”
I heard those words as I passed by Katya. She silently pressed the speakerphone button and looked at me. There was so much pain and disappointment in her eyes that I immediately understood: forgiveness was not possible.
“Mom,” Katya’s voice was firm. “Our dogs are family. And our child will be lucky to grow up with such loyal friends. As for you… you can visit us when you learn to respect our decisions. And never, hear me, never suggest we get rid of the dogs again.”
Marina Petrovna paled, then flushed red. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“I don’t understand you, daughter. Are these animals more important than your child’s health? More important than your relationship with your mother?”
“It’s not about the dogs, Mom,” Katya shook her head. “It’s about respect. You tried to kill our dogs behind our backs. You decided how we should live. And now you continue to insist as though nothing happened.”
My mother-in-law swiftly got up from the table.
“Alright. I see you’ve made your choice. Don’t call me when your baby starts gasping for air from the allergies.”
She stormed out, slamming the door. Katya cried for a long time that evening, and I couldn’t find the words to comfort her.
The next day, my father-in-law called. He defended his wife’s behavior, saying she didn’t realize how much pain she had caused. That she acted with the best intentions. That she was old-fashioned and saw animals as just animals.
“I understand, son,” his voice was tired. “But I’m on your side. And I’ll be here no matter what happens.”
Katya’s pregnancy proceeded without complications. We prepared for the baby’s arrival, setting up the nursery, reading parenting books. And at the same time, we adapted the dogs to the new family member. Thunder and Hurricane curiously examined the baby things we brought into the house, as if they sensed something big was about to happen in their lives.
Viktor Ivanovich stopped by once a week. He helped with the nursery renovation, assembling furniture, painting walls. And with each visit, he spent more time with the dogs. One day I caught him outside — he was sitting on the bench, and on either side of him were our shepherds. He was quietly talking to them, and they were listening intently, tilting their heads.
“What are you whispering about?” I asked as I approached.
“Just explaining to them how important it is to protect the little ones,” he smiled. “I’m telling them they’ll soon have another person to protect. Smart dogs, they get it.”
The day Katya went into labor, only Viktor Ivanovich and I were at home. He had come over to fix a leaking faucet and stayed for lunch. When Katya suddenly clutched her stomach and quietly gasped, we both jumped up. I ran around the house, gathering things for the hospital, while my father-in-law calmly took Katya outside and helped her get into the car.
“Let’s go, son, I’ll take you,” he said, seeing how my hands were trembling. “You sit next to her and hold her hand.”
That night, our baby was born. Small, crying loudly, with a tuft of dark hair on his head. I stood at the window of the maternity ward, pressing my palms to the glass, unable to believe I had become a father. Viktor Ivanovich was nearby, and in his eyes shone joy and pride.
“Now you understand what it means to be a father,” he said quietly. “It’s when you’re ready to give your life for your child. And you know what’s surprising? You feel the same way about your dogs. Because they’re also family.”
When we brought the baby home, the dogs greeted us at the door. They carefully sniffed the envelope with the baby, quietly whining from excitement. Thunder licked my hand, as if saying, “Don’t worry, master, we understand.”
In the first few weeks, the dogs never left the crib. They took turns resting: while one napped, the other stood guard near the baby. If the baby started crying, they immediately ran to us, anxiously looking into our eyes, as if to say, “The baby needs attention.”
One time, my mother-in-law called. She said she wanted to see her grandson. Katya hesitated but then agreed to meet. Marina Petrovna came with gifts and sweets. She behaved cautiously, glancing around nervously. She kept looking for the dogs.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Katya said tiredly. “They’re outside. I remember your allergy.”
My mother-in-law sighed in relief and only then dared to approach the crib. She stared at her grandson for a long time. Then she turned to us.
“He’s magnificent. He looks just like his grandfather.”
Marina Petrovna tried to act natural. But she kept casting anxious glances at the door to the yard. As if expecting the dogs to burst into the house any moment. She asked the usual questions — how the baby sleeps, how much he eats, if his tummy hurts. Then, suddenly, she asked:
“And how do these…” she hesitated, “dogs feel about the baby? Is it dangerous?”
“They protect him better than any alarm system,” I calmly replied. “And just so you know, Marina Petrovna, we’re not going to discuss getting rid of them.”
My mother-in-law pursed her lips but remained silent.
Since then, she visited once a month. For a short time. Katya’s brother and his family never showed up at our house. For them, we remained selfish people who preferred dogs over normal relationships with family.
Now, our son is three months old. He sleeps in his crib. On the rug next to him, our loyal shepherds, Thunder and Hurricane, nap. They guard his sleep. React to every squeak and call us if the baby cries.
My father-in-law visits every weekend. He says he’s proud of us. For not giving in to pressure and staying true to our principles. For raising our son to be a person who knows how to love and care for others.
A real family accepts you as you are. With all your attachments and decisions. And sometimes, it consists not only of people bound by blood. But also of furry four-legged friends who would give their lives for you.