Well, son, tell me, how’s the city?” the mother bustled about the stove, occasionally adding hot pies to the plate.
Nikita smiled, looking at her gray hair. Always the same – forever moving, forever caring. Only now with more wrinkles and a slightly more bent back.
“Slowly, Mom. We finally finished the renovation.”
“And how did it turn out?” she sat down next to him, wiping her hands on her apron.
“My Sveta did great. She chose the wallpaper herself, even glued it on. I only helped with the ceilings and changed the wiring.”
“Oh, she’s a good one…”
“A good one,” Nikita nodded. “Only she gets very tired. Her school workload is big, plus the renovation.”
Outside the window, the neighbor’s cow mooed, the smell of freshly cut grass and mom’s pies filled the air. Everything like in childhood – only he himself was now different. A city man.
“Mom, let me at least fix the fence while I’m here. It’s completely crooked.”
“Oh, son, it’s alright.”
“No, it’s necessary. And I’ll patch the roof in the barn – it’s probably leaking?”
“It is,” the mother sighed. “Never got around to calling someone.”
He spent all day fixing things around the house. Fixed the fence, patched the roof, even weeded the garden beds – his mother kept saying it wasn’t necessary, that she could manage. But how could she manage? She was all alone.
In the evening, after washing up from work, he went to the store for bread. On the porch of the village store, local old ladies were gossiping:
“That dog’s still sitting at the bus stop.”
“How many days has it been?”
“Well, almost a month. Ever since its owner went to the city.”
A big ginger dog indeed sat at the stop. It raised its head at the sound of an engine, peered into the windows of the approaching bus, and lowered its snout when it left.
The locals were used to it:
“Ah, that’s Ryzhik waiting for his owner.”
“Poor thing, doesn’t understand that no one will return.”
“Such loyalty.”
Nikita watched him. Something about this dog touched his soul – maybe it was the hopeful look, or perhaps the stubborn loyalty with which it waited.
“Whose dog is this?” he asked old Klava, a local elder.
“That’s Vitya’s!” she threw up her hands. “He moved to the city to live with his daughter. Left the dog here.” she waved her hand. “Now it waits, the fool.”
Something broke inside. Nikita remembered this Vitya well – always drunk, always in debt. Gambled away at cards, drove his wife to leave him. And the dog, likely got it during a drunken whim – it was fashionable to keep Labradors at the time.
You beast, Vitya. A real beast.
The next day Nikita brought food to the bus stop. Ryzhik was wary at first but then approached. He ate greedily, yet neatly – clearly a domesticated, well-mannered dog. And such sadness in those brown eyes.
Returning to his mother, he stood on the porch lost in thought.
“I’ll take him,” he decided, not even realizing he had spoken out loud.
“Take who?” his mother had just come out onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron.
“The dog, Mom. That Ryzhik from the stop.”
“What?!” The apron flew onto the railings. “Are you out of your mind, son? Which dog? You just got an apartment! You just finished renovating!”
Nikita sighed. He knew it wouldn’t be easy.
“Mom, I just can’t leave him here. He’ll perish.”
“And what will your Sveta say?” his mother put her hands on her hips. “Did you even consult with her?”
“She loves dogs.”
“Loves them, yes, but who will clean up after him? Who will walk him? You’re both at work all day!”
She sat down on the steps, shaking her head:
“You’ve always been like this… The slightest thing – and you dive in headfirst. Remember how you brought home a kitten in the fifth grade? And then you ended up in the hospital with pneumonia a week later. Who took care of it? I did!”
“Mom, but I’m not in the fifth grade anymore.”
“But you’re the same!” she exclaimed in frustration. “Always saving someone… Did you think about yourself? About your wife? It’s a responsibility!”
“And to abandon him – isn’t that a responsibility?” Nikita asked quietly. “Like Vitya – got it for fun and then discarded it? Is that right, in your opinion?”
His mother fell silent. She looked into the distance for a long time, fiddling with the edge of her apron.
“Alright,” she finally exhaled. “Do as you know best. But.”
“What?”
“Call Sveta. Right now. So she can’t say later that you put her before a done deal.”
Nikita really did call. But he couldn’t bring himself to say he was taking the dog right away. Decided to prepare his wife gradually. And so he only told her about a lonely dog whose owner had abandoned it.
But it turned out not to be so simple to take the dog. At the crooked gate of Vitya’s house, his mother met him – swollen, with cloudy eyes:
“What do you want?”
“I came for the dog.”
“Ahh,” she squinted. “Five hundred rubles – and take him.”
“You don’t even feed him!” Nikita protested.
“We have nothing to eat ourselves!” Vitya’s brother emerged from somewhere, just as crumpled. “Give a thousand – or get lost!”
God, they treat him like a thing. Like an old sofa for sale.
He had to call the police officer.
“Petrovich? It’s Nikita Voronin. Remember, from school…”
“Ah, Voronin! How could I forget – always defending someone, often fought with Vitya because of it.”
“Well, it’s Vitya again. Actually, his dog.”
The officer arrived in twenty minutes. He parked the UAZ at the crooked fence, surveying the overgrown yard:
“Mm, it’s getting worse and worse here.”
Ryzhik, seeing a man in uniform, flattened his ears and backed away. Petrovich squatted down, extending his hand:
“Come here, buddy, don’t be afraid. Did they hurt you here?”
The dog cautiously approached, sniffed the hand. Its tail trembled slightly – apparently recognizing a friend.
“Officer! Vitya’s brother stumbled out of the house, trying to appear sober. “We’re just, you know, having a cultural rest.”
“I see your rest,” Petrovich grimaced. “Where’s your mother?”
“Let me call her! Mom, the officer’s here!”
Vitya’s mother crawled out onto the porch, wrapped in a tattered robe:
“What now? We didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, you did!” Petrovich suddenly roared. And in such a voice that even Ryzhik flinched. “Your son abandoned the dog – Article 245 of the Criminal Code. You’re distilling moonshine – another article. And judging by the smell from the barn, there’s a lot more interesting stuff there. Shall we start drawing up the report?”
The mother turned pale:
“What report, Petrovich? We’re neighbors.”
“That’s what I’m saying – neighbors. So maybe we’ll solve this neighborly? Give up the dog – and we’ll part ways.”
The brother jerked, about to say something, but the mother elbowed him:
“Take him.”
“Write a receipt that you will have no claims.”
Petrovich took out a notebook and handed it to the owner:
“And sign here.”
In the car, Nikita asked:
“And if they hadn’t agreed?”
“Where would they go,” chuckled the officer. “They have such a bouquet of articles. But the main thing – they see the dog as property. And they know how to trade property.”
He turned to Ryzhik in the back seat:
“So, fighter, home? To a new owner?”
The dog quietly whimpered and licked the extended hand. Either thanking or asking – is it really home?
They drove home to the city in silence. Nikita occasionally glanced in the rear-view mirror – Ryzhik lay with his snout on his paws, attentively following the road. Not whimpering, not thrashing – as if he understood that he was being taken to a new life.
“Sveta will kill me,” Nikita muttered, dialing his wife’s number.
“Where are you?” a familiar voice came through the phone.
“I’m, uh, heading home. And not alone.”
“Lord, just don’t tell me.”
“Yes,” he exhaled. “I’m bringing a dog.”
Silence hung on the line.
“That same one? From the stop?”
“Yep.”
“You’re a fool, Nikita,” tears sounded in his wife’s voice. “Such a fool. I love you.”
At home, Ryzhik first toured the entire apartment, sniffing every corner. He stopped at the brand-new sofa, looking questioningly at the owners.
“Just not on the sofa!” Sveta playfully wagged her finger.
The dog sighed and lay down on the mat. Five minutes later, Sveta was sitting on the same mat, hugging the ginger neck and murmuring:
“Who’s so smart? Who’s so handsome?”
Falling asleep that evening, Nikita felt a warm furry body shifting at his feet. They let him on the bed – nowhere else to go.
A week later, his mother called:
“Vitya showed up! They say he couldn’t get along with his daughter, sold the apartment. Now he’s wandering around here, asking about the dog.”
Nikita went cold:
“And?”
“Nothing!” his mother snorted. “Petrovich explained to him what would happen if he started asserting his rights. And what rights? He abandoned the animal – he lost all rights.”
They were silent on the phone.
“Son?”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Bring him over sometime… Ryzhik, that is. I’m cooking porridge, got some bones. And I’ve missed him already.”
Nikita smiled:
“Definitely, Mom. We’ll come over the weekend.”
And Ryzhik, as if understanding what was being said, approached and laid his head on his knees.