Friends and colleagues condemned me, calling my actions abnormal, but I didn’t care. To me, those who harm animals aren’t human at all. How can you betray your friends? And my dog, my beloved Plushka, is my dearest friend, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything.
Plushka is a beautiful little ginger Spitz, adored by my mom. She doted on Plushka like a small child, and dad always found it endearing. He loved Plushka too: he would walk her, play with her, and was always taking photos with her. She was the family’s darling. But when mom passed away, I took Plushka to live with me.
It was tough for all of us, of course—we missed mom terribly. I don’t know what I would have done without Plushka—I would have curled up in bed and not gotten up at all. I had no strength for anything, but I squeezed it out of myself—I had to take care of the dog, mom would have wanted that. Dad and I grew distant from each other then and grieved separately, each in our own way.
With time, it got easier, and I was able to move on and even start looking around. One of those days, I met Danya. I was walking with the old Plushka, and he was jogging. It was a cool evening, the fog was thickening—and then he came running out.
“I often see you here,” Danya said. “But I never dared to approach and introduce myself. May I know your name?”
“Katya,” I introduced myself. “And this is Plushka.”
Danya petted the dog—clearly out of politeness—and then turned his attention back to me. As it turned out, he was indifferent to animals, but that didn’t bother me. I understood that not everyone has to love dogs. Some people like cats, some like reptiles, and others have completely different interests. It was enough for me that he treated Plushka with care: he didn’t hurt her, played a little, and could walk her if I asked.
We moved in together pretty quickly—into my rental apartment, which we could later buy out. I needed someone I could talk to, someone to give my unspent warmth, care, and love accumulated over years of grief. And it seemed to me that Danya appeared in my life just in time—just when I was ready to stop isolating myself and open up to new relationships.
Soon, Danya proposed to me, but for some reason, I hesitated. And dad said:
“Marriage isn’t slavery, Katyusha. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll split up. If it does, you’ll live long and happily. Life is short and unpredictable, you know that.”
“But what if it doesn’t work out?” I asked. I was scared to take such a step, although dad was right—I wasn’t selling myself into slavery and could leave at any moment.
“It will be a valuable experience for you. How else can you live if you don’t take risks and try?”
After some thought, I agreed to marry Danya. Even now, I am very grateful to my father for those words. Even though we didn’t end up “happily ever after,” I really gained valuable experience and learned what kind of people not to choose as life partners. At the same time, I sifted through my circle of acquaintances, cutting out everyone who had condemned me.
Our wedding was small but fun. There was my father, Danya’s mother, a few relatives, and a couple of friends each. We received enough money as gifts that we decided to buy our rented apartment without delay. My father contributed most of the sum, plus we borrowed some from the bank and paid off that debt pretty quickly.
Danya and I lived well together: we found common ground immediately, easily divided the chores, and quickly set up our family budget system. It was easy with him. Where necessary, Danya took responsibility, and in other cases, he let me lead. There was never a time when he thumped his chest and yelled, “I’m the man, it will be as I say!” or, on the contrary, acted like an initiative-less rag and mumbled in the corner.
Everything went sideways when my mother-in-law, Ksenia Fedorovna, started visiting us.
When Danya and I were just living together, she didn’t bother me much. Maybe she thought our relationship wouldn’t last long, or maybe she didn’t want to scare me off—I don’t know. Perhaps, she didn’t like that we lived in a rented apartment—as if it wasn’t ours. But as soon as we bought the apartment, she felt like it was her place: she started coming over without asking, began moving things around, even demanded a duplicate of the keys.
“No,” I said, “no duplicate.”
“But your father has one,” Danya noted. “It seems unfair.”
“My dad doesn’t come over as if it’s his home,” I replied, “and he always notifies us almost a week in advance about his visits. Your mom, it seems, has confused something. We have our own family, Danya, and I did not sign up to share living space with your mother.”
We argued fiercely then—for the first time since we met. But I stood my ground, and Ksenia Fedorovna did not get the keys.
I didn’t want to give her the keys not only because of her intrusiveness but also because of her attitude towards Plushka. If Danya simply didn’t care about animals—whether they were there or not didn’t matter to him—Ksenia Fedorovna outright hated them. Especially dogs.
“Animals should live outside,” she declared every time Plushka ran into the corridor to greet her. “Away from people. They’re dirty.”
“My dog is cleaner than you,” I replied, not caring that I might accidentally offend Ksenia Fedorovna. I would never have started talking to her in such a tone first, but since she allows herself to come over uninvited and insult my dog, why should I mince words?
“She should be thrown out—that would solve the problem,” she declared once.
“She is a memory of my mother,” I said. “And if I hear one more bad word about my dog, I’ll throw you out, not her. And I’ll forbid Danya from letting you in.”
I missed my mother terribly in those moments. I didn’t understand how I should act. Was I going too far in defending Plushka so fervently? Or should I have been smarter and found a way to get along with my mother-in-law? But on the other hand, she was a stranger to me—why should I look for a way to get along with her if she doesn’t seek one with me?
“My relationship with my in-laws was smooth from the start,” my father said when I complained about Ksenia Fedorovna’s dreadful behavior. “I think you shouldn’t let her into your home if the relationship is already strained. I understand, mom… but then let Danya go to her himself instead of making you endure all this.”
I agreed with my father and repeatedly asked Danya to stop indulging his intrusive mother.
“We never argued until she started interfering in our relationship,” I declared during one such conversation. “And now it’s fights every other day. I’m not satisfied with this. I didn’t get married to live on a powder keg and tolerate an unpleasant person in my apartment.”
“You’re just upset that I have a mother and you don’t,” blurted Danya then.
His words deeply hurt me—so much so that I couldn’t bring myself to start talking to him for a week, let alone hug and kiss him. He knows me so well, we were living together so wonderfully, so why would he say such awful things? As if he had no empathy at all.
“I’m sorry, darling,” he apologized all week. “I don’t even know what got into my head. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just unpleasant that you’re set against my mother, and I spoke out of anger…”
“I’m not set against her for no reason,” I replied, once I had somewhat calmed down and let go of the hurt. “She comes uninvited, tries to impose her rules in our apartment, offends my dog. That’s not normal, Danya. Are we a family or what? Keep your mother at a distance, and I’ll be wonderful to her. Dealing with your mother is your job, not mine. If my dad were pestering you, I wouldn’t wait for you to figure it out on your own; I’d talk to him myself.”
“Well, you shouldn’t,” replied Danya. “A man should deal with men, and a woman with women. Why should I interfere?”
That was the first time he spoke of stereotypes. I immediately tensed up.
“I don’t owe anything, Danya. If you want a peaceful life—make an effort to achieve it. So far, only your mother is the problem.”
Plushka was distressed when we argued: she would start running around, getting underfoot—just like a cat. I would distract myself with her and calm down, but Danya remained of the same opinion.
It was all very sad. I felt our marriage was cracking at the seams, and from my own powerlessness, I wanted to howl. What could I do? Grovel to Ksenia Fedorovna? I could apologize for my rudeness, but that rudeness was merely a response to her actions.
“Why do you keep coming here?” I asked her, seeing her once again on the doorstep. “Is it smeared with honey here or what? There’s no living with you around.”
“I came to see my son, not you,” she haughtily replied.
“Then don’t rummage through my closets, there’s nothing there for you to stick your nose into.”
Yes, I was rude, but I was so tired of her. I worked a lot, walked and took care of the dog, did my share of the housework, and instead of rest and relaxation, I got agitated by a mother-in-law who loudly lamented how Plushka annoyed her. If the dog annoys you, then don’t come to an apartment where she lives, what’s the problem?
“There’s so much fur from your mutt,” she grumbled, pulling non-existent hairs out of the food.
“That’s your hair that fell in there,” I replied. “Look, it’s the same color as yours.”
I admit, my character is not a gift either. But all I needed was the ability to live peacefully in my own apartment. Without uninvited guests, without scandals, without a long nose that keeps trying to dig through my dresser and sort through my tights or into the kitchen cupboard and rearrange all the mugs.
I would have probably endured this unhealthy confrontation for a long time if Ksenia Fedorovna hadn’t crossed the line.
Returning from work, I expected Plushka to jump out from around the corner and start dancing around me. However, I was met by silence, only the sound of running water from the kitchen—Danya was washing dishes.
“Danya,” I peeked into the kitchen. “Where’s Plushka?”
“Mom came by today…” he began, but I interrupted him.
“I’m glad for her. Where’s my dog?”
“I gave your dog away to a good home. My mom said that animals don’t belong in the house,” my husband declared.
“You did… what?”
My voice instantly dropped, and I barely managed to squeeze out those words. The meaning of what he said hadn’t even fully registered with me yet, but tears were already streaming down—hot, stinging, angry. In a rage, I lunged at Danya, grabbed his T-shirt, and started yelling at him. I must have looked terrible at that moment because he stared at me, eyes wide open.
“Give me back my dog immediately!” I screamed. “Where did you dump her? Answer me!”
“Katya, calm down,” he tried to pry my hands off him. “It’s just a dog. Animals don’t belong in an apartment… and she was annoying my mom. I didn’t like her much either.”
“Your mother annoys me! And I’m starting to dislike you too! How about we give your mother to a good home?!”
“Come on, you can’t be serious…”
“Danya, I’m not joking.” He kept trying to pull my hands away, but I clung to him like a tick. “Either you tell me where you took my dog right now, or I’m filing a theft report against your mother. Let the police deal with her. Want such a fun life for your mother?”
“Alright, Katya, let go of me! Here’s the number, call…”
Without letting Danya finish, I snatched the phone from his back pocket. He showed me the necessary number, and I rushed to the next room to call the people Danya had dumped my dog with.
At first, they didn’t want to give Plushka back, but after hearing my sobs and disjointed explanations, they promised to bring her back tomorrow. I wanted to go get her right then, but they tried to reassure me:
“Don’t worry, we won’t hurt your Plushka. It’s late now, but we’ll bring her to you ourselves tomorrow. But we wouldn’t mind a chocolate for the trouble.”
I smiled through tears and promised them the tastiest chocolate I could find.
“Sorry, Katya.” I turned around and saw Danya standing in the doorway, wiping his hands with a towel. “I didn’t think you’d throw such a fit… over nothing.”
“You didn’t know?..” I rasped. “That’s my mother’s dog. You knew everything. And you knew how much I loved her. You just don’t care about me or my feelings. You have zero empathy.”
“Just go ahead and diagnose me some more,” he laughed. “Read too much stuff on the internet… Peace?”
I looked at him incredulously. Did he seriously think I would forgive this stunt? I had been on edge for weeks, and this was such a betrayal!
“What peace, Danya? I’m filing for divorce. I can’t live with you anymore. Your mother has been a thorn in my side, and you’ve clearly shown your true colors towards me. We’ll split the apartment: you invested less, so I’ll pay you out, it’ll be faster. Or we’ll sell it and split the proceeds, I don’t know. I don’t care. Now either you pack your things and go to your mom, or I pack and go to my dad.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Danya said calmly.
Shrugging, I went to pack. Let him live here alone; it won’t hurt me. We’ll probably have to divide the property through court eventually—his mother will surely encourage him to fight for every penny.
At work, everyone started asking why I left my husband, and when they found out, they shook their heads in disbelief. And many acquaintances also decided I had lost it: traded my husband for a dog. Let them think what they want. At least my Plushka is now with me, and I am living with my dad, awaiting the divorce proceedings. It’s been a long time since we spent so much time together, so—it’s all for the best.