Rainbow for a Friend

                Michael Samarsky

                This is dedicated to those that have dead eyes but live hearts






   Rainbow for a Friend


                The best thing a man has is his dog
                Nicolas Toussaint Charlet



 




Part One
The Way Home

Chapter 1

Like unslaughtered dogs… That’s cleverly said. Good job, people. I can neither sit nor stand to that. I’m curious how you would react if we dogs were to introduce such an aphorism into our dog talk. Imagine the following situation: I return from a dog show, and a buddy asks me, “Hey how was it? Where there lots of dogs competing?” and I’d answer, “Lots, like sardines in a jar, like unshot people.” What would you think then of this saying? I don’t think anyone would like that too much. But you don’t think of us, you two-legged folks. Whether you agree or not, the dog is a vivid example of human ingratitude.

Oh, well, that’s not actually what this story is about. Let’s take a look at what usually happens: I am grabbed by the ears, petted on the neck, something is dangled at my muzzle… May I call it a face? I so want to call it a face. So, some crap is stuffed into my face… Actually, that’s not all true. It’s not crap at all. It is far from crap. Oftentimes, it is such incredible deliciousness, that one may drown in drool. One time, I almost couldn’t handle it!

There we were, with my first subordinate Ivan Savelievich (may he rest in peace), standing at a cross walk, awaiting a green light. My task was to observe that all cars stop, and not only stop, but stop in the appropriate location. You think those lines on the pavement are drawn just for fun? I’ll take an opportunity here ask all you drivers out there, to please stop before the white line. For a seeing person it’s no problem to walk around your car in the middle of the cross walk, but my subordinate cannot understand right away why his guide dog may be pulling him to the side. Get it? I can’t tell him what’s up, all I can do is whimper a bit, and pull him across the road, maybe with a few barks here and there. My subordinate gets confused, has to stop to get his bearings, feel out the obstacle with his cane: knock-knock-knock. Some drivers pop out of their car windows “Don’t you scratch my car, you idiot!” You calling my subordinate an idiot? He needs to figure out what is in front of him. You can’t feel this mess out with your hand - sticking your hand in a car hood may leave you without one!

While he figures it out, cars start to rev their engines. When impatient drivers push the gas pedals, that’s only half the problem. There are even those that start honking, to hurry us along, that whistle to me, or make kissy faces, to encourage us. Oh, people, people, if you only knew how much I dislike you in those moments! Sometimes I look at you all and think “Are you not at all embarrassed of yoursevles?” This kind of a misfortune can happen to anyone. Could winning a couple of extra seconds at a stupid traffic light really bring you so much joy in life? I kindly ask you, please, when you see a blind person with a guide dog, like myself, behave yourselves in a calm and quiet manner, do not distract us, and do not get us into trouble. Can we, please, make that a deal?

So, there we were at the crosswalk, and I sensed with my right nostril a mind-tunneling scent. The smell was familiar to the point of pinging in my belly – I recently smelled it while we passed the rotisserie stand. I tried to keep my mind on the road, passing a slant glance at a juicy, golden, aromatic piece with those delectable crispy bits. Suddenly, my single interest in life became that chicken… I still don’t know how I held myself together and didn’t snatch that scrumptiousness. Guide school trained me well, afterall.

Thank you people for your kindness, for wanting to pass on a treat, but I am working, you understand? I am not some spoiled, inbred poodle that takes carefree promenades alongside their owners, spraying occasional telephone poles out of boredom. I am working. Seriously, I am not just taking a stroll with a blind person - I am working. And believe me, this is not an easy job. My task is to lead my subordinate to his planned destination, and to ascertain that he does not break his head open, trip, or step into a puddle along the way. I must warn him of any barriers, be quick to stop before any obstacles and let him feel out with a cane whatever lies ahead. If an obstruction blocks only part of the way, I lead him around to the left or to the right, and watch to make sure he doesn’t walk into anything, not even low-hanging branches. My duty includes making sure he doesn’t collide with any pedestrians. If we are taking a bus or a tramway, I show him the entrance, and then the exit. There are plenty of responsibilities in my job.

Can you imagine what it’s like being a guide dog? If you say “yes”, don’t take this personally, but I will bite you. Do not be so quick to respond. To properly imagine and understand my job, you need to wear the vest, halter, and handle for several years, and to walk around with these helpless “owners”. Have you noticed that “owners” is in quotation marks?

Yes, some consider themselves our owners, but without us they cannot make a single step. If I – a purebred golden Labrador, some even say a relative of a famous political figure – want for my so-called owner to crack his forehead open on a wall, or to run smack into a pole, it’s as easy as pissing on a bush. But I am a pro, a specialist in my field. I was trained in a charter school for two years, which is more like fourteen in dog years. In that time, you people usually get undergraduate and graduate diplomas under your belt. Of course, I wouldn’t ever trick-lead my owner like that. My responsibility is to keep him out of all kinds of trouble. So, it is a bit of a slap in the face when he is called my owner. Those I lead are not my owners – they are my friends. And believe me, even amongst you people, they will never have a friend that is more dedicated and faithful than me. You may laugh at this, roll your eyes, even kick me, but that will not change a thing. You, yourselves procured the saying “It is great when a dog is your friend, but it sucks when your friend is a dog.” Procured, but didn’t think of it, even though God blessed with you with wisdom and ability to reflect. And what is so bad about your friend being a dog? Anyway, I know what you meant, so I am not upset.

If you are curious, I will continue. I am five years old. Considering dog years, I am already twice the age of my subordinate (Sasha is currently 13 human years old). Prior to this assignment, I worked with a blind retiree. Ivan Savelievich was a wonderful man and my friend. He even occasionally let me lay on his bed. We’d come home, Ivan Savelievich would take all of my guiding armor off, feed me, brush me, and say, “Alright, Trison, relax.”

You think it’s easy to walk around with all of my gear? In the evening, when I get rid of it, all I want to do is roll on the floor and ride that bicycle in the sky, or stretch out full length, and then chase a ball around for a bit. Ivan Savelievich never scolded me, not even the evening I broke his vase. The old man understood that I didn’t break it on purpose. I was ashamed. I nuzzled up to him and whimpered quietly. Ivan Savelievich petted me and said, “Don’t cry, Trison, it’s a dish. When a dish breaks, fortune awaits.”

I still don’t understand what fortune may come from a broken vase. At least, I haven’t heard anything about it on TV. Anyway, my Ivan Savelievich died. He died, and I was returned to the guiding school. I missed him terribly, couldn’t eat a bite. Kept thinking about who I will be transferred to next.

Don’t know by what luck or destiny Sasha – my current own… subordinate found his way to our school.

If you are sighted, and have never encountered the problems of the blind, I will clarify especially for you: prior to us – seeing eye dogs – being transferred to a new own… (I am too trained for this) subordinate, we must spend some time together, get used to each other, by smell or sight, whatever. Although, who cares what I look like, since they are blind? I need to look at them. And they just listen, or smell, or feel me, just in case, to make sure there are no allergies or something. People are weird. We, dogs, are not so prissy.

Although, occasionally, it so happens that we also have our moments. Our german shepherd Lada from the seventh division couldn’t find a common language with her subordinate. The woman returned Lada back to the school. This is an excellent school, by the way, so if you end up with a need, please do keep us in mind. I am, of course, no longer there, but my friends, believe me, will not let you down. Do you know how strictly we are drilled there? All kinds of tests, examinations, assessments…

They don’t just admit whatever pooch off the street. We are students of a university and have exceptionally balanced psyches, we do not pay attention (in any case, we try our best) to any peripheral distractions, and do not even notice those repulsive cats. We do, of course, notice them – how could one not? – but we do not pay attention to them. Okay, that’s not true either. We do pay attention to them, but we have no right to react to them, and those green eyed rascals use this to their advantage. Seriously.

Here is a recent example. I was leading my Sasha into the apartment building. There are many steps at the entryway, so one must be careful. And at that moment a creature emerged from the door. This one was of Persian blood, or fur, if you like, haughty, with an ostentatious pink bow around the neck, manicured nails, perfumed tail, and ears, like little antennas, moving side to side. I swear on my dog fur, I hadn’t the slightest thought of growling or barking at her. And this blonde airhead just starts yowling, her back bent, tail like a chimney brush, and – smack – swats me across the muzz… face. If you only knew how upsetting that was! If it wasn’t for Sasha, if it wasn’t for my professionalism and my responsibilities, I would have bit her tail in two in no time. Honest, I could barely stand this manner of disrespect. I whimpered a bit, since this “baroness” with her manicured nails still managed to scratch my nose, licked off a salty drop of blood, and lead my Sasha home. What could I do? In my job, I cannot get distracted by those lame dames…

Prior to my arrival, Sasha lived with his mother and grandmother. His dad died in a car wreck. Turns out, on that ominous day, Sasha was also in the car. He was eleven then. The doctors delivered the verdict: the retina and lens were damaged beyond repair. I don’t understand much of details, but the boy lost sight after the tragedy. Rumors in the family have it that there is a famous doctor that may be able to return Sasha’s vision, but when this may happen, no one knows. For now, I am his doctor, his eyes, his friend.



Chapter 2
Sasha and I quickly found a common language, though at first, I did get upset with him on a few occasions, just a few. You be the judge: As you already know, my name is Trison. When Sasha and I were working together to get to know each other in the training school, he called me Trison. Everything went smoothly. Sasha successfully completed the guide-dog-assignment exams, which is not a surprise, because with me, any newbie would pass. I don’t just obey the commands, I can even correct them, to an extent, when appropriate, when reasonable, you know.

Anyway, all went well at the school. Then, we arrived home (Sasha’s mother was also with us on the road). Sasha’s grandmother, Elizaveta Maksimovna, greeted us nicely at the door. Actually, her name I know accidentally, because a neighbor had come over and referred to her by that name. But at home she is called grannie, for some reason. I’ve noticed already that people have strange habits. I understand why Sasha calls her grannie, but his mother does too. I just don’t get it, if she is her mother, how is she her grandmother, too? You people are difficult to understand sometimes. Besides, that’s not so important.

So, I am Trison. You want to know where the name comes from? It is not just some Spot or Blackie. Ivan Savelievich told me in great detail about my name. Not only am I a purebred, but my name is unique as well. Trison Detsen was a name of a Tibetan king that many-many years ago reached the conclusion that enlightenment can only be reached as a result of perfection of the moral and spiritual character under the careful guidance of a master. I can say here and now that my master, back in training school, was perfect. So, you understand this is not a joking matter – I am an enlightened Labrador!

And then, one day, Sasha started calling me Trisha. I didn’t even get it at first, who he was talking to. I awoke one day near his bed, and he was searching for me with his hand. I’m not an idiot to lay underfoot; I was at the end of the bed, so as not to be stepped on in the middle of the night. I stood up, barked quietly, to let Sasha know that I am here, and he says
“Tri… Trisha, where are you? Can you come here, please?”

I’m sitting there wondering whether he’s looking for a toy or something. I looked around, didn’t see anything looking like a “Trisha”. There was a stuffed bear in the corner, but Sasha told me yesterday that his name is Stocky. Who and where is Trisha? I just couldn’t figure it out. Sasha sat on the edge of the bed for a bit, and then called out

“Trison!”

Now that’s for me. I ran up to him, stuck my nose on his knees, and there he was petting me and saying:
“Trisha, baby, sweetie pie, how did you sleep?”

Aha, now it really took me aback. Turns out he calls me Trisha now. Do I look like a Trisha? Hm. But the thing is, I can’t do anything about it. Since that day, he started calling me Trisha, and then his mom, and his grandmother did, too. At first, when they called me Trisha, my hackles just stood up. How could I lose such a powerful name, my name, Trison? I was king, and now I more like a stuffed animal toy.

If you could only see me - I am not some pale yellow pooch, I am golden! You don’t believe me? Just take a look at me on a sunny day, especially after I’ve had a bath. You won’t find this kind of handsomeness in any other dog. If you were a dog, you might burst from envy from the kind of ancestry I have. My predecessors were dogs of Vikings and Basques that lived on the island of Newfoundland. Until the 18th century, Europeans haven’t even seen Labradors like me. The sailors of the seas have always believed us, Labradors, to be the icons of safe and happy sailing. If you think this is just superstition, you are mistaken. My ancestors helped people. If there was a ship wreck, Labradors pulled a ship rope to shore, so that people could make their way to the shore along the rope. Those that were too weak, the Labradors transported on their backs to land. Whenever departing Newfoundland for a sailing voyage, the sailors always took several dogs with them. Of course, they took Labradors. And these dogs had awe-inspiring names like Wave and Tide. Do you know what these mean – Wave, Tide? And here I am, some smelly Trisha. I was upset. I was so upset. But now, I’ve made peace with it; call me whatever you want.

One time, some old man that Ivan Savelievich knew called him by an incorrect patronymic name. I would have corrected the old man, but… well, you know. Instead, I looked at Ivan Savelievich, but he didn’t even flinch. The old man was just yapping away, calling him by the wrong name. And then, the old man realized, and started apologizing:

“Oh, my. Ivan Savelievich, I am so sorry. Please, forgive me,” pops himself on the forehead. “My memory is all but gone.”

“Don’t worry about it, Timofei Ivanych,” my subordinate said. “It doesn’t matter at this age. You can call me a pot, for all I care, just don’t put me on the stove”.

If you’re curious, I’ll explain, briefly, where the name of my breed originated. Ivan Savelievich told me there are three versions of the story. The first story says that my name comes from the island of Labrador, which is not far from where my breed originated. The second  (I like this one the best), is that is comes from the Portuguese word “Labrador”, which means the “worker”. The third version doesn’t really make sense, but since I started telling you this, I’ll finish. There is a mineral that exists in the earth, it is black with a bluish tint, and is called Labrador. Why don’t I like the third story? I guess because only my ancestors had black fur, and today, there are yellow, chocolate, and golden Labradors. No, I don’t think it had to do with any islands or minerals. I think it came from the Portuguese word. A worker is a worker even in Africa, as Sasha likes to say.

In Russia, we began to appear only in the 1960s. Ivan Savelievich told one of his guests one time that the US President Carter gave a Labradors as a gift to the USSR General Secretary Brezhnev, and a Canadian writer Farley Mowat gave one to Kosygin, who was a USSR Statesman at the time. At first, we lived only in Moscow and Riga, but now, you can meet Labradors just about anywhere. I was born in Russia. And even though in the US and England Labradors are very popular breeds, I want to live in my homeland and work here by helping people. So, do you understand that since the beginning of time, we have been helping you people? Our breed knows how to get along with people. You can check this out yourself, but we are very smart and have a peaceful demeanor. Our most important characteristics are the benevolent disposition and desire to help people. Even though, if you end up reading this story to the end, you’ll see that sometimes, we have to step away from those qualities, but, as well all know, all rules have their exceptions. Although, if it wasn’t for people, we wouldn’t need these exceptions; I tell you this honestly, I give you my Labrador word.




Chapter 3

I overheard our mother talking with grandma.

"Sasha is happier now, more lively," the mother said. "With a guide dog, his life should be easier."
"I hope the dog doesn’t hurt Sasha," said grandma. "It is, afterall, a dog, a beast." My ears perked up hearing these words. How could someone say such a thing? "Hope he doesn’t hurt him," and "a beast". I am no beast. What am I, a wolf, or a wild wounded boar? I wish she would think before speaking. Ivan Savelievich used to say that the old are wise. If only he could hear your words! If I weren't a guide dog, I would have prepared you a little "payback" for your words, Elizaveta Maksimovna. I see now why my old boss, I mean subordinate used to say that there is one negative trait that dogs have – they believe people. We believe you, and you don’t trust us. Of course, not everyone doesn’t trust us, just some grannies here and there. I'm glad Svetlana Sergeevna stepped in for me.

"Mother, what are you saying? These dogs are very peaceful and benevolent. This isn't some street mut. This is an educated dog."

Thank you, Svetlana Sergeevna, at least you understand me. Sasha has a good mother.
"I guess we'll see about that," said the grandmother.

Of course, you will see. You'll see how good I am, and you may even be jealous. Sashka will love me more than anyone ealse. If you could only see how Ivan Savelievich cried over me when I almost fell under a train! I get goosebumps all over whenever I think of that instance.

Me and my old man headed out to see his friend in the town of Saltykovka. The regional train is the easiest way to get there. If you head a few stops past Saltykovka along this line, you'll reach my alma matre. We visited his friend – another old man just like mine, except he still has his vision, and then headed home. I don't even know how a dog is supposed to react toward people after something like this, luckily, I don't hold grudges. And, of course, I am a professional. Anyway, there we are standing on the platform at the train station. The crowd is as dense as a football stadium, and everyone is as though in a sprinting stance. The train arrives, and the entire sea of people plunges toward the doors. I thought for sure they would plow us down flat. Ivan Savelievich got a bit confused, hesitated, and the crowd separated us. I wasn't scared of this human herd, it's just that the pushed and pushed me off the platform, so that I was dangling on my leash between the platform and the train. There I was, hanging in mid air and thinking of my poor Ivan Savelievich – how will he go on living after I've suffocated haning here? Where will he go without me – his eyes? How will he get home?

I always lead my subordinate toward the first traincar, so that he could sit as close as possible to the train operator. If something happens and Ivan Savelievich is only half way in the train, or something, the operator could see this and not take off yet. At that moment, I could hear my old man yelling to the train operator to make sure the train does not move, and felt him pulling me up by the leash. Have you any idea how much I weigh? Pulling me is not quite like pulling a bass from a river. If you remind me later, I'll tell you how Ivan Savelievich and I went fishing, but for now, the old man is pulling me, grunting, but he no longer has the strength of his youth. A passerby helped him. They were strangling me by the leash as they were rescuing me, but they did pull me up, and I couldn't see anything. Everything just went black and I passed out.

When I came back to, I felt something dripping onto my nose. I opened my eyes and saw Ivan Savelievich sitting and crying over me, and next to him, some little girl was standing saying something, but I couldn't hear a word. There she was standing, moving her lips, picking her nose, and I could see, but couldn't hear. Then my hearing came back, and I heard the little girl asking, "Excuse me, why are you crying? Did you doggie die?" And Ivan Savelievich just shuddered in cries, as though he really is burying me. He bent down over me, kissing and petting, and I can't even move a paw after my resurrection. I guess I really was strangled a bit.

Finally, I got some strength back and licked him on the face. In that instant he was airborne! It looked quite comical – an old man hopping around in sqatting position, just like a wild turkey! When it came to Ivan Savelievich that I was still alive, he started lifting me in his arms, almost dropping me back on the platform. Don’t know where he discovered this sudden burst of strength, but there he was hopping around the platform, holding me in his arms, asking over and over, "Trison, you're alive? Alive?" I couldn’t really answer, as you know, so I just gave a little yelp. Having heard my first "word", Ivan Savelievich began dancing around the platform with me in his arms. I wish I could tell him to put me down, otherwise he might fall off the platform himself. Who would pull him up then? To celebrate with him, though, I started to howl a little song o-u-oo-oo-u-o! Ivan Savelievich heard this and finally put me down on the ground. We sat with him for about ten minutes while I got oriented again, and then I pulled him forward, so we could head back home.

Event he healthiest of humans will want to stop by a pharmacy after such an episode as we had at the train station. Ivan Savelievich gave me the command to take him to the pharmacy. I know this route well. I know about thirty different routes in our part of town. To the pharmacy, alright then, to the pharmacy we go. I don't really care where we go. Wherever the command is given, I lead. We enter the pharmacy, and some voluptious lady there started yelling at us:

"Where do you think you're going with that dog? This is a medical facility!"

Ivan Savelievich have been to this pharmacy a million times, and there has never been an issue. But this busty lady I see for the first time.

"We're allowed," says Ivan Savelievich very calmly, heading toward the pharmacist window.

But this lady jumped in front of us, and I barely had time to position myself between her and the old man – this is my primary duty. Ivan Savelievich was startled by this. He knows already that there aren't any obstacles in this path, but he checked it out with his cane just in case. The lady was there.

"Don't poke me with your stick. I told you, you cannot enter here with a dog. Immediately take it outside." And stands there, like a monument, here eyes bulging, like a frog's. She's making it sound like we're trying rob her, instead of just getting some medicine. Where do people get so much hatred? I stood between them, and felt with my own fur that she was emitting some bad energy. Dogs are afraid of such bad energy waves. There is a special taser-like tool for scaring off stray dogs. You can press a button on this tool and the dogs will feel like they’ve been hit upside the head with a log. Some trainers use these kinds of gadgets with their dogs, but I would like to bite the hands off of such kind of dog trainers. So, this pharmacist lady was emitting waves just like the gadget I just described, it's as though she became that tool. I was just dying between the two of them – they're talking, and I feel like a log is knocking at my skull. And how can people after that say that we're out for a stroll. I more think that you folks stroll in your offices, and we dogs come outside as through to a war front.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Ivan Savelievich said, "Are you new here?"

"What difference does it make?" The pharmacist heaved like a locomotive. "New or old, I told you that you cannot enter here with any animals. We have protocols to follow."

"The, please, read your protocol," said Ivan Savelievich, still calm, but I could tell his tone was changing. Idiot, I was thinking about the lady, if you don’t step aside, my subordinate will read you such a protocol! If she only knew the words my subordinate knows, she wouldn't risk having to hear them. They didn’t even use these kinds of words in my school, even off duty. And then, a miracle happened – another pharmacist, one already familiar with us, appeared in the window.

"Oh, Trison!" She greeted me happily. "Come on in. Tamara, let them through," she said to the piping volumptiosness that was gating us from entry all this time.

"Polina Sergeevna, you said we couldn't…"

"Tamara, the guide-dog can enter any building or office, including the pharmacy," Polina Sergeevna explained.

The day ended well. In the evening, Ivan Savelievich opened a can of chicken meat for me, which is usually a holiday dish, wished me a happy birthday for some reason, and then we dined together. He dropped his fork a couple of times, but I was paying attention and picked it up for him immediately. The old man was a bit of a clutz, dropping his cane or glasses or keys at random moments. Things that clang are easy to hear and find, but catching the gloves if they fall, for instance, is a problem. While I am watching cars and pedestrians, the old man would accidentally drop his gloves. It's a pity I can't talk, otherwise I'd tell him to sew a little bell onto each glove, or something, so that I could hear them if they fall. Last year he added another thing to our "dropping list" – a cell phone. Luckily, some kind folks recommended a padded case for it, and you can dial the number through a plastic window. Watching him dial the numbers at first was quite comical. He'd stop in the middle of the sidewalk, tilt his head back leaving his jaw agape, and pushes at the buttons with his fingers. The first time, I thought he was just going to start singing in the middle of the street. Sometimes he'd dial, put the phone to his ear, then pull it away and start pushing buttons again. I thought he was just playing. I only later figured out that he dialed the wrong number and had to redial again.

One time, he said to me, "It’s a pity, Trison, that you cannot dial a number for me." If only I could speak, I would tell him, "Ivan Savelievich, if you people were given a choice, you'd teach me to drive a car, too." Or maybe something funnier, like "Ivan Savelievich, why don't you write a letter about this and put it in the suggestions box at my training school." But in reality, the old man and I loved each other and forgave each other everything.

And all these memories were broght back by grandmother's commend about me hurting the kid, being a beast. Although, who can be angry with an old lady like that. They don’t know me too well, yet. Time will show. I'll get to know you, Elizaveta Maksimovna, and you'll find out who I am, too. Although, I won't be looking at you too much – I need to be looking after Sasha. Meanwhile, you and the mother can think whatever you want.




Chapter 4

Our family is now balanced – two females and two males. It is time that I arrived here, otherwise Sasha would have to stand up for himself by himself. The ladies are kind, caring, but a man is a man and needs a male companion. We all pity the kid. Certainly, blind children are pitied more. Some people cannot even pass us by without shedding a tear. Most of them are more than happy to help a disabled child, for which I thank them profusely. But, as Ivan Savelievich used to say, there is another issue. A disabled person always wants to feel independent, and not because they are ungreatful for outside help, not at all. Simply, this constant care is tiring and grinding on a person. They want to cry out to the whole world – look, guys, I can do something, too, and I can do it without your (kind) help, so, please, do your own things, and let me, at least every so often, do my own things, myself! I understand the blind people; as someone said, they may have dead eyes, but their hearts are full of life.

There's just one thing I can't seem to grasp. Currently, there are three hundred thousand blind people living in Russia, but there are only one thousand guide dogs. Ivan Savelievich used to say that there is only one guide dog for each three hundred blind people. That's not nearly enough. It is, in fact, a very bad situation. There are some countries, where the ratio of guide dogs to blind peole is closer to 1:10 or 1:12. That’s a significant difference. There must be so many people that are struggling without our guidance.

In Japan, for instance, guide dogs are now trained in jail. Can you imagine this – a convict training a guide dog? How did they ever come up with such an idea? A tiny, fluffy, two month old pup is weaned and immediately put in jail, for nothing. Sounds more like torture than training. I pity my Japanese comrades. For a whole year they live there with the convicts, although, I hear they are fed, brushed, walked, and overall well taken care of. Then, after the first year of training in jail, the dogs are trained by a professional instructor. Maybe there's no reason to be bothered by this, afterall, if they live in good circumstances, who cares whether that is in jail or in a kennel. And amongst people they may have more fun. Convicts are also people. Japanese people are smart, they know what they're doing.

A while ago, Sasha and I were taking a walk in the park, alone, since the ladies have already developed trust for me. Prior to that, we were always chaperoned, either by the mother or the grandmother, who would walk behind us, watching. They thought they were helping. We take a very easy route, which I quickly memorized, we walk it together. Sasha is now used to the cane. At first, we couldn't convince him to use it, even broke two of them. I hear it is the same with most children.

"Why do I need a cane if I have Trisha?" he'd say.

Silly kid. Sure, I could walk him around whatever obstacles lay in the way, but the cane is a must. Feeling the handle on my armor is one thing, but some things you just have to feel out for yourself. Every blind person needs a cane.

"Sasha," his mother would say, "you went through the training at Trisha's school. What did they say? The cane is a must. You must follow those instructions."

The mother is right, though not about the school. It isn't my school. Finally, Sasha accepted the cane, and even learned Braille. Do you know what that is? There are embossed dots on a page, and a blind person can read them with his fingers. Sasha recently read about how this methodology was developed. It was so interesting to hear. Sasha tells good stories. Whenever he tells a story, I hold my breath and listen with one ear, letting my tongue hang to the side. I listen with one ear, because the second is always at work. As it turns out, French king Louis IX, upon returning to Paris after ïîðàæåíèÿ â êðåñòîâûõ ïîõîäàõ, established an asylum for the blind called "Fifteen Points". The name is strange, but that's not the point. The first residents were thirty knights that were blinded in battles. This was when people understood that blind people need help and began creating the circumstances in which they could lead a normal life.

In 1771, a young man named Valentin Haui (?) visited the famous fair in Paris, where street vendors, puppeteers, and circus performers demonstrated their skills from the 14th of august to the 15th of september every year. Valentin gave a coin to a child beggar at the fair and was surprised when the kid immediately named the exact value of the coin. The young man realized that blind people can read by feel, and soon opened a school for the blind. The first student accepted to the school was the child beggar from the fair in Paris, whose name was Frances Lesuier (?). Valentin taught him to read using carved wooden "letters", which could be arranged into words. Frances was a talented student and was reading pages of "text" after only six months of training. Valentin Haui (?) presented his student to the Royal Academy, surprising many scientists. This is how the three-dimensional font came about, and spread worldwide. In 1806, Haui was invited to Russia by Alexander I, and established there the St. Petersburg Institute for Blind Children, which began publishing special texts for the blind. That was the dawn of literacy for the blind in Russia.

Haui's followers created many useful accessories and services for the blind, but they erroneously believed that what is good for those that can see is also good for the blind. Other fonts were being developed, such as the angular relief font created by James Gol (?) from the UK. Another font was shaped by Olston (?) from Edinburg (?) for a latin alphabet. The modern computer font Arial is very similar to Olston's. There was a race to perfect the font amongs scientists and amateurs.

Louis Braille, the inventor of the contemporary font, lost his vision as a child when he injured his eye with a knife. At age ten, Louis was accepted to the Parisian school for the blind, where education was conducted based on Haui's system. Books were large and expensive, so the school only had fourteen of them. Louis "read" them, but felt that Haui's system was too labor-intensive. The blind person needs to feel each letter for several seconds in order to read it. Reading was too intensive and tiring. Louis sought an easier, faster method.

If you don't mind, I'll continue Sasha's story, since I do find it so curious.

The invention of Braille has an interesting history. A kind of a letter code invented by the artillery officer Charles Barbies (?) was used in the French army for delivery of nighttime messages, which couldn’t be written on normal paper. Afterall, how could one read at night? If you light a match or a candle, you’d blow your cover. The letters were basically holes in cardboard. Louis Braille learned this methodology, but decided that is was far from perfect. Finally, he created his own system of relief-dot code, which facilitate fast and facile identification of each letter.

Amazingly, the board of directors at the institute where Braille introduced his new code in 1829 rejected it, and you know why? Because this technique was not convenient for sighted teachers! They were only thinking of their own convenience, and not at all of the handicapped. Braille was a persistent man, and continued to push his code forth on his own. After eight years of seeing that the system is popular and effect amongst the blind, the board of directors decided to review the system once again. Braille finally got support and recognition for his system and, to this say, his system is the most popular and efficient one amongst the blind readers. In Russia, the first book using the Braille code was published in 1885, and in January 2009, the world celebrated Braille’s 200th birthday.

Guess what my Sasha has? You won't believe it. He has a special display that has rows for Braille text. The text is transformed into signals, select rods move foreward, and my subordinate can feel the text with his fingers. He reads, and then tells me all about it, and I tell you. I heard that Braille letters will soon be made to move across the screen, so that the blind could read even faster. It's good that modern scientists aren't only thinking of their own comfort

While I was listening to his story, another blind lady sat next to us on the bench. She had her own guide dog, called Margo, who behaves like a queen. A pleasant dog, but she is not my breed, kind of hairy, we didn’t have such at our school. She’s cute, orange-white, with a sharp nose and brilliant eyes, but way too proud. She can see that we are colleagues, but still has her nose up in the air, as though she isn’t noticing me. Although, that is professional behavior, she must’ve finished a good school, too. You might be curious how I noticed that she is a professional guide dog? It’s easy. While we were sitting there, a group of kids strolled past us – one whistled at her, another blew her kisses, and a young girl bent down and sing-sang something about how cute Margo is, annoying as all hell, but Margo didn’t move an ear! She just sat there like a monument, not paying attention to all the ridiculous behavior around her.

The company departed, and right after them we saw a married couple, walking hand in hand. The lady had some hat on that didn’t match her years, and the man had a cane, although he was sighted, probably just for class, since he wasn’t limping either. And behind them, they dragged a rounded, lazy French bulldog on a leash. I don’t really like that breed. Can you believe nature created something like this? Looks like a kind of monster. If I had a muzzle like that, I would surely drown myself in the first river encountered. You can see immediately that this bulldog likes to eat well, strolling like he’s rolling from side to side. I don’t know why people get these kind of dogs – there’s no use from them at all, only expenses. He’s collar costs more than Sasha’s Braille monitor! The bulldog stops near us, pulling on his leash to come closer. The strolling couple stops, too. The dog just stopped in front of Margo and I and, bulging even farther out of his head his already bulging eyes, he seems to want something. And then the lady in the hat says,

-Belly, why are you stopping? You want to meet a friend?

Can you believe it? The pig-like dog has even a pig-like name! I would definitely lose my mind. How embarrassing to walk around the streets with such a name. We weren’t interested in getting to know each other, so I just hoped them on their way. Can’t he see that the people are resting and us, dogs, are working? On your way, Belly, on your way, I tell him in my thoughts. You won’t find friends here. As though having heard my thoughts, he tried to let out a small bark and trotted after his owners, shaking his rather large kiester from side to side.

Margo behaved herself very well, even in this case. She is a real guide dog. Sorry, I didn’t give you enough credit at the start. Honestly, I still don’t really like female guide dogs, and this is all because there are rumors that female guide dogs are better than male ones. This is not true. Don’t believe this. I don’t know who invented this despicable lie. It’s as though the ladies are more gentle and us guys are always looking for a chance to chase after a dog in heat. I can’t even talk of such things! I don’t get distracted. Am I not gentle, not tame and obedient? Even back at the training school, when someone had come in to select a guide dog, the lady was walking along the kennels and repeating

-“Just don’t offer us any males. We only want a girl.”
-“Why?” asked the instructor.
-We were told that the females are more apt and gentle…

And who told her this? This lady thought she knew everything. So, I will tell you, my friends, that if you ever need a guide dog, God forbid, select a male. We are not only more obedient, but also agile and strong. In our job, this means a lot. Of course, if you have no choice, a female guide dog will do just fine.

Sasha was tired of sitting on the bench, so he rose up a little, and I immediately stood up, offering him the handle to my guiding armor.

-“Trisha, let’s go home,” – he said.

I glanced as our neighbor and nodded “goodbye” to her. I think she answered back. I guess she realized I am a professional, too.

In twenty minutes Sasha and I were already home. The most delicious supper was awaiting us there. I really am lucky with the family. I like it here, though I do miss Ivan Savelievich sometimes.




Chapter 5

Sasha and I have an agreement: whenever he asks me a question and my answer is affirmative, I say “Woff!”, and when my answer is no, I say “Wou-wou!”. Sasha is great! Even though e is only thirteen years old, he is very clever young man. Yes, I said he is a young man. He is no boy any longer. High grandma is only shoulder-height to him, so I feel uncomfortable calling him a boy any longer.  He is a real young man now. And I really like that he is so clever. Albeit, he is too quick, and because of that, my work with him has nearly doubled.

In this regard, it was much easier with Ivan Savelievich. He walked quietly. Just walking, humming a song. His favorite song was about a tanker-man. He could sing that song all evening, that one song. “Oh, three tanker men, three happy friends – the equipage of the battle machine”, and on and on. At times, he’d really get to me with that song, and I even had to stop him. I’m sitting there, listening, listening, listening, and then quietly let him know “Baw-wow”. Ivan Savelievich immediately reacts to any noise or voice. There is nothing amazing in it. He and I are like two parts of a whole, two peas in a pod, as people say, inseparable. The moment Ivan Savelievich would say something, and I immediately let him know, “My friend, I am listening to you.” And if I bark. Ivan Savelievich asks me, “Trison, what’s going on?”

Nothing is going on, I’m just tired of your song, that’s all. Maybe you could change your CD. Maybe sing about the birch tree (he sings this one sometimes, but not too often), or about “Katyusha”, or about the polar bears. The old man told me the latter song is from a motion picture… By the way, why is the movie called a motion picture, not a cinema, not a movie, but a picture? He told me this song is from the motion picture “Prisoner of the Caucus Mountains.” “Somewhere in this world, there it is always freezing cold, there are polar bears rubbing up against the axis of the earth…” And so on. It is a lovely song, but he rarely sang it. Usually, it was just about the tankermen. I was wondering why he is so crazy about this tankerman song, but one day on a walk, apparently feeling my curiosity, he told me that when he was younger, he served in the army, and was a tanker man. And not just any tanker man – a tank commanders. So, the song makes sense, and I was more tolerant of it after that story. Figured, why be in the way of him recalling his youth, his friends. May make this old man’s life a little easier.

I’m curious, if in school we were taught to talk, could I have learned ten words? I don’t need any more than that. I would just use those ten well. Why would I need more? I thought about it for a while, and decided that it would just be fantastic if they had taught us the following ten words in training school:

1. Walking
2. Stop
3. Go
4. Enough
5. Help
6. Food
7. Cold
8. Hot
9. Sleep
10. Sorry

I think even for a human, these ten words may be enough. For a dog – that’s plenty. I don’t understand why the instructors haven’t figured out to teach us these words. I don’t ask for much, but no one teaches us to talk, no one even tries. Maybe you could try? Maybe it would work. I’ve tried to teach myself, but it doesn’t seem to work like that. I’ve tried rolling my lips into a pipe, twisting my tongue almost in a knot, bouncing my teeth left and right, but no go. I want to say one word, but all that comes out is “woff” or “wou-wou”. It’s total crap, and so upsetting.

For some time, Ivan Savelievich had a parrot. He got him before me, and when I first moved in, I was most surprised that this micro-eagle of a bird knew some hundred human words. He could talk nonstop for a half an hour, I’m serious. And he knew words that I’ve never even heard of. He had a terrible name – Keria. I remember on the first day he really threw me for a loop. Ivan Savelievich and I had just returned from a walk, just walked in, and this dwarf bird announces, “Keria wants to eat!” Wow, I thought, he’s quite demanding. And if you don’t toss a handful of grain into his cage, he will continue requesting until he falls of his perch. “Keria wants to eat! Keria wants to eat! Keria wants to eat!” A parrot is a parrot.

One time we were watching TV in the evening. That is, I was watching and Ivan Savelievich was listening, even though Ivan Savelievich would always say “Trison, let’s go watch some TV,” as in we will go watch together. There we were, watching-listening, and this little idiot of a bird decided to become a lark, whistling away. The old man and I thought we were going to lose our minds. The most interesting part of the program was on, and he was clucking away like a chicken. Ivan Savelievich couldn’t take it any longer, so he got up and covered the cage with a towel. It worked. Apparently, that scared little Keria. Maybe he thought first darkness, then something worse, and shut his babbling beak.

I still didn’t like him. Even when he was quiet, there were problems. He was more of a pig than a bird. Everything in his cage was covered in feathers and grain shells. The moment he flapped his wings, the crud would fly around the apartment as if it were a hen house. There was an old lady, Maria Petrovna, that came to visit Ivan Savelievich a couple of times a week. She’d clean the apartment, do the laundry, and cook a few meals for Ivan Savelievich. She also didn’t like Keria. She kept asking, “Keria, how are you not embarrassed of yourself?”, but he bird didn’t care. He just sat there babbling some idiocity, about himself, I recon. Maria Petrovna never took money for her work. Ivan Savelievich even got upset with her, “Maria Petrovna, dear, please, for Christ’s sake, don’t make it so difficult, take at least some money. Buy yourself something nice. Why are you slaving away for free?”

But the old lady would laugh and reply, “We can get even on the other side,” pointing up.
“Please, I am embarrassed that you do all this work,” Ivan Savelievich would say.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” the Maria Petrovna would continue, “I’m not doing it for you; I’m doing it for me.”

I myself am embarrassed to say that after hearing her I started watching her more closely. What does she mean she’s doing this for herself? Is she planning on stealing something? Is she just coming over to get familiar with the place, to scout it out? Back in training school we were told that blind people often get robbed, and that oftentimes the robber at first appears to try to help the blind person. Therefore, we guide dogs need to watch all kinds of suspicious people that may interact with our subordinate.

But soon I understood that Maria Petrovna could never bring insult to an old and blind man. I even saw on TV how there are folks that voluntarily help blind and disabled people. They don’t do this for money – they do it to help God. That’s what they say, anyway. Who knew there were these kinds of people on our planet? If I had be taught this in school, I would tell Maria Petrovna word ¹10 – “sorry”. Please forgive me and my dog-head, dear old lady, for having such a stupid thought.

All the way until her death, Maria Petrovna would come over to visit us. For holidays and birthdays the two of them would drink a shot or two, and then sit there hugging and singing all evening. Maria Petrovna knew wonderful songs, to which the tankermen could never compare. I especially liked the song, “Are you still alive my old lady? I am alive to, and I send you my greetings!” After singing, they may shed a tear or two. Maybe Ivan Savelievich felt that he was going to die soon. He’d tell it to me just like that, “Soon, Trison, you will have reprieve from me; my hour is coming.” I was never tired of him. If only Ivan Savelievich knew how much I missed him after he was gone, he wouldn’t say such things.



Chapter 6

One day trouble happened – I was stolen. I’ll tell you everything in order. On a Friday, the three of us were getting ready to go to the supermarket – me, Sasha, and Elizaveta Maksimovna. I don’t know why Sasha wanted to go to this forsaken store, but he did, and was stubborn and unswayable.

“Grandma, dear, please, please take Trisha and I with you to the supermarket. I’m just going to walk around the store and remember how I used to go there with my friends. I’ll touch the toys and jars and cans and such. Please, grandma…”

Strange place to go walking. Ivan Savelievich would avoid the supermarkets like the plague. What’s so good in the supermarket? All these shelves, packages, registers, lines, and more people than sardines in a jar. Although, there is this one corner where all of the treats for the canine friends are stored, and dog food in packages and cans, small and large. There are even vitamins! There are collars, chains, which are, of course, for the lazy punks like that bulldog that wanted to meet me when Margo and I were sitting professionally side by side. I don’t need these chains even for free. We guide dogs have our own armor, especially for our profession.

Anyway, I figured Sasha wants to remember a bit of his previous, sighted life, so we decided not to make him cry. A guard with a large red face appeared before us at the entrance to the store, not unlike that pharmacist lady that didn’t want Ivan Savelievich and I in, remember? The guard also had “instructions”.

“Excuse me,” he said, “you cannot enter here with a dog.”
“This is a guide dog,” Elizaveta Maksimovna explained. “With this dog, we are fine to enter.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” said the guard, standing in front of us with his fists akimbo. “Whether a guide dog or not a guide dog, you cannot enter with a dog.”
“Are you kidding me,” grandma returned, “is the law not written for you?”
“I don’t need  your laws, I have instructions from the management.”
I just don’t get it, people, are you not able to exist or do anything without instructions?
“Now, dear, please understand, this boy cannot see anything,” Elizaveta Maksimovna tried to awaken the conscience of the guard. “The dog is his eyes, understand?”

Elizaveta Maksimovna, just take a look at this guard’s face – does it look like it is capable of understanding?
“Listen, you want me to get fired?” asked the guard.
“No, I don’t, sonny, but…”
“That’s it,” the guard gave us the ‘talk to the hand’ gesture, “don’t try to beg or convince me. Over there is a pillar – you can tie your eyes to it, and I’ll watch’em.”

I can’t believe he just told them to tie their eyes to a pillar? How can people say such things. Go tie your own eyes.
“Are you not embarrassed of yourself?!” Elizaveta Maksimovna exclaimed.
“And who are you to the boy?” asked the guard, letting her comment go through his ears.
“This is my grandson.”
“Well, then, lead him yourself through the store. What are you shaming me for?”

The grandma understood that there was no use talking to the guard any longer. She led Sasha and I to the pillar, and tied me up, apologizing, “I’m sorry, Trisha, forgive us, please, dear. You see what is happening…” I understood her, and hoped they’d return soon, otherwise I’ll become a rotisserie chicken in this sun.

The moment Elizaveta Maksimovna and Sasha went inside the jaws of the supermarket, the guard disappeared. I’m sitting there, squinting at the sun. It’s hot. Suddenly, the breaks squeal, and a blue car stops in front of me. Two big guys get out of the car and approach me. One look around and then says to the other, “Bro, you know how much a dog like this is worth?” I wanted to tell this jerk that dogs like me are not for sale.

“What’s that red cross on its vest?”
“That means it’s a guide dog for the blind, a trained and schooled dog. You know how much dough we can rack in with this one? Open the trunk.”

One of the guys ran back to the car, while the other took out a knife, cut my leash, and grabbed me off the ground. I didn’t even have time for a bark and the trunk enclosed me in darkness. Idiots! What are you doing? My blind Sasha is left in the store back there. Are you people or trash rats? The engine revved and the car took off. I couldn’t tell where we were going, just that we were no longer on blacktop. Why wasn’t I taught in school to be aggressive? I could just clamp the thief’s neck in my jaws – you’d be counting your dough then. But, we are forbidden to bite people. We can bark, but not bite. So, I laid in the trunk and howled away. I barked a few times, but there’s no use – the music from the speakers in the trunk was deafening. Even their music was idiotic!

In a half an hour we stopped. I listened carefully. I could hear fragments of phrases: police, officer, license. Alright, guys, you are done with, and I started to howl and bark as loudly as I could. Then I hear the officer say, “What, you have a dog in your trunk? Pop the trunk.”

Yay, I think, I am saved. Finally!
“Officer, I just took her to the vet, she’s a bit ill,” lies the thief, “so I don’t know if she’ll jump or run, and then we’ll spend all day chasing her.”
“Pop the trunk.”

The thieves opened the trunk, and the police officer looked at me through a tiny slit. I was howling, barking, trying to get up, push the trunk open with my head. Look at me, officer, my leash is cut, I have a vest, guiding armor, tags. Look at me carefully! These are thieves. Oh, how I wish I could scream to you word #5, “help”!! But, my coffin was shut anew.

“Why did you put her in the trunk”, asked the officer.
“Where else? If we put her in the seat, she might dirty it up, you know.”

You brainless cretin, I can go half a day without needing a walk. I was taught that in school.
“Oh, okay,” said the officer. “Have a good day.”

What a dog’s life! If he had seen a human in the trunk, he would have dispatched an entire police force, but since it’s just some pooch… One doesn’t let you into the store, others steel you, the third one misses the opportunity to save you, and the fourth may even bring you to your end. I figured, since they started talking about making money on me, that they wouldn’t kill me. That’s better. But where are they taking me?

In twenty minutes the car came to a stop. I heard a door squeak. The trunk opened and I could see some kind of an old barn. The car parked such that I could only hop from the trunk into the open barn door. The moment I landed, the car left, and the door shut. There was a tiny window up by the ceiling, and a small ray of sun was illuminating the opposite corner of the room. There were barrels and jars and buckets, cans of paint, and all kinds of rags – not the best kennel. Probably worse than the jail kennels in Japan. The thieves were standing on the other side of the door, chatting. They had no idea I can understand.

“So what are we going to do with him,” one asked.
“We’ll place an ad in the paper – ‘Labrador for sale, male, trained, cheap’. We’ll sell him quick.”
“How do you know he is trained?” asked the first one.
“Are you an idiot? This is a guide dog. He understands all commands.” The other bandit laughed.
“Maybe he should stay here some time, get used to us. How are you going to sell him right now?”
“While we’re waiting for a bite on the ad, he’ll get used to us, we’ll feed him into liking us.”

You guys don’t know anything about me. I don’t forget my subordinates, not till I am laid out in the coffin. So, don’t be deluded that you’ll feed me into liking you. Even if you well me, I will still run away. And whoever comes to buy will probably know what guide dogs are, and will preach you deaf about how wrong this is.

“Hey, we don’t have any documents regarding this dog’s breed or training,” one of the thieves was concerned.
“That’s why we’ll say ‘cheap’. Say that the owner died and all we’ve got is the dog.”
“I don’t know. This sounds sketchy. Maybe we should sell the dog in another city, or another county.”
“Don’t be stupid. By the time we sell it in another county, we’ll spend all the gains on gas traveling back and forth. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.” And with that, they left.

This gave me time to examine this stinky “jail” of mine. Cretins, they didn’t even leave me any water. And didn’t take my guiding armor off. Idiots. I’m a peaceful dog, pleasant, friendly, gentle, but I hate some people, I really to. Please forgive me, but are these even people? I’m sure you, yourselves wouldn’t call them people. These are … cretins. The usual, soulless, thoughtless cretins.




Chapter 7

I have hope. I remembered how Ivan Savelievich talked of hope – it always dies last. And since there is hope, this descendent of Vikings and Basques will go forth and conquer! The floor in this “jail” is soil without foundation, so I, a true Labrador, can dick a meter-deep hole in something like this overnight. I need to get out of here, as if I don’t, I cannot guaranty I won’t jump on the first visitor come tomorrow morning.

I must be careful, however. There are lots of rags in the dungeon, so I’ll have something to cover up the passage way if I sense or hear the approach of the thieves. I dragged all the rags to the floor. And, oh, I am so lucky, the roof is leaky, and as it was raining, half a bucket got filled with rain water in my little jail. Now, this is living! The water in the bucket is murky, but that’s all of got. One can’t live without water. Water is life and strength. I can persevere without food, but without water my tongue may dry and fall off.

I remembered how Sasha recently read me a poem:

I sit behind the bars
In a dark, wet jail cell…

The poem was about a bird, but regarding the darkness and dampness one may this it is about me and this dungeon. And with that, I began my dig.

The first hour I worked without stopping, without rest. Then, ten minutes of rest, ten slurps of less-than-delicious murky cocktail, and back to work. The thieves didn’t return all evening, which was better for them, as no one ended up traumatized by this caged beast, even though I did want to teach them a lesson. I was digging away, recalling the guard at the supermarket. If it wasn’t for his stubbornness, I would be lying on a soft rug and watching my little boy. His ‘I’ll watch your dog’ didn’t watch me one bit. I bet his conscience isn’t even gnawing away at his stone heart. What kind of guard is he after this?

I wonder how my poor family is doing. I bet they are all in tears, especially Sasha. I pity the guy. We got so used to each other, we understand each other. And this trouble… I’ll get out of this trouble soon enough.

Whenever in need of a rest, I’d walk back and examine my archeological progress. Still more to dig, but already looking like an underground. No rest from this point on, as I must finish this by morning. Ten more licks of water and back to work.

While working, I didn’t even notice that the sun had set and a bright star had replaced it in the tiny window above. The sky was clear and the night was warm. I really like nighttime. At night, all dogs, even guide dogs, get to rest, get to slump down in their soft beds, and even dream. Are you surprised? I am serious when I say that dogs dream. Beautiful dreams! Whenever I’d watch motion pictures with Ivan Savelievich, I’d have dreams all night long. Maybe I’m running through a battle field without noticing the grenades and bullets flying past, pushing through the smoky fields to a wounded soldier and dragging him back to the nurse’s station. One time I dreamt that I saved a skier from an avalanche. Thereafter, everyone was petting me, treating me to rotisserie chicken, taking my interview with a microphone and photographing me. I didn’t like how cold and terse the microphone felt, so I got angry, barked, and woke myself up. Ivan Savelievich almost fell off the bed when I did that.

“Trison, what happened?” he asked me. And I am lying there silently. He called me to him and asked, “Did you dream something?” He was clever. I whimpered a few times, and he said, “Come here, my dear, lay down next to me. Don’t be afraid of dreams, there are all kinds of them.” Sometimes I dream the weirdest stuff, and even scream in my dreams.

I found it funny for Ivan Savelievich to tell me about dreams. I already know. I’ve listened almost every day the endings of his dreams. One time he screamed in the night “Fire!”. I jumped up, sniffed the air here and there, thought there may really be a fire in the apartment. Turns out everything was fine, and Ivan Savelievich was dreaming of being in the army again. He later told me about his dream when we were on our daily walk.

“Trison,” he said, “today I was dreaming of participating in training exercises on my tank again. I saw my colleagues, the battalion leader, as though they were still alive. Everyone was young and slim.” It seems military folks have all kinds of training, just like us, guide dogs, and include all kinds of test, commands, examinations.

I took a rest from the digging. If I keep up the pace, I’ll be out of here in two-three hours. I am tired, and if I didn’t have to wear my guiding armor while digging, I would be much easier. I cannot take it off myself, though. I hadn’t dug a hole in a while, as in training school we got punished for digging. But whenever the paws itch, I’d so like to engage in a nice dig. I did get to dig one time when Ivan Savelievich and I went fishing (I think I promised to tell you this tale). He was fishing, and I dug a hole that even you’d be proud of. The old man petted me and said,

“Trison, do you have nothing to do, digging holes? Why don’t you run around the forest a bit instead?” But I’ve had enough running around our neighborhood, but I couldn’t dig the mother of all holes there. If I were to try digging there, someone would be on my back about damaging the lawn in no time. Although, perhaps that’s fine, because some little kid might fall into the hole afterward.

We arrived at the lake for fishing. Ivan Savelievich got his folding chair out, put a worm on his hook so swiftly one would never guess he is blind, and threw the hook in.

“Trison, watch the bobber. When it moves, give me a bark, and I’ll reel it in,” he said.

I sat there five minutes, ten, fifteen. Watching the water my eyes start spasming, and suddenly the bobber moved, so I barked. Ivan Savelievich pulled the line in, but the hook was empty. He wasn’t pleased.

“Why are you barking so loud – you’ve scared the fish off.”

He didn’t exactly specify the caliber of the desired bark. If he wanted a whimper, he could have said so. I was a little upset. In a half an hour, though, we were back to pals again. I got a delicious lunch from the perch fish Ivan Savelievich caught, which melted in my mouth like butter.

I’ve been thinking about food a lot while digging. I still have about an hour of work, and I hope I’ll have enough strength to dig to the other side. I was digging away, and then I saw a huge white bird transcending in through the window. It was beautiful. It was keep away, up by the ceiling, probably afraid that I’d dine on her. And then it started talking to me in a human voice:
“O Tibetan king Trison, I came here to help you.”
“Who are you?” I said in a human voice back to her. I thought this must be magic, for me to speak human to her.
“I came to you across three seas, three mountain ranges, three forests…”
“Hold on,” I said, “you are confusing me. I have seen a cartoon like this. I forgot what it’s called, but you are a bird from that cartoon. What do you need? Or did the thieves send you in?”

Why did I say that? The bird got upset and left.

“Wait, where are you going? Tell me why you came to me?”
“I don’t talk to rude folks,” she replied.
“I give you word #10,” I said.
“What word is that?”
“I’m sorry. The word is “sorry”. I am tired, and perhaps that’s why I came off as rude.”
“Fine. I’ll help you,” she said.
“How?” I was surprised.
“Like this,” she said, and with this she dove toward me like a rock, and started pecking me on the nose. I jumped and opened my eyes, to find that I am alone and it is already daylight out. I did fall asleep after all. Thank you, magic bird. I did still have about 20 minutes of work, but boy, what a dream! If it wasn’t for that dream, I probably would have slept till noon or until the thieves returned.

Finally, after more digging I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Just a little more, Trison, just a tiny bit farther. My head fit through, but I didn’t want to get stuck like Winnie the Pooh, so I dug a little wider. I took the last slurp of mud-water from the bucket, and out I was in the sweet-smelling freedom! There was a fence, which I jumped with little effort, and was soon in the forest that lay beyond. I took a hiding there for a long-needed rest.




Chapter 8

“Oh what an amazing, beautiful day! What a beautiful day it is!” I heard this unusual song in my sleep. I jumped up and looked around. There were children playing not far from me. They were laughing, giggling, squealing. I shook my head a few times to wake up completely, and suddenly felt the sweetest aroma of grilled meat. My jaws locked up. And my throat dried up. I remembered Ivan Savelievich and his saying whenever he ran out of cigarettes and bread. I swallowed heavily, and began to cautiously make my way toward the smell. The kids’ voices were closer and closer. I have long figured out that where the children are laughing happily, there is a lot less of people’s meanness. I crawled up to the edge of the meadow, and pushed a branch aside with my paw. I could see two cars parked. One door was propped open, and the “amazing” song was pouring out of it. The children chased each other around the vehicles. About ten meters from the cars, a girthy man in a baseball cap and shorts was juggling the shish-kebobs on the grill. Suddenly, three more people emerged from behind the parked cars – two ladies, one older and one younger, and another skinny, humpbacked man.

“George,” yelled the skinny man, “come in for a swim. The water is perfect.”
This is great, I thought. There must be a river or a lake below, which is good, since I am thirsty.
“Later,” said the fat man, “after the shish-kebobs. I don’t like swimming on an empty stomach.”
“Pity, pity, George. I feel like I am born anew.”

I figured if I walk along the forest side around this here picnic, I can get to the water source and finally quench my thirst. Then, I can resume thinking about food. I went around, and in five minutes was already enjoying to coolness of liquid. I didn’t taste the bloom right away, and only realized something wasn’t exactly right in the taste when my own belly took on the shape and gurgliness of a lake. I drank extra, just in case. Anyway, the picnickers were not expecting an extra stomach to feed. I was hoping that after they eat, maybe after they leave, I might leave a small morsel of meat or gristle lying around in the coals.

Previously, it always bothered me when people didn’t clean up after themselves. I always thought nature, which they came to enjoy, should be left as pristine as they found it. You’ll be doubly happy when you return tomorrow to find it clean and beautiful. But today, and I am embarrassed to say, I was hoping to the contrary outcome. Maybe there’ll be a rib or two left for me? I’m not hoping for any meat, which looks like pork, by the way. Large pieces of meat… fried pork… this could be better than rotisserie chicken. I could barely swallow to keep my belly from gurgling something urgent.

After the filling picnic, the nature visitors settled down for a nap on the grass, while I laid in the forest and swallowed my drool. I even forced myself to take a nap. I awoke from the revving of the engine. Could they be leaving? As if. Turns out the fat man was too hot, so he closed up all of the car windows, and turned on the air conditioner. They came out for nature, did they? The kids were running around, and he was inside listening to the radio and fanning himself with the AC and other – with the car fumes.

What if I go out to them? I’ll whimper a bit, stand on my hind legs, show that I am a trained and kind dog. They must understand this the moment they see my red cross and guiding armor. But how would I know what they would do? Would they be nice or try to get something from me? What if they are friends of the thieves I just ran away from? Or would themselves like to make some bucks on my great purebred nature? Maybe they’ll put me in their trunk. They’re done with the meat, put the fire out. Should I go out to them or not? Should I or not? I’m hungry, and hunger is not a kind lady. I guess I’ll go, and will see how they react at first. Either I’ll run or let them come closer. I exited from the forest and stood there, observing. A little girl noticed me first. So as not to scare her, I started to joyfully wag my tail. She still screamed and ran toward the adults. The fat guy from the “fridge” popped out and grabbed a stick. Why the stick?, I thought. I am standing calmly, not attaching anyone, not even barking. But, surely, he just doesn’t know what kind of creature just emerged from the forest. I must look terrible. I gave myself a thorough glance – a haggard mutt is what I looked like at that moment. But, recall where I just spent the night. And just then, one of the ladies noticed my guiding armor.

“Guy, look, that’s a guiding dog. Don’t be afraid of it – it won’t bite,” she yelled.

I thought that was rather liberal of her. Whether I’ll bite or not depends on how they’ll treat me next. If everything will be swell, then I won’t bite. But if you’ll begin to come up with some kind of trickery, I will not think of rules or instructions for a second. I’ll bite so it will seem enough. The woman approached me closer and squatted down in front of me with her hand stretched out.

“Are you lost, sweetie? Come, come, darling, come…” she said.

Why ‘sweetie’? Why ‘darling’? Can she not see that I am a male? Look at me. Nonetheless, I began to tentatively approach the lady. Then, I was at her leg, I bowed my head to her. Maybe she’ll figure out to take me out of the guiding armor. She really did figure it out, and released me from my bindings. I was so happy, that I couldn’t hold, and just dropped on my back and rode the bicycle in the sky for a while. At that moment, all the kids ran toward me with giggle and squeals of joy. I’m not afraid of them. They petted me, and hugged me. And the older lady came up, and the slim guy, and the fat one. The fat one grimaced a bit and then declared,

“It’s a male.”

I can’t believe how astute you are, fat man.
“Hey, kids, leave the dog alone. It may have some malady.”

And to think I had just approved of this guy.
“George, if it’s with guiding armor, it probably got lost. Guide dogs are always vaccinated and harmless,” said the young lady.

She’s a angel, and I thank her. It’s so lucky to meet a clever woman.
“Then why is the dog so dirty?” George got all huffy.
“We’ll wash her,” said the lady raising her arms. “Come on,” and she beaconed me toward the river. The woman backed up carefully toward the short, and I followed her slowly. Then, the turned around and started running toward the river. I was so happy, I even squealed. I ran into the river like a seagull. It was heaven.

“Come on, brother, come on over here,” the lady beaconed me, “we’ll get you all straightened up.”

No one has called me ‘brother’ before. Well, then, sister, thank you, and that’s very pleasant to hear, pleasant to the tip of my tail. The woman washed me, scrubbed me with her fingers, removing pieces of debris, and I stood there, calmly, eyes closed, and loving every minute of it. Everything in life is known only relatively.

When we returned to the shore, people saw that I was truly a golden dog. Remember, I told you how I always exit the bath transformed. I exited from the river one handsome beast, and everyone was just oo-ing and aa-ing.

“Just look at this handsomeness,” said the sister that washed me and was now dabbing my ears with a cotton tampon.

The kids surrounded me again, watching the lady put on the finishing touches. Where did she learn all those skills? She even knows to dab the ears dry. She’s just so clever.

“So, what are we going to do with this handsomeness now,” said the skinny man.
“What do you mean?” asked the old lady. “We will take her home, put an ad in the paper, and I’m sure the owner will be found in no time. There aren’t that many dogs like this one in Moscow, just a couple, maybe.”
“And what if the owner is not found?” inquired the fat guy.
“Well, then he can live with us a bit, and we’ll see after that,” said the old lady.
“And what about Murzik, will the dog hurt him?” grimaced the fat guy.
Who is Murzik? I would guess, based on his name, it’s a cat, and my supposition was immediately validated.
“As far as I know, Labradors, especially guide dogs, don’t bother cats,” said the young lady.
“But who knows for sure,” hesitated the fat man, “what if the dog bites him in half.”

This fat man must be an idiot, grabbing the stick, thinking I am mangy, now assuming I eat cats for breakfast. If you don’t have anything decent to say, keep it shut, don’t say anything at all.

Hygiene, of course, is very nice, but what about food? If you would listen for a bit, you could hear how my intestines are playing Mozart’s 40th symphony. I am licking my chops, can you read that sign? And even here my ‘sister’ wasn’t losing time.

“Folks, what are standing around for? He must be starving!” she announced.
“Woff!” I replied joyfully and quietly, so they wouldn’t think I was barking.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Woff! Woff!” I replied twice to make sure I am heard at least one of those times.
“Come, brother, I’ll feed you, I’ll give you a treat.”

I followed her. Have you ever been really lucky? Lady luck just stored you with her golden feather? Do you remember how you behaved in those moments? Say you won the Jackpot or a car, or you uncle from Canada sent you a couple of million dollars for your birthday. Or, perhaps, you got accepted to Harvard or Caltech, just for fun? How would you celebrate? Can you imagine? Think about it a moment and listen to what I’ll tell you.

These kind folks didn’t eat half of their shish-kebobs, because the fat man didn’t grill it thoroughly enough. Since they don’t like to waste, they wrapped the meat up with the hopes of cooking it fully at home, in the oven. The sister told me all this, while I annihilated this lovely “gift from Canada”. After the feast I fell on the grass, closed my eyes, and sent my thoughts to George with word #10. I’m sorry, George, forgive me…



Chapter 9

Via an open vote the group decided that I will go to live with George and his old lady. The girl that screamed upon seeing me the first time turns out is their granddaughter, Lyuba. Prior to getting in the car I took a jaunt to the woods for, you know, and George gave me a sign of approval for the deed, in his own way:

“Turns out the guy isn’t so dumb,” he said, opening the door and inviting us into the cab of the car. The girl and I sat in the back seat of the car. The car is nice and roomy. Lyuba hugged me, as though I were her old friend, and kept peering into my eyes and whispering to me.
“What’s your name, doggie?”
“Wo-o-ou,” I replied, even though usually that word means ‘no’. In this situation I had wanted to say ‘I’m sorry I cannot say my name to you’ since I don’t know how to talk. Lyuba was not at all confused by my answer. She happily turned to her grandparents and announced:
“Grandma, grandma! I asked the dog what its name is, and it tolme..”
“Lyuba, how many times do I need to correct you – it’s told me, not tolme,” corrected the grandma.
“Okay, tolme, tolme, told me…”
“What did it tell you?” smiled the grandma.
“It tolme that its name is Ukma, same as Peter’s cat from house #5. Can we call the dog Umka?” the girl said, completely ignoring the grandmother’s correction.
“Okay, okay, we’ll call him Umka,” agreed grandma.

I couldn’t believe this, now I was being called by a cat’s name. Although, who cares, it’s not their fault. I was riding in the car, thinking, why it is that neither Ivan Savelievich nor Sasha figured to attach a name tag to my guiding armor, and even better – a name tag with my name and their cell phone number. Dear friends, if you are acquainted with anyone that has a guide dog, suggest to them to not commit such an oversight, just in case, since you’ve seen what happened to me. Who knew that I’d be in some foreign trunk, and then be trotting in strange forests and begging grilled meat? If I were to run into kind people and my name and owner’s phone number were on the guiding armor, they would have called right from the meadow, and I wouldn’t be in George’s “fridge” right now, but on a train with Elizaveta Maksimovna, or Svetlana Sergeevna.

Also, I’ve invented a new feature. Attention cell phone manufacturers! I even have a name for this new gadget – “Zoophone”. Create a mini-gadget, like a tiny cell phone, that would fit into the guiding armor or onto the collar of a dog, or a cat, or even a giraffe, if you like. Whenever the creature is lost, dial the phone number of the pet, and that would activate a loudspeaker on the collar. You can ask the people around who may see your dog, pig, giraffe, cat, pony, to please answer with a nearby address where the owner could find their pet friend. Even a metro station or an intersection would do. Even better is if a person could detain your beloved friend in that area until you can claim them. And if you, the owner, offer a reward, it is quite possible that your pet will get petted and fed, and maybe even given some place to nap while they wait. How do you like this idea? If you actually end up developing this tool, don’t forget to pass via Sasha a few pounds of high quality dog feed my way. Chicken ravioli is my favorite, although you probably already figured that. I did praise that pork earlier, but I was very hungry, and could have praised stale bread at the time; don’t pay attention to that.

I started talking of Sasha too early; we still need to find him. Who knows how long while Lyuba’s grandparents put an ad in the paper, how long before someone reads it, how long… Although, I think Elizaveta Maksimovna and Svetlana Sergeevna aren’t sitting around either. They are probably searching for me, or whoever took me away. These days, when a car is stolen, even it is not searched. Certainly, all efforts are made to create the appearance of a search, but nothing is done, really. Then, who’s going to search for a dog? Although, we’ll see…

George has a nice apartment, very spacious. There is room to roll around, jump, and even jog a circle or two. But, I behaved myself timidly. I sat in the corner and observed. The grandma, thanks to Lyuba, created something bed-like for me in the entry way, and put a bowl of water nearby. She’s sweet. George stood in the doorway and directed grandma:

“Alright, release him, and I’ll stand here, just in case.”

I almost forgot about the other resident. The moment I laid down in my little “bed”, the cat emerged. My first thought was, what do they feed him? He is spreading in all directions. Murzik stopped at the doorway and began to examine me with his stare. I laid down calmly, letting his owner know that I am not interested in cats and do not plan to harm him in any way. My second thought was how much this cat and George are alike: both are red-headed, fat, with narrow shrewd eyes, tiny ears… except the heads are attached to different parts of the body. Murzik was on the offensive, he was approaching closer.

What I don’t like in cats is their foolishness and impudence. I was laying down, pretending I didn’t notice the fatty, and he kept circling in closer and closer, puffing his tail, bending out his back, and meowing. I don’t like that sound. I was thinking, what do you want form me, Murzik. I am here only temporarily, guests for a brief time, so go on, do your own thing, and leave me alone. I am not touching you, and you let me be, too. Murzik yowled a bit, and then could see that I wasn’t paying attention. So he approached form one side, then the other, staring at me. I was thinking what I could do that is small, yet effective, so I slapped my tail on the ground once, gently. You should have seen him. He flew across the room, hid behind George, and began hissing at me as though he was under attack. George calmed his foolish pet down:
“Murzik, don’t be afraid. This is a very smart dog. He won’t touch you, you’ll see.” George approached me a petted me on the back. “See? Don’t worry and don’t be afraid.”

Grandma also approached me and petted me. “Everything is okay, Murzik, you’ll be friends in no time.”

As if I need a friend like him. You can have him as a friend, if you like, but I am not interested. In the least, you could teach him some good manners. Everyone teaches us, dogs – sit, down, stay, fetch, and so on, but what about these lazy cats of theirs? They are not taught anything, and no one asks anything from them. What is the use of cats, I ask you? I understand in the villages cats are necessary to get rid of mice in the house and moles in the yard, but in the city, in an apartment, there is no use for them. I just don’t understand it.

The grandmother’s name is Hope. After our “acquaintance”, she announced:

“Uma, drink some water for now, and I’ll go the supermarket and buy you some dog food.”

When I heard the terrible word ‘supermarket’, I wanted to bark, but, of course, contained myself, so as not to scare the old lady. If only you knew, granny, how much I dislike these supermarkets. But I do need food, so whether you go to the supermarket or the outdoor market, it’s up to you. Although, once, Ivan Savelievich was sold some nasty dog food at the outdoor market. The package was the same as the brand we usually buy, but when he opened it at home and poured me a bowl, I almost fainted. It smelled awful. I couldn’t believe someone would take a good brand-name package and put shit in it. While I was consuming this ten-kilo bag of food, I lost some ten pounds of weight. Ivan Savelievich even though I was ill, invited a vet to stop by to see me. The vet checked me out, said all was well, and left. And I was stuck finishing up the crap feed.

You, veterinarians out there, when examining the causes of a dog’s poor appetite, first take a glance at their feed. Smell it, try a bit. If you think the food is of poor quality, let the owner know. Otherwise, we see on TV that “your dog’s food is now even tastier than ever”, and the caring owners run to the supermarket for this new delicacy, but it may be some nasty concoction, so, please, try it yourselves, before announcing to the whole world that it’s better.

Do you want to know how commercials are filmed? My acquaintance Jessie, from the training school, told me all about it. She was brought into a studio, and placed into a cage with two other dogs. During a 24 hour period they were given nothing to eat and only water to drink. Can you imagine? The next day, 100 meters from the cage they put a bowl of some kind of feed, turned on dozens of lamps, and the director started yelling something into a loudspeaker. There were video camera operators, crowds of people, and everyone is watching how Jessie and her cage-mates will run toward these bowls. If their running wasn’t up to par, the bowls were taken away, and the dogs were placed back in the cage. She said she ran around half a day like an idiot, toward the bowls, back to the cage, back toward the bowls, back to the cage. I afterward saw her on TV several times. On TV, of course, it looks completely differently. Jessie is just radiant there, running happily, full of life and energy. And the food actually looks good, appetizing, crunchy and flavorful. It’s a good show. Sometimes, just based on the video, I think I can smell the food, but, it’s a show. How can one ever believe them after the commercial?

In the evening, George took me for a walk. He put some collar on me, and attached a chain. Where would I run? I don’t know this neighborhood. I’d probably immediately end up in some greedy catch again. I’d rather live with you guys. But, I didn’t resist, and just accepted my fate. If he wants to walk me on a chain, so be it. I will persevere. Turns out the neighbors really respect George around here. All of the neighbors referred to him by name and patronymic. One old man even exclaimed when seeing George and I:

“Georgii Alekseevich,” he spoke kind of strangely, “You bought yourself a Labrador? It’s a good dog, very nice dog. I know my breeds well, believe me. And how is your Murzik?”
“This is a temporary guest,” George replied. “We were out on a picnic with friends and met this furry one…”
“You don’t say, Georgii Alekseevich!” the old man let his mouth fall agape. “And you brought this stray dog to your home? What if…”
“He is not a stray. He is a guide dog. He had guiding armor on. Either the owner lost him, or the dog ran off. We will put an ad in the paper about him tomorrow,” George interrupted.
“I would still be very careful about bringing him in to the house, Georgii Alekseevich.”
Leave us alone, old man.
“I pity the dog,” George answered, “you can see that he is smart, well kept. Anyway, we’ll figure it out. See you.”




Chapter 10


We must give tribute here to the arrogant Murzik: the next day he walked past me and without paying attention. Turns out cats can occasionally be not stupid. But I got the impression that he deliberately passed me a dozen times, probably testing my nerves. Calm down, silly, my nerves are in full order. You can stroll by all day long and I won’t so much as move an ear. You must understand one thing, Murzik, that if I, a guide dog, start barking at some sort of crazy cats, I won’t be worth a penny, especially as a trained dog. My instructors and mentors would be embarrassed if they were to found out that I yielded to your provocations. Go on, go on, you fool. You’ve got nothing at all to do, hence your nonsense behavior.

Of course, Murzik’s arrogance eventually became too much. You won’t believe what he did next. A dog of any other profession would have grabbed the cat by his tail for these kinds of acts. Few would have thought twice about snapping at that cat. Seeing that I did not react to his outburst and passes, he came to my bowl and began crunching away! Even though prior to that, I had personally seen how he ate his own entire bowl of cat food. I’ve never met such a jerk before. Why are you cat-face trying to get in line with the dogs?

I certainly understand that Murzik wants to show that he has all the right of and old-timer here, that he is the center of attention, and almost a master of the house. The grandmother was hilarious today. She saw all this tyranny and smiled:

- Oh, my little children! Are you friends already? That's great. That’s just lovely.

How can you speak such nonsense, granny? Who is friend with whom? "Friends." What kind of friendship could there be, if your villain is taking advantage of official position and climbing into my food bowl? Would you like it if he stuffed his face into your bowl of soup? I suppose he would receive from you a swift kick in the neck. And you speak of friendship? You must be out of your mind. Well, I will bear it, bear it all, so long as my Sasha is tracked down.

Where are you, my boy? Where are you my baby? I know, you are missing me and maybe crying a little in silence. My dog heart feels this. Do not be sad, Sasha, everything will be fine. We will find each other. You'll see. The important thing is that I escaped from the bandits, didn’t die in the woods, and no one made a barbecue out of me. All the rest will work out. Just hold on a bit, you’ll see. We both have to endure this lot, and I must pretend that I am not irritated. And when we meet again, I know you will embrace and kiss me, I will quietly whimper with happiness, and your mother and grandmother will stand beside us and wipe little tears of joy from their eyes. Everything will be fine, Sasha ...

Grandma Hope called me over:

- Umka, come to me!
My first thought are, of course, what happened? I got up and went to the kitchen.
- Stay with me, kiddo - said.
"Kiddo"? In human years I am already over thirty years old and she still calls me a baby. I wondered if she’s bored. Why not call shaggy Murzik over? Or he does not understand any commands?
- Lie down, Umka, lie down here on the mat. You’ve been laying there in the corner all day.

         Wherever you put my bed, that’s where I laid. Or am I supposed to run around the apartment like your cat? The moment I break into a trot in the apartment, you’ll probably put me out the door. Who would like it, if I were to start jumping around like a crazed kangaroo? Understanding this,  I lie there all day in peace, in the corner. By the way, have you already put an ad in the paper about having found me? Please, do not delay, please. I’ve already been delayed in my return to Sasha. It’s already the third day since I’ve been gone.
The woman, as if hearing my thoughts, suddenly said:

- Georgii Alekseevich telephoned and said that he posted an ad in the paper. It will be printed in the paper in three days, so your owners will soon be found.
Three days later!? So, for three more days I am to lay in my corner gathering dust, and bear Murzik’s antics! What a pity. I lay on the floor and stared at the TV. Grandma Hope kept talking, rattling pots, cooking something on the stove, while I lay watched cartoons. Just then, the most stupid cartoon in the world came on, called "Kitty-dog." I cannot imagine whoever invented this kind of slander on dogs? I marveled at how this cartoon would mess up the children's ideas of what a cat or a dog is. Between cartoons a beautiful announcer appeared on the screen to read out the ads and announcements.

"Steel doors. Phone installation ... "," Car for sale  ‘Moskvich – 2140’ recent model”, "Guitar lessons for children ..."

The phone rattled in the hallway. The grandmother deftly stepped over me and ran to pick it up. I heard her calling someone ‘sonny’. "Yes, sonny, everything is good. Lyuba is in kindergarten ... "

Then suddenly, it was as though I was electrocuted – I saw myself on the TV screen. I jumped up and stared at the screen. The pretty announcer proceeded in a depressed monotone: "Missing: a guide dog, yellow in color, responds to the name Trison, please ..." I rushed into the hall and let out such a bark that the Grandma just dropped the phone.

"I'll call you back, sonny," she turned to me and asked “What happened Umka?”
“Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo! Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo!” I screamed and ran back to the kitchen.
She went after me. I started barking at the TV like crazy. Unfortunately, by the time she came into the kitchen, the idiotic cartoon "Kitty-dog" was on again. The grandmother laughed and said

“Oh, Umka, do you not like the kitty-dog beast?” she patted me on the head. “I myself do not like this cartoon either, but Lyuba watches it with pleasure, and laughs and laughs ...”

Who care about the cartoon, granny, darling? I was shown on television; the announcer listed a telephone number. Oh, woe’s me! Hope, Hope, I so wanted to just whimper a bit. How could it be that you missed this important announcement? Hope you are - my hope. Please do not leave the room, listen and watch carefully, as there may be a repeat during the next break. I have heard many times the announcer repeat the same ole gig over and over all day long during every commercial break

Damn phone, maybe I should find the wires - they are usually on the plinth pull - and a bite thru them. It's all because of this stupid talking apparatus. At our house we have the same thing when Elizabeth Maksimovna will get on the telephone, can waste time chattering all evening. It’s one think if she were to speak about what different, but in reality she’ll talk about one and the same for three hours straight. People love to talk to, very much.
My hope was not justified. The granny, apparently finished with all of her kitchen work, turned off the TV and went to her bedroom. I slumped in my corner, closed my eyes, and sank my head in heavy thoughts. I didn’t even notice that I fell asleep.

In the evening Georgii Alekseevich returned and declared:
“Hope, did you hear there was an ad on cable TV today?”
I got all tensed up.
“What kind of ad?” asked the woman.
“About a search for a dog. I just heard about it from the neighbors.”
“What kind of breed?”
“They do not understand breeds, but said it was a long-eared and yellow dog, sort of like a hunting dog. Maybe the search is for the dog we found?”
“And they take down the phone number?”  asked Hope.
“As if. Why would they need it?” George grimaced.
“I guess we’ll need to watch when the announce the ads again.”
“Well, it won’t be today, but make sure not to miss it tomorrow,” George said.

I definitely need to chew through those phone wires, to make sure Hope isn’t on the phone again tomorrow and doesn’t miss the announcement, like she did today.

“Say, George, couldn’t we just call the TV station today and ask them for the phone number related to the announcement?”

Yes, of course, they should call themselves. Of course, please call. Why wait?
“It is too late today, I agree,” said George, “but tomorrow, first thing in the morning, I’ll call. Even if they don’t give the announcement tomorrow, they must still have the phone number.” Today it is already late, and tomorrow morning call and find out. Even if the board would not have them, then the phone, for sure, remained.
I was glad they figured it out, in fact, I was delighted.
“Well, Umka,” said George, “should we go for a walk?
I hopped up and walked to the door.




Chapter 11


I am one na;ve dog. No dog at all, really, just a silly puppy, a day-dreamer. All morning, I laid on my back and stared at the ceiling, imagining how one of Sasha’s relatives will walk through the door any minute now. I would jump up and place my paw on the shoulders of either the mom or the grandma, put my cheek against theirs, and let out a few joyful yelps. Somewhere in the little corner of my heart a glimmer of hope whispered that maybe, just maybe, together Sasha would accompany one of the adults. Then, I jump toward him and lick him right in the nose. I know Sasha will not be offended, since I do not know how to kiss. People are so funny when they’re outraged, but they just do not know that if the dog licked you, that means it kissed you. Do not take offense at us for such “attacks”; we also sometimes want to kiss, but it turns out in a different manner.

I anticipated that my owners would stop buy around lunch time. When else. If Georgii Alekseevich calls the TV station in the morning, gets Sasha’s phone number, then it will only a matter of time and space. After all, it’s not like I was kidnapped and taken to Argentina. Somewhere nearby, somewhere in this city is my beloved boy… my beloved young man, really. I’ve already said that he is no boy any longer. Sasha is a real young man. Even his voice is more manly and bassy these days. Dogs have this, too. As a puppy, the yaps are more like squeals, and at one beautiful moment the pup lets out a true bark. At this moment, the instructors say “Our pup has matured”.

So, there I was, waiting, waiting. Grandma Hope paced around the room, not callin gher husband, not calling anyone else for that matter. Did they forget? Why is George not calling, not showing up at the door with any news? Why would they forget? They don’t want to have to deal with me for the rest of their lives. They have Murzik to deal with already. There he is, sitting across the room, licking his face and paws clean. Why does he spend all day grooming? He doesn’t even go out on the street, but spends all day grooming and licking himself clean. If he keeps cleaning at this pace, he will rub his whiskers off their roots, idiot. Then again, when a cat is licking himself clean, people say that guests are on the way. I sure home Sasha is on his way.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I thought my heard might jump out of my ribcage and grandma Hope might spend another half an hour chasing it around the apartment to put it back in my chest. I stood, tensed up, and closed my eyes, so as to open them only after the door had already been swung open, hoping to see… A policeman appeared in the doorway. He saluted the grandma, glanced at me and, turning to grandma Hope, he said,

“Greetings! I am the precinct captain Oleg stepanovich Litvinenko. Is this the dog?”
“What do you mean?” grandma replied.
“Is this the dog that is missing?”
“Yes. We found him just out of town, we were picnicking…”
“Does he have a collar, chain, and muzzle?” the officer interrupted. And, without waiting for a reply, “Put those one, I am taking him with me.”
“What do you mean, you are taking him with you?” the grandma couldn’t believe it.
“I am taking him to the precinct. There are already three people waiting to determine whether this is their dog. It seems that he fits the description, but we will have to examine this ourselves.”
“How did you know that we have him?” grandma was incredulous.
“You were walking with him in the neighborhood. You neighbors called the precinct, said they saw a similar kind of dog shown during the announcements on TV. Put his collar and armor on him,” the office replied.
“But, we don’t have a muzzle for him,” retorted the grandma.
“Do you think he’ll bite?” asked the policeman.
“No, no, of course not. He is a guide dog,” answered grandma Hope. “Here, take his guiding armor.” She put my collar back on, and fastened the chain, handing the policeman the other end. “Please, if the owners are found, relay a greeting from us to them, and give them out address, so they can stop by, if they like.”
“Okay,” nodded the policeman. Then he turned to me and said, “let’s go, fugitive. And what is it that keeps you from staying put?”

I couldn’t believe it. What would you reply back to this policeman. It’s his colleague the security guard that didn’t guard me enough that I got kidnapped. If only he was a little more attentive, I would happily stay put at home with my Sasha. Anyway, if we’re going, let’s go. My heart felt that Sasha and his relatives were not one of the three awaiting me at the precinct. It turned out as I predicted.

All three candidates for the title of being my master said that I was a stranger to them. Well, at least none of them lied and said I was theirs. Of course, I would have resisted with all my might, proving that the person is lying, but then again, perhaps no one would listen to my opinion. I probably would have been given to the liar and the case would have been closed. Fortunately, the people there were honest and decent. One old man even scratched my ear and said,
“Don’t worry, buddy, soon your master will be found. Soon.”

Hopefully, grandpa, hopefully. Thank you, and I wish you to find your friend as soon as possible.
“Oleg,” called the officer on duty, “where do we put the pooch now? Should we take him back?”
“As if I have nothing to do,” the precinct captain was annoyed. “As if all I have for my job is walking dogs back and forth. Put him in a cell, let him wait there. There was a call earlier from the relatives of some blind person. They said they’ll stop by sometime today. Don’t lose the dog’s guiding armor.”
“Fine,” agreed the other officer, “but all jail cells are occupied.”
“What do you care? Put him in with the bum. He doesn’t bite.”

I wasn’t sure whether it was I who didn’t bit or the bum, but in any case, I was put in a cell, without trial or investigation. Again. When will all of this be over? Why am I being punished like this? What did I do to you, people, that you treat me like this, take my freedom away, lock me up? Tell me, what did I do? First, locked up in the trunk, then in some shed, now in a cell with some bum that, thankfully, doesn’t bite. Will this ever end?

The bum really did not bite, and was actually quite nice. When I was added to his cell, he was asleep. He lifted his head only after the squeak of the metal door behind my tail ceased. He spend a long time looking at me, then rubbed his eyes with his fists, shook his head, and stared at me some more. Then he asked,
“Who are you? Are you a dog, or something?”

Tell me, please, what I am supposed to answer in such cases? What would you have replied in my place? Right. I said the same,
“Woof!”
“Shit,” said the bum, covering his mouth and whispering the rest, “It really is a dog. Did the policemen lose their heads altogether and are jailing dogs now?”
“O-o o-o,” I answered.

I was amazed  - the bum was understanding what I said. I heard many things about bums before, and for some reason I thought they were all stupid and angry people, but I it turns out I was very wrong. My cellmate was quite intelligent and full of goodwill, at least, toward me.
“Me too,” he said, “for absolutely nothing. Just put me in the cell, for nothing. Did you get lost of something?”
“O-o o-o,” I replied, and you, my readers, already know that means ‘no’.
“Then what? Did you bite someone?”
“O-o o-o.”
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” said the bum. “With them,” he motioned toward the door, “it’s better not to talk at all. Just retreat to a place of not knowing a thing.”
“Woof!” I agreed.
“Yep, that’s what I say. I can see you a smart pooch. Do you have your documents?”
“O-o o-o,” I replied.
“Well then, all you can do is wait,” my neighbor sighed heavily. “Until your documents are not found, you will have to sit here. You know, Rex, I always carried my passport with me, but yesterday, of all days, I forgot…”

Again, I’ve been renamed. After my royal name, I have had so many lesser ones. I’ve been Trisha, Umka, and now Rex. But I wasn’t offended by the bum. He needed someone to address, so I guess I can be Rex for him. At least he didn’t come up with a name like Buddy, or Bellie, or Murzik. I thank him for that.

“Yesterday, a friend and I… drank a little, and I didn’t have time to sober up today when an officer approached me asking for my documents. And you see the result, don’t you? I gave them my last name, my address, everything. What else do they need? Nope, they said that I didn’t live where I said I did. How is that possible, when I live there? You understand?”
“Woof!”
“You do, but they don’t. I spent two hours trying to prove who I am. I told them ‘Let’s go to my place, I have the keys right here.’ But they kept saying I am not in their database, so they’ll have to detain me. I don’t’ live in their database, I live at in my apartment. I am here, a living, breathing human being, with arms, and legs, and a brain, and I don’t give a damn about their database. Tell me, Rex, do you think that’s fair?”
“O-o o-o,” I replied.
“See, you’re right, it’s not fair. But you cannot prove anything to them. Do you have a home?”
“Woof!”
“That’s good,” the bum nodded. “You don’t look like a stray dog. You are beautiful, well kept. Listen, if your owner never shows up, feel free to come live with me. I live alone…”
“O-o o-o,” I answered back.
“Why not?” my cellmate was surprised. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I like animal. How could one not love you, after all, you are not people. Think about it. One cannot live without an owner these days, you might not survive. You might end up caught and euthanized, or the competition might eat you alive. Do you know how many strays there are in the city? There are some that are worse than wolves. So, think about it, and if the owner isn’t found, come live with me.”

I kept silent. I couldn’t imagine not being found. The announcement on TV made it seem impossible to not be found. I simply couldn’t wrap my brain around it.

Suddenly, the metal door swung open, and a policeman appeared in the doorway.
“So, you’re a guide dog?” he asked, smiling. “Get ready, your owner has been found. We’re going to his place now…”

You probably imagined my condition. I gave a paw to my cellmate as a sign of “goodbye”, raised my tail high, and left the jail cell. Sasha is probably waiting for me, my dear one. I am headed your way.




Chapter 12


The guard turned out to be sullen and silent. He carelessly threw my personal belongings onto the passenger seat, sat behind the wheel and asked into the void, “Shall we?” On the road, the sergeant really annoyed me with his smelly cigarettes. I collapsed in the back seat and for the umpteenth time mentally pictured my meeting with Sasha and his relatives. At a traffic light, the driver braked so sharply that I almost fell to the floor.

“What a beauty,” said the policeman, “Just wow! And she’s got a lovely dog, too. Look,” he said to me, pointing to a very tall, slender blond in humongous heels and a bright red dress, crossing the street, leading an equally beautiful collie. “Look at that chick!”

I reckoned the guard wasn’t talking about the collie. I did think the dog was quite beautiful, and I have heard that some collies work as guide dogs. However, this dog was more decorative, a trophy dog, we call the useless fellow tribesmen. Although, one must note here, that unlike cats or other pets, a dog, no matter how decorative, is still useful to its owners. For instance, who would ever bother this long-legged blond if right next to her is this bodyguard of a dog? Many people think that collies are gentle, playful dogs, but collies are ready to defend their owners and friends at any moment. Any breed of a dog can work as a guide, can do incredible feats. As I was gawking at the gal (on the leash), I almost didn’t notice another pair crossing the road.

“Bau-wow! Woof! Bau-wow-wow!” I yelled with all my might. I tossed around the cab. I wanted to grab the policeman by the head. How do I get out of this damned acquairum? How? Bau-wow-wow!

“Ts!” the policeman was frightened. “What’s up with you? Are you crazy? Stop!” Finally, searching for the appropriate words, he snapped, “Sit! Sit down, bitch!”
Well, first of all, I'm not a bitch, I’m a male, and secondly, I have no right to disobey. So, of course, I obeyed. Falling on the seat, I whined piteously. If you do not believe that dogs can cry, on that day I had my eyes and paw wet with tears. I wept, laying on the seat, with my nose dug into its fabric, which I wanted to tear into pieces. I whined, “O-o o-o,” as walking right behind the beautiful collie were my Sasha and Elizaveta Maximovna.

As the light turned green, the policeman blew through the intersection. And where are you taking me now? Where are we going, when Sasha is just back there, at the intersection? Sasha, Sasha, why did this happen?

“What got into you?” grimaced the policeman. “Did you like that collie dog or something? Well, calm down, soon you’ll get plenty of walking with the others.”

What an idiot, I thought. You are all about walking with the ladies, and carrying on with all sorts of nonsense. Woe to me, officer, as I have a big upsetting problem. You just passed my friend back there. Do you even understand that? Do you have any idea what I experienced back there?

By the way, I heard that a dog after severe stress may start to lose its fur coat. I need to keep it together, otherwise I'll end up furless, like a dolphin. Keep it together, Trison, you were taught self-control and composure. Just keep it together. Justice will prevail sooner or later.
A half an hour later, a blind old man announced to the officer that I am not his beloved Tresor. The old man patted me, ruffled me behind the ears, felt my belly with his fingertips, probably searching for some identifying features. Finally, he said,
“Thank you, officer, friend. The dog is a good one, very deserving, but it is not my dog. Did this one get lost or something?”
“I don’t know,” replied the officer in a surly manner. “I was ordered to deliver him here, so I did. Hey, do you think he may… serve you?”

I couldn’t believe it! He blew right past my subordinate and is trying to drop me off onto this old man. And who will help my beloved Sasha? Are you going to be his guide from now on?
“It doesn’t work like that,” said the old man.
“In the precinct I was told that this one is also a guide dog. Maybe he could be your guide dog from now on?”

You were told no, so why are you still talking about this? Let’s go back to your stupid jail already.
“No, no, young man,” the old man shook his head, “you cannot pull tricks like that. Especially, if he really is a guide dog, that means he was assigned to someone, they had a species bond. Please try to help me and this guide dog. Someone is looking for him as we speak.”

What a nice old man. Thank you, kind old man, and I hope your Tresor is found and returned to you soon.

On the way back to the precinct, the officer ran out of cigarettes. He parked the car near a small store, locked me in the car, and disappeared inside the store. A plan immediately ripened in my head. I pulled the lock button out with my teeth, and with great effort pushed the door open with my paws. With that, I was out. Goodbye mister officer. Smoking is bad for health. I’ve had enough. How knows where else or with whom else you will try to leave me. You saw that he tried to offer me to a complete stranger. Take him, he said, maybe he will serve you. So easy, huh? I’m glad the old man has his wits about him. Now, I must get back to that pedestrian crosswalk where I saw Sasha and his grandmother crossing the street. I thought the location looked familiar, so if I find the intersection, I may orient myself to get back. Usually, Sasha and Elizaveta Maksimovna do not walk far from the house, which would mean our house would be close to that intersection.

To avoid a potential chase from the officer, I turned into the first alley and ran across another street. There, behind the garages, I took a short breather, and half an hour later returned to the store, so as not to lose my way. The car and the officer were gone, so I was relieved – there won’t be a chase. So, here I go.

I walked down the sidewalk to the side that seemed to lead toward that ill-fated intersection. I jogged for a few miles, but did not encounter any familiar places. Night was approaching and my stomach began to erupt in classical sounds. I figured out the problem with water by drinking from a puddle near a car wash. I must say right away that it was gross, but, as you already know, one can die without water. Though I may prefer Perrier or Aquafina, right now I am a bit of a hobo and must learn to survive.

I was so tired, I was seeing things I don’t think were there, and sleep was descending on all four of my paws. I found a secluded spot between a fence and a newsstand, and fell quickly asleep. As I was drifting away, I remembered Sharik from Bulgakov’s story. Ivan Savelievich read this aloud to me via Braille. I listened and was amazed what a difficult fate Sharik experienced. He even had a chance to become a human, but he couldn’t take all of the trials and tribulations, became conceited. Just impossible.

Now, if I had met Professor Preobrazhensky along the road of life, I would have told him, "Dear Philip Philipovich, make me a human, please, I will not let you down. I would be the most exemplary citizen. You know what was your mistake before? You should not have tried to make a rational creature from a stray.  Sharik is Sharik, even in Africa, as my Sasha says. If you had made a man out of me, you would have someone to be proud of. You see, Professor, a breed has a lot to do with it. The breed has value. If the dog is a mutt, then the man made of it isalso without pedigree. How could you not have thought about that?

You were sold, Philip Philipovich, by his ability to stand on hind legs and commit to false prayers. Admit it, you bought it. The vagabonds are always like that. The appear to be decent dog and behave with dignity. It's unfortunate that I have never met you. Ivan Savelievich said it was fantasy. The writer just invented Sharik. Although, truth be told, I'm not very happy with this story. You really misrepresented us, Philip Philipovich. As though if your heard is a dog's heart, then a man can never be made out of you? I took the hint. But this is not true. It doesn’t matter whether you are a dog or not. Everything is in the heart. You know that there are even the opposite cases, men born with the heart of a dog. We have this, too. At first glance – a dog, but when you look closer, it had a human heart.
Do you think the two that cut my leash and shoved me in the trunk had a human heart? Philip Philipovich, I would love to hear your opinion on this. Have I your ability, I wouldn’t waste it on make people out of dogs, but would have made dogs out of some of the people I’ve encountered. Let them run around on the streets. If they behave well, good job, have a piece of sausage, or a saucer of milk. If they’re bad, give them a hammering on the head. Why should they live a human life, if they have a dog heart?

I awoke to the rumble of metal shutters opening. The owner of the small business was starting his morning. I opened my eyes and noticed that the fat man was scrupulously examining me.
“Who are you? I see you for the first time…” he said

Yeah, I see you for the first time, too. So? If you’ve got something, give me something to eat, rather than standing here examining each other.

“Where did come from, doggie, eh?”

I fell out of the sky, I thought. As I stared at him, I also stared past him to determine the optimal direction should I need to flee, especially if the small business owner decides to try to catch me. The mustached fat man disappeared into his stand. I was worried he may be retreiving a stick, but no, he returned with an impressive meat dumpling and, tossing it at my feet, said,
“Here you go, dear, have a bite to eat.”

Thank you, dear, respectable man. Thank you for the dumpling. Today, I will be running around quite a bit, so I’ll need all of my strength. The dumpling was a bit small, though, and I swallowed it barely noticing, like a pill. Do you happen to have seconds? The man disappeared back into his newsstand and returned with half a baguette of stale bread. That will do. I swallowed the bread, feeling the stomach walls separate, and thanking the man in my dog manner. Thank you, dear fellow businessman. Time for me to go, so I slipped through the opening in the fence and was headed up the street. I could hear the surprise in the man’s voice as he yelled,
“Where are you going dear? Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you. You can live here, and guard my newwstand… Why not?”

Sorry dear businessman, I thank you for the treat, but I am not going to work as a guard dog. There is someone else I need to guard and take care of. I hope I get luck today, as I’m sure Sasha has been awaiting me for a long time now.



Chapter 13


Halt! That tree is familiar to me. Good, good! Come on, let’s take a sniff. I’ve been here. Recollect, Trison, c’mon, remember. What is this? A newsstand. I do not remember it. Wow! And what is this? I wonder who ever came up with this? Professor, and I was right after all. Take a look here. In the window of the newsstand was a brilliant, bright yellow journal. And what do you think it was called? If I knew how to laugh, I would have just fallen on the lawn and died laughing. The journal was titled "Dog". And at the bottom of the cover, “A magazine about people in Moscow”. Do you get it? The magazine “Dog” is about people. Have you ever seen the journal “People”? Is that one about dogs? I’d love to thumb through that journal and see what is written there about the huma-dogs of Moscow. I think that if the magazine is about people, then only the name remained from us, dogs. That would be a shame.

“Get! Go away! Go away, you beast!” said a stentorian voice at my back.

I jumped sharply, fearing that the advice may be followed by a kick in the rear. I turned around to see a man barely standing on his feet. His lip was broken, his collar half-torn, his pants covered in I don’t know what. If this guy was sober, I would have thought that he was working as a painter or a baker. Anyway, am I the ‘beast’?

“What are you staring at?” he asked me. “If you’re hungry, you’ve come to the wrong place. Get out of here, otherwise I’ll send a rock through your head.”

Should I bark at him? Maybe I won’t. Otherwise he really may send a rock flying my way. I’m not interested in any battles right now. The man redirected his attention toward the cashier in the booth.

“Tommy, lend me a couple hundred.”
“First, return the money you owe me. Then, you can ask for more.”
“Tom, Tommy, please…” begged the man.
“I told you, I won’t. don’t bother asking. Do you remember when you promised to return me the five hundred? Yeah, three days ago. Where is my money?”
“Well, I couldn’t get it. Just wait a couple of days. Just give me a hundred. I haven’t eaten anything in two days, honest.”
“Why don’t you swear on your mother’s grave, too. He didn’t eat, ha!” The cashier laughed theatrically. “I don’t need you to tell me stories. If I gave you money, you’d run to the first liquor store.”
“No, I won’t. Just give me a hundred, please..”

I was tired or listening to his whining, so I walked away from the both, just in case the man becomes angered again and wants to give me a kick. One needs to keep away from such fools.

So, I determined that I have encountered this tree before, but I cannot recall how Sasha and I may have arrived at it. This route is not familiar to me, or is it? Oh, I remember. I was here with Sasha and his mother. We came here via the trolley, visited his mother’s friend, and then took a stroll before getting on the trolley to return back home. Think, Trison, think. What next?

I found the trolley stop. I remembered that we didn’t cross the street. I followed the rails for a while, trying to recall how many stops we passed. I’m an fool for not counting stops whenever we use public transport.

I ran, stopping at each trolley stop for a quick look around. Farther, farther. I recalled a song from Ivan Savelievich’s repertoire “A little more, a little longer, just a little…”, although in that song, the story was about the war. Although, how is that no unlike my current situation? I’ve been a prisoner, twice, first with the bandits then at the police station. I’ve been threatened with a projectile through my skull. Now, near every trolley stop I am scouting the area for familiar signs. So, one could really relate to “the last battle, it is the toughest one”. And what’s this?

Oh, my God, my hair is going to fall out the leaves in autumn. What stress! Can you imagine these ... these ... damn track split off in different directions. I stood like a knight at the crossroads, and thought. No matter how much I thought, I wasn’t becoming human. Suddenly, I heard a buzzing from behind and barely managed to jump away, as the tram went past me and veered to the left. I waited a second. A lady came out of the front door, moved something in the rails with a  crowbar, and the tram went right. Where should I go? I’ll just choose one direction, and if these tracks do not lead back home, I’ll return to this place and then go the other way. Most importantly, I must not pass the appropriate trolley stop. Although, I do have many familiar trees next to that stop, so, there is hope.

After two stops I was surrounded by stray dogs. Just for you, people, I’ll translate our dog conversations into your human language. The first one to speak was the huge shaggy reddish-gray dog with a severed ear. I immediately deciphered that it was their leader.

“Who are you?” he asked
“Trison,” I answered.
“Wow,” a half-dachshund half-lapdog squealed, “he even has a nickname.”
“Are you a Labrador?” asked the leader.
“Is it not obvious?” I growled through my teeth.
“And what are you doing here?” asked a small male dog that looked like the jackal from The Jungle Book. His voice was like a jackal’s, too.
“Do not meddle in our conversation,” roared the leader.
“I, well, I… I didn’t, I didn’t do anything,” yelped the jackal, “I was just asking.”
“I will do the asking,” snorted the reddish-grey dog, and turning to me added, “This here is out territory. If you try to bed for food here or climb into any of our trash cans, we will rip you to bits. Got it?”
“I don’t have any interest in climbing into your trash cans. I live not too far from here. I lost my subordinate.”
“Your owner?”
“My subordinate,” I repeated sternly. “I work as a guide dog for a blind guy.”
“Woof!”, the dog was impressed, “You have an education, eh?”
“Who do you think would hire me without out?” I barked back.
“How did you get lost?”
“I was kidnapped,” I replied.
“What do you mean, kidnapped?” the leader was amazed. “Look at your self – how could one kidnap an elephant like yourself?”
“They cut the leash and put me in the trunk, that’s how.”
“Did they knock you on the head?”
“No.”
“Were you in a muzzle?”
“No.” I was getting tired of his questions.
“Then I don’t get it,” he barked, “How could they shove you in the car, and you didn’t even bite them?”
“I cannot bite people, I’m not permitted to.”
“Even if you are being kidnapped?”
“Woof!” I answered.
“No way,” roared the leader, “that’s stupid. I’m sorry, but that crosses all boundaries. Permitted or not, you need to defend yourself. What if your subordinate is being attacked”
“Then, that is a different story, and I must defend him.” I said.
“Trison, you blow my mind,” the leader shook his head. “Fine, we won’t hold you up. Go find you guy.”
“Thanks,” I nodded.

The gang parted, and I trotted along my way. The bum, my former cellmate, was right – there are many strays on the streets. There are many human strays, too, though. After about an hour and a half I arrived at the terminal station for the trolley, having never found my stop, so I had to return back to the split in the tracks. That was another hour and a half. I ran into the gang once again. I explained to the reddish-grey leader that I took the wrong turn. He called out to me,

“Wait, Trison! Come this way.”
What else to they want from me, I thought.
“Are you thirsty? Would you like some water?” the leader asked.
“With pleasure,” I replied.
“Then come with us. Near here there is a pipe that burst. While the technician hasn’t arrived yet, you can get your fill of water.”

I ran ahead and speculated that these strays are really something. Among people and among dogs, I have noticed that the poor ones are more friendly, more caring. Why is that? Why did the leader need to stop me and treat me to some water? I am no one to him, not a friend or a relative, not even an acquaintance. Yet, he showed generosity toward me. I probably was wrong when I was trying to prove my theory to Philip Philipovich. Although, maybe this dog also had pedigreed parents. That's just how life turns around. Now he is a tramp. But who am I now? A tramp, just like them. Well, maybe a little cleaner. Becoming a dirty and shabby mongrel is just a matter of time. After chasing the trolley another couple of days, I will lose all of my pride. Then, maybe I’ll be called Bobik. Am I wrong? I’ve already been called Rex, Umka. It’s only a few trolley stops between Rex and Bobik.

          Stop, Trison. What is this? This looks like a familiar building. I’ve forgotten all the routes. What is this building? C’mon, c’mon, think, remember ... Come closer, if you need to. Oh, yeah, the health center. Woof! We’ve been here! Quick, Trison, find a scent, follow!

Yep, here’s a familiar tree. Here’s another. We are here. Sit, find calmness, get still, otherwise you’re running around like a chicken with your head cut off. Now look around carefully. There’s the clinic, there’s the bench, a telephone pole, a lawn. You’ve been here with Sasha and his grandma, remember? Okay. This trail leads to the supermarket, may it burn in hell. If we go for a walk in the evening, I’ll make a point to leave a little present at the store front, so the guard can enjoy cleaning it.

I’m almost there. This is the last trail. From here, across the back alleys, and it’s the second house on the left. There, by the entryway, I’ll bark under the balcony, and they’ll let me kn. My paws are shaking, I can barely walk. That’s okay. Just take a seat and rest, Trison. Take a little breather, this journey is almost over. You are almost home. Don’t forget, if you worry too much, your fur might fall out. Now, nothing can get in the way of making it home, so count the houses, knock on wood, and let’s go.



Chapter 14


Do not worry, friends, I think my adventures are almost over. I was sitting under the balcony, but just couldn’t understand whether they were asleep or not home, but no one was coming out. Well, okay, I’ve tolerated more in the last few days. I'll wait.

A familiar lady was passing by. I have seen her somewhere. Ah, yes, she lives in the next entryway over. She stopped and asked me with surprise in her voice,

“Are you Sasha’s Trisha?”
“O-o o-o,” I answered.
“What are you howling for?”
Dear lady, if you don’t understand dog-talk, then pass on by, I don’t have time for you right now.
“Where the hell have you been?” she continued. “They have been looking for you all ove the place, have contacted all of us if we’ve seen you, the police had stopped by, Sasha has been in tears…”

Did you hear that? She’s going to tell me all about how to live. I’ve told you already, pass on by. I’ve been gone, the police visited me, too, and nothing going.

“You shameless dog!” she shook her head. “Be you were chasing after some bitch, huh?”
Why should I be shamed like this? How is she not ashamed? What kind of neighbor is she? You’ve probably already been told that I was kidnapped, so what bitch are we talking about? I’ve been restricting my instincts in line with my profession, and here you are shaming me? Due to psychological stress, such as this, we die earlier than our jobless colleagues, did you know that? And since you don’t know anything, then keep quiet.

“Come, I’ll walk you to the apartment,” she said, waving her hand toward the door.
That’s a different story, let’s go.
We entered the apartment building, and the smell, though not a very pleasant one, was so familiar… I simply had no words. My heart was pounding, trying to escape out of my chest. We took the elevator together to the appropriate floor and rang the doorbell. The door never opened.
“Sit here,” she ordered me. “Do not go anywhere. They’ll be back soon. I’m gonna go home and find Svetlana’s phone number and call her, okay?”

I see I’ve got a new instructor. Where am I going to go now? I feel like I’ve wandered across half the planet to get here, and now you think I’ll go elsewhere. What a foolish woman. Go, call. My stomach walls are stuck together, and I am not interested in you telling me what you’re going to do and whose fault all of this is. She left. I hoped she’d find the mother’s phone number soon. I sat there by the door at least an hour and a half. Suddenly, I hear the elevator stop and the doors open, scraping and gnashing along the way. The elevator doors opened…

If you think that one of my relatives exited the elevator, I must disappoint you. The lady re-emerged,
“What? Have they not arrived yet?
I’m always amazed by such deep thoughts and questions. Think about it yourself, lady, if they had arrived, do you think I would still be sitting out here on the rug?
“I bet they’re on their way. I called Svetlana and told her that I found you.”

This is an utter outrage. She found me? Really? I may just bark at her so she returns back in her elevator. How can she utter such nonsense? Why are people always lying? This is a prime example. She found me, huh. Where exactly did she find me, near the apartment complex? And why would someone need to look for me there, since I was calmly sitting and awaiting Sasha’s return? Why the lies…
“Hurray! Woof! Woof!” The door of the elevator opened and my relatives, my dear, beloved Sasha, mom, and grandma emerged. I ran toward them, and kissed them (that is, licked them). Sasha hugged me so tightly that my ribs cracked.
“Trisha, my little one, my dear one, I waited for you for so long, I waited…”
Sasha sat down on the cement floor right there in the entryway, and cried. Everyone rushed to calm him down, and I clung to him and whimpered softly.
“Come on, let’s go inside,” Svetlana Sergeevna urged the grandma and the neighbor to give us some alone time.
“Make them come in, too,” the neighbor nagged, “otherwise they’re sitting on the floor.”
“Let’s go,” hissed the mother, “let them sit together and calm down.”
We were left alone. Sasha sobbed a little more, petted me, kissed me,  and I licked him back a couple of times.

“Trison,” Sasha said. I already thought he forgot my royal name. I also thanked him, Thank you, Sash… Aleksandr. If only you know how nice it feels that you have not forgotten my real name. After this, you can call me whatever you want, just remember my name, Sasha. The dog’s name is its fate, its life. A while ago, I saw a magazine called “Dog”, and with it in mind, I wrote a little poem while I was awaiting your return on the doorstep. Here it is, translated into human language, for your listening pleasure:

Sometimes I think a dog
Can never be a human being.
But I think that dogs
Are much like people anyway.

You see what my travels have led to? I’ve began to compose poetry.  You, too, brother, please do not tie me to any posts and do not leave me unattended in the future. And tell your relatives to also not leave me on the street. If I’m not permitted in the store, just walk away from them. Walk me home, where I can rest, while you go to the store with your relatives. Just don’t leave me like that on the street again, please, okay? He’s a smart kid and knows how to read my mind.

“Dear Trisha,” he said, “my lovely, dear one.” I wasn’t a king for long, he’s back to the diminutive nickname. “I will never, ever leave you alone, never.”

All is well that ends well. Let’s go into the apartment, I am hungry as a human. As I said, Sasha reads my mind.

“What are we sitting here for, Trisha? You’re probably hungry. Let’s go inside, I’ll feed you, give you some milk to drink. Let’s go, my sweetie. C’mon.”

I ate like a king that evening. I’ve never eaten such taste food before, even though the label was the same as before. It was deli-i-i-cious! Maybe they finally figured out how to make decent feed for dogs. But after the royal dinner, I got upset, and again because of people. I was very embarrassed, and if it wasn’t for my golden fur, people would have noticed how I turned red as a lobster. Just listen to the lies that were pouring out of the neighbor’s mouth:
“There I was, walking, and I see a dog. I quickly figured out it must have been your Trisha. I approached him, but he started barking..”

I would very much like to bark right about now in the midst of your lies, I just don’t want to scare the relatives.
“…so I thought, I should drag him into the entry way of the building, otherwise he might run off again.”
How did her tongue not fall off from those lies? Dear readers, you are witnesses that those are all lies.

“… I started dragging him, and he was so stubborn, I even feared he might bite me on my arms.” I would gladly bite her right about now, but I hope she has sense enough to be thankful that dogs of my profession have metal nerves and can resist. Anyone should be bitten for such shameless lies.

“No way,” said the mother, who was sensing by this point that the neighbor was lying through her teeth, “dogs like this don’t bite.”
“…anyway, I was able to coerce him into the entryway, and then to your apartment door.”
Why didn’t she say she carried me in her arms along the stairs all the way to the fifth floor? She should be embarrassed for herself, but instead, I am embarrassed for her. Let her yap, whatever, I don’t care. What’s important is that I am home with my Sasha.
In case you’re curious, I can tell you what happened next. Whenever he ran out of money, Ivan Savelievich would say,
“Trison, do not depart yet. It only appears that this is a black stipe in our life, but in the future, it might appear white by comparison.”

So, maybe nothing terrible happened, and maybe this black stripe in our life will look better from the far of the future. Whether black or white, let’s talk of this in the next part of the story.
 

                To be continued

                © Michael Samarsky