My dogs, translation from Russian

               
                MY DOGS

       I have been fond of dogs since early childhood – since 7, or may be, even 5 years of age. It was not that ordinary tender admiration, when the child, seeing a dog , is smiling, calling it, throws a piece of bread and at once turns away, forgets, paying  attention to the objects, more worthy of attention. No, it was an ardent love, overwhelming, love-passion. This passion filled my life. In the evening, going to bed, already falling asleep, I was thinking joyfully that the day tomorrow would be as happy, as today; since morning, without washing and having breakfast, I shall jump out into the yard, where my dogs will meet me. Usually there  were rather many of them – 5-6 homeless, stray dogs. At different time I met each of them on our Nagornaya street and brought home.
                To dudgeon such a dog, to win its confidence, was not an easy task, demanding  experience. Seeing a stray dog, running in the street in the search of something to eat, one shouldn’t call it loudly, stop it or, the more so, trying to approach it. By no means – it will immediately start running away, deciding that you are only pretending to be kind:  but in fact, will come up and suddenly hit it, run after it Teenagers in our Kuransk often acted that way – it lured them to feel and show their power over somebody weak and helpless. The frightened dog very long after it avoided a man.
       So, seeing a dog, running by, one should whistle in a very low sound, then a bit slowing down the steps, drop a little piece of bread, as if quite accidentally, proceed going further without turning back  and stopping.
    With the corner of an eye you notice: hunger wins – overcoming the fear, the dog slowly comes up to the bread, suspiciously sniffs it, in case there is a needle within – and cautiously biting it at the sides, eats it up. There is the beginning! Now it is necessary to consolidate the success.
    I stop. The dog does not move, neither runs away. I drop one more piece of bread (I’ve got a full bag of it – mother has sewn specially). Beware – I drop it and not lay on the ground. It would be the greatest and unrecoverable error: the dog would decide that I had bent after the stone.
    .
    The second piece has already been eaten up without apprehension – the dog begins believing me. Now it is necessary to slowly shorten the distance, the barrier of suspicipon has been broken, it comes up nearer. Here it is already sitting in front of me and expectantly looks at my face, watching my hand – the first food after a long starvation. I pull out pieces of bread from the bag, throw them, the dog catches them on the fly. Then it is necessary to make the last step – the dog must take the bread out of my hand. It has taken!   Victory!  I stroke he dog on the head, on the poor, disheveled, black, gray, white head with the tufts, hanging over the eyes It licks my hand. It is happiness!  Now it is necessary to decide how to call it, to give it its own name. Let it be Lohmach, Serko, Pirot, Volchok. I don’t give exquisite names – no time to look for them: a dog shouldn’t  respond to the nameless “na-na-na”, but to the name, belonging to it.
     The next step – settling my new friend in our yard. Usually the newcomer joined the company, already living here. They found their places elsewhere – near the barn, in the garden, not far from the gates, – this place was preferred by the most distrustful: anything might happen in life, you feel  safer, when the exit is near, –dived – and you are free.
     “Feeding the animals” took place 3-4 times a day. I would go out into the yard and whistle low. One minute – and I am surrounded with my dogs. They sat down in a semicircle and waited. The canvas bag, full of leavings from the table, chunks of the loaf of bread, bought especially for me, was quickly getting empty. 
      I remember now with great thankfulness with what tolerance, sympathy and encouragement my father and mother treated my unusual pursuit. True, they  too always awed the animals, but with me it was different – I lived by my dogs, spoke only about them, all the time told the stories about each: today Sharik for the first time came up and put its head on my knee, and the youngest, almost a puppy, Styopka played, rushed about the yard with a stick in the teeth and wouldn’t give it to me.
     Clogged, frightened dogs, jerking from the least knock, almost indistinguishable in their poor habits, born with hunger and fear, became unrecognizable for some week – they fearlessly jumped on my shoulders, licked my face, hands, played, ran after me in the yard. All was achieved by the scanty feeding and caress – they transformed poor dogs’ souls. And then it was possible to see that they greatly differed from one another, both in appearance and character as well. There were dogs reserved, serious, even prim; there were jolly, up to light-mindedness, there were lyrically sad.
    How different, how almost humanly unlike were the expressions of their muzzles and eyes. Some smiled – yes, yes – sweetly showed their fangs! Others demandingly, business-like watched my hand – but they needed not me, but my bread. The third waited meekly, sitting further off, obediently yielding the place to the most tender and the most impudent.  Of course, I don’t remember all the dogs, but some remained in my memory due to separate events, connected with them.
          По рассказам Александра Кременского «Облака и звезды», М.