«Thunder, let’s go!» he called his faithful companion.
The dog wagged his tail happily. These trips to the forest were their mutual pleasure: Alexander looked for mushrooms, while Thunder explored new smells and chased squirrels.
That morning was special—cool but sunny, with a light mist of fog over the tops of the pines. Perfect weather for a quiet hunt—as mushroom pickers usually call their hobby. Alexander packed quickly: a thermos with tea, a couple of sandwiches, a knife, a basket. At the last moment, he stuffed an old notebook and pencil into his backpack—a surveyor’s habit of always having something to write with at hand.
The first two hours went wonderfully. The basket grew heavy with firm porcini mushrooms and golden chanterelles. Thunder ran ahead, then returned to his master, reporting his discoveries with a ringing bark.
«So, friend, another hour—then home?» Alexander patted the dog on the neck, pulling out his phone to take a photo of a particularly beautiful birch bolete.
«No network»—the screen blinked indifferently.
«No worries, we’ll get a signal soon,» he muttered, taking the photo and putting the phone back in his pocket.
They wandered into an unfamiliar part of the forest. The old trees grew so thickly here that their crowns hardly let any sunlight through. Fallen trunks, overgrown with moss, were everywhere underfoot.
«Thunder, stay close!» Alexander commanded, feeling a slight anxiety.
Then something unexpected and tragic happened—his foot slipped on a wet log. A sharp pain pierced his ankle, and his vision darkened. He fell, trying to grab onto something, but only managed to scatter the contents of his loosely fastened backpack.
«D-damn…» Alexander groaned, trying to stand up. His leg wouldn’t obey.
Thunder whined anxiously next to him, nudging his face with his nose.
«Easy, friend, easy…» Alexander tried to smile, but only managed a grimace of pain.
Time passed… The sun slowly set. Attempts to stand or even crawl failed one after another—each movement brought such pain that his vision darkened.
You know that feeling of helplessness when you realize you can’t get out on your own? That’s exactly what Alexander felt.
«Think, Sasha, think…» he whispered, trying to keep his thoughts clear.
His gaze fell on the scattered items from the backpack—a notebook, pencil, a phone with no signal. And faithful Thunder, who didn’t leave his side. An idea came suddenly…
«Thunder, come here!» His voice trembled, but the command was clear.
The dog approached, gazing loyally into his master’s eyes.
With trembling hands, Alexander tore a sheet from the notebook. «If you find this note—please help! I’m in the forest, leg broken, no signal. Approximate coordinates: square 25-26, by the old clearing…» After adding a little more to the note, he read it over with satisfaction.
Thunder patiently waited while his master fixed the backpack to his back.
«Listen carefully, friend. The most important thing now—home! Got it? Home!»
Thunder whined softly, unwilling to leave his master.
«Home, Thunder! Quickly!»
The dog took a few uncertain steps, then looked back.
«Go on!» The last command came out hoarsely.
And Thunder ran. They say dogs can feel our pain. Perhaps that’s why they’re capable of such feats? Or maybe love just makes us stronger—regardless of how many legs we have?
Alexander leaned against a pine trunk. Twilight deepened. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. His leg throbbed with pain, but he tried to think only of one thing: Thunder will make it, he must. All that was left was to wait and believe.
Tired paws slipped on the wet grass. Thunder breathed heavily but stubbornly ran forward, carrying the battered backpack. An hour’s journey—without stopping, without water, without rest. Just forward—to people, for help.
«Home, Thunder, home!»—his master’s hoarse voice echoed in his head. And the dog continued, overcoming the pain in his worn paw pads, making his way through windfalls, through dense underbrush, through fatigue and fear.
It was getting dark when lights flickered ahead. A patrol car stopped abruptly, nearly missing the exhausted dog. Young Lieutenant Sergey jumped out first:
«Hey, boy, where did you come from?»
Thunder paused, warily looking at the man in uniform. The dog’s eyes conveyed a silent plea—understand, help, hurry!
«Serge, look—a backpack!» his partner called out. «There’s some kind of note here…»
The policeman’s hands trembled as he read. The letters jumped before his eyes.
«Damn…» Sergey exhaled. «Get dispatch on the line, quick! And water for the dog, fast!»
Thunder greedily lapped water from a plastic bowl. Each gulp restored his strength, but time was short. The dog glanced at the policemen—what were they waiting for?!
Sometimes seconds stretch into eternity. Especially when you know—somewhere in the darkness, someone is waiting for rescue.
«Find the owner!» Sergey finally commanded. «Go on!»
The dog dashed into the forest, not looking back—he knew people would follow. They ran after him, stumbling and cursing, but they kept up. Flashlights darted through the darkness, radios crackled… And Thunder kept running toward where, under an old pine, lay the man who believed—his faithful friend would surely bring help.
«Stop!» suddenly yelled Sergey. «It seems, over there…»
In the light of the flashlights, a dark figure appeared under the tree. Alexander lay there, leaning against the pine trunk—pale, half-conscious, but alive.
«I knew…» he whispered as they lifted him into the ambulance. «I knew you’d manage, friend.»
Thunder laid his head on Sergey’s knees. He had no strength left even to whimper.
«Let’s go to my place, boy,» the policeman said softly, scratching the dog behind the ear. «You can rest while your owner is in the hospital. And then… we’ll see.»
Sometimes fate sends us lessons in the most unexpected forms. For Lieutenant Sergey Kovalev, such a teacher became a dog named Thunder…
«So, what am I to do with you?» Sergey stood in the middle of his bachelor apartment, looking at his new tenant.
Thunder, washed and fed, sat in the hallway, hesitating to enter further. In his intelligent eyes, the question read: «May I?»
«Come in, hero!» Sergey waved his hand. «The home’s no palace, but we’ll manage for a month.»
The first night was restless. Thunder whined, paced around the apartment, and scratched at the front door.
«Hey, buddy,» Sergey sat down next to the dog at three in the morning. «I understand—you miss him. But your owner will get better, I promise. For now… let’s just try to be friends?»
As if understanding, Thunder pressed against the man’s leg and sighed quietly.
Day by day, a new routine set in. Morning jog (who would have thought Sergey would start running again?), breakfast for two, the drive to work…
«Kovalev, did you get a dog?» his colleagues wondered, watching Thunder strut importantly through the department corridors.
«Temporarily took him in,» Sergey shrugged off, but something warmed in his chest with pride for his charge.
And Thunder… He seemed determined to repay his temporary master for his care. Every morning, he greeted at the door with slippers in his teeth (where did he even find them?), picking up dropped items.
«You’re something else, partner!» Sergey laughed, treating the dog to his favorite treat.
Evenings became a special time. Previously, Sergey simply lounged on the couch with his phone, but now…
«You know, friend,» he said, scratching Thunder behind the ear, «this is the first time I’ve felt… not alone, since the divorce?»
The dog sighed understandingly and laid his head on the man’s lap.
They walked in the park, where Thunder chased pigeons and solemnly greeted neighborhood dogs. They visited Alexander in the hospital—he was recovering and laughed every time he heard new stories about his pet’s antics.
«I recognize my pupil,» Alexander smiled. «Thank you, Sergey, for your care.»
Time flew by unnoticed, and somewhere deep inside, an inexplicable anxiety grew: how would he cope alone when Thunder went home?
On the day of Alexander’s discharge, the apartment seemed unusually empty. Thunder, ecstatic, whirled around his real owner but kept glancing back at Sergey.
«You know,» suddenly said Alexander, «he loves you too.»
«And I him…» Sergey faltered. «Listen, can I… can I visit sometimes?»
«Absolutely!» Alexander smiled. «But first, go to the shelter. It seems someone there is waiting for you.»
The next day, a new employee appeared at the department—a shaggy red puppy named Whirl.
The exhausted dog crawled out of the forest with a backpack on its back. The contents alarmed the police.
«Thunder, let’s go!» he called to his faithful companion.
The dog happily wagged its tail. These forest outings were their shared pleasure: Alexander looked for mushrooms, while Thunder explored new scents and chased squirrels.
That morning was special—cool but sunny, with a light mist of fog over the tops of the pines. It was perfect weather for a quiet hunt—as mushroom hunters usually refer to their hobby. Alexander packed quickly: a thermos with tea, a couple of sandwiches, a knife, a basket. At the last moment, he stuffed an old notebook and pencil into his backpack—a surveyor’s habit of always having something to write with.
The first two hours were wonderful. The basket grew heavier with sturdy porcini mushrooms and golden chanterelles. Thunder ran ahead, then returned to his master, reporting his discoveries with a ringing bark.
«So, friend, another hour—then home?» Alexander patted the dog on the nape, pulling out his phone to take a photo of a particularly beautiful birch bolete.
«No network»—the screen blinked indifferently.
«No worries, we’ll get a signal soon,» he muttered, taking the photo and putting the phone back in his pocket.
They wandered into an unfamiliar part of the forest. The old trees grew so densely here that their crowns hardly let any sunlight through. Fallen trunks, overgrown with moss, were everywhere underfoot.
«Thunder, stay close!» Alexander commanded, feeling a slight unease.
Then something unexpected and tragic happened—his foot slipped on a wet log. A sharp pain pierced his ankle, and his vision darkened. He fell, trying to grab onto something, but only managed to scatter the contents of his loosely fastened backpack.
«D-damn…» Alexander groaned, trying to stand. His leg wouldn’t obey.
Thunder whined anxiously nearby, nudging his face into his master’s.
«Calm down, friend, calm down…» Alexander tried to smile, but only a grimace of pain appeared.
Time passed… The sun slowly set. Attempts to stand or even crawl failed one after another—each movement brought such pain that his vision darkened.
You know that feeling of helplessness when you realize—you can’t get out on your own? Well, Alexander felt that.
«Think, Sasha, think…» he whispered, trying to keep his thoughts clear.
His gaze fell on the scattered items from the backpack—a notebook, pencil, a phone with no signal. And faithful Thunder, who hadn’t left his side. An idea came suddenly…
«Thunder, come here!» His voice trembled, but the command was clear.
The dog approached, loyally looking into his master’s eyes.
With trembling hands, Alexander tore a sheet from the notebook. «If you find this note—please help!» The letters jumped, but he tried to write legibly. «I’m in the forest, leg broken, no signal. Approximate coordinates: square 25-26, by the old clearing…» After adding a bit more to the note, he read it over with satisfaction.
Thunder patiently waited while his master adjusted the backpack to his back.
«Listen carefully, friend.» Alexander pulled the dog’s muzzle to his face. «The most important thing now—home! Understand? Home!»
Thunder whined softly, unwilling to leave his master.
«Home, Thunder! Quickly!»
The dog took a few uncertain steps, then looked back.
«Go on!» The last command sounded hoarsely.
And Thunder ran. They say dogs can feel our pain. Perhaps that’s why they’re capable of such feats? Or maybe love just makes us stronger—regardless of how many legs?
Alexander leaned against the trunk of a pine. Twilight deepened. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. His leg throbbed with pain, but he tried to think only of one thing: Thunder will make it, he must. All that was left was to wait and believe.
Tired paws slid on the wet grass. Thunder breathed heavily but stubbornly ran forward, carrying the battered backpack. A whole hour of travel—without stopping, without water, without a break. Just forward—to people, for help.
«Home, Thunder, home!»—his master’s hoarse voice echoed in his head. And the dog went on, overcoming the pain in his worn paw pads, making his way through windfall, through dense undergrowth, through fatigue and fear.
It was getting dark when lights flickered ahead. A patrol car stopped abruptly, nearly missing the exhausted dog. Young Lieutenant Sergey jumped out first:
«Hey, boy, where did you come from?»
Thunder paused, warily looking at the man in uniform. In the dog’s eyes read a silent plea—understand, help, hurry!
«Serge, look—the backpack!» his partner called out. «There’s some kind of note here…»
The policeman’s hands trembled as he read. The letters jumped before his eyes.
«Damn…» Sergey exhaled. «Get dispatch on the line, quick! And water for the dog, fast!»
…The continuation in the comments
