«Well, son, tell me, how is it in the city?» his mother bustled around the stove, constantly adding hot pies to the plate.
Nikita smiled, looking at her gray crown. Always the same—always in motion, always busy. Just more wrinkles and a bit more bent back.
«It’s quiet, mom. We finally finished the renovation.»
«And how did it turn out?» she sat next to him, wiping her hands on her apron.
«My Sveta did great. She chose the wallpaper herself, even put it up. I just helped with the ceilings and changed the wiring.»
«Oh, she’s a good one…»
«Yes, a good one,» Nikita nodded. «Just gets very tired. Her school workload is huge, and then there was the renovation.»
Outside, a neighbor’s cow mooed, the smell of freshly cut grass and mom’s pies filled the air. Just like in childhood—only he himself was different now. A city dweller.
«Mom, let me at least fix the fence while I’m here. It’s really leaning.»
«Oh, son, leave it.»
«No, it needs to be done. And I’ll patch up the roof in the barn—it’s leaking, isn’t it?»
«It is,» she sighed. «Just never got around to calling someone.»
He spent the whole day tending to the house. Fixed the fence, patched the roof, even weeded the garden beds—his mother kept saying it wasn’t necessary, that she could handle it. But how could she manage? She was all alone.
In the evening, after washing up, he went to the store for bread. At the porch of the local shop, the village grannies gossiped:
«That dog’s still sitting at the bus stop.»
«How many days now?»
«Well, it’s been a month since its owner took off to the city.»
The big red dog indeed sat at the bus stop. He’d lift his head at the sound of a motor, peer into the windows of the approaching bus, and lower his head again when it drove away.
The locals were used to it:
«Ah, that’s Ryzhik waiting for his owner.»
«Poor thing, doesn’t understand that no one’s coming back.»
«Such loyal creatures, dogs.»
Nikita began to watch him. Something about this dog touched his soul—perhaps the hopeful gaze, perhaps the stubborn loyalty with which he waited.
«Whose dog is this?» he once asked Baba Klava, a local elder.
«That’s Vitka’s!» she exclaimed, waving her hands. «He moved to the city to be with his daughter. Left the dog behind.» She gestured dismissively. «Now it waits, the silly thing.»
Something snapped inside. Nikita remembered Vitka well—always drunk, always owing money. He gambled away in cards, drove his wife away to the point that she ran off. And probably got the dog on a whim when it was fashionable to have Labradors.
You scoundrel, Vitka. A real scoundrel.
The next day, Nikita brought food to the bus stop. Ryzhik initially hesitated but then approached. He ate eagerly but carefully—it was clear he was a domestic, well-behaved dog. And such sadness lingered in his brown eyes.
Returning to his mother, Nikita stood on the porch, lost in thought.
«I’ll take him,» he decided, not realizing he had spoken aloud.
«Take who?» His mother just came out to the porch, wiping her hands on her apron.
«The dog, mom. That Ryzhik from the bus stop.»
«What?!» The apron flew to the railing. «Are you out of your mind, son? What about a dog? You just did a renovation in your apartment!»
Nikita sighed. He knew it wouldn’t be easy.
«Mom, I just can’t leave him here. He’ll die otherwise.»
«And what will your Sveta say?» His mother planted her hands on her hips. «Did you even consult with her?»
«She likes dogs.»
«She likes them, but who will clean up after it? Who will walk it? You’re both at work all day!»
She sat down on the steps, shaking her head.
«You’ve always been like this… Jump into the deep end without thinking. Remember how you brought that kitten home in fifth grade? And then you ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. Who took care of it? I did!»
«Mom, but I’m not in fifth grade anymore.»
«And still the same!» she threw her hands up in exasperation. «Always saving someone… Have you thought about yourself? About your wife? That’s a responsibility!»
«And leaving him there isn’t a responsibility?» Nikita asked softly. «Like Vitka—got it for fun and then threw it away? You think that’s right?»
His mother fell silent. She stared into the distance, fiddling with the edge of her apron.
«Alright,» she finally exhaled. «Do what you think is best. Just—»
«What?»
«Call Sveta. Right now. So she doesn’t say you put her in front of a done deal later.»
Nikita indeed called. But he didn’t dare say right away that he was taking the dog. He decided to prepare his wife gradually. So, he just told her about the lonely dog whose owner had abandoned it.
But it turned out not so simple to just take the dog. At the leaning gate of Vitka’s house, he was met by his mother—swollen, with cloudy eyes:
«What do you want?»
«I came for the dog.»
«Ah,» she squinted. «Five hundred rubles—and take it.»
«You don’t even feed him!» Nikita protested.
«We have nothing to eat ourselves!» Vitka’s brother emerged, just as disheveled. «Give us a thousand—or get lost!»
Lord, they were treating him like an object. Like an old sofa up for sale.
He had to call the local policeman.
«Petrovich? This is Nikita Voronin. Remember, in school…»
«Ah, Voronin! How could I forget—you always stood up for someone, fought with Vitka often.»
«Well, it’s Vitka again. Rather, his dog.»
The local policeman arrived in twenty minutes. He parked his UAZ by the leaning fence, surveying the overgrown yard:
«Mmm. It’s getting worse and worse here.»
Ryzhik, seeing the man in uniform, pressed his ears back and retreated. Petrovich crouched down, extended his hand:
«Come here, buddy, don’t be afraid. Did they hurt you here?»
The dog cautiously approached, sniffed the hand. His tail twitched slightly—perhaps he sensed a friend.
«Officer!—» Vitka’s brother stumbled out of the house, trying to look sober. «We were just, you know, relaxing culturally.»
«I see your relaxation,» Petrovich grimaced. «Where’s the mother?»
«Let me call her! Mom, the cop’s here!»
Vitka’s mother crawled out onto the porch, wrapping herself in a torn robe:
«What’s again? We didn’t do anything.»
«Yeah, you always don’t!» Petrovich suddenly shouted, his voice so stern that even Ryzhik flinched. «Your son abandoned the dog—it’s a crime under Article 245 of the Criminal Code. You distill moonshine—another crime. And judging by the smell from the shed, there’s a lot more interesting stuff there. Shall we write up a report?»
The mother turned pale:
«What report, Petrovich? We’re neighbors.»
«And I’m saying—we’re neighbors. So maybe we can solve this neighborly? Give up the dog—and we’ll go our separate ways.»
Vitka’s brother started to object, but his mother poked him in the side:
«Take him.»
«Write a statement that you won’t have any claims.»
Petrovich pulled out a notebook and handed it to the owner:
«And sign here.»
In the car, Nikita asked:
«What if they hadn’t agreed?»
«Where would they go?» Petrovich chuckled. «They have such a list of charges. But the main thing—they treat the dog as property. And they know how to trade property.»
He turned to Ryzhik in the back seat:
«Well, fighter, home? To a new owner?»
The dog softly whimpered and licked the extended hand. Perhaps thanking, or asking—really going home?
They drove home in silence. Nikita occasionally glanced in the rearview mirror—Ryzhik lay down, resting his muzzle on his paws, watching the road attentively. Not whining, not fidgeting—as if he understood that he was being taken to a new life.
«Sveta will kill me,» Nikita muttered, dialing his wife’s number.
«Where are you?» her familiar voice came through the phone.
«I’m, uh, heading home. And not alone.»
«Oh God, don’t tell me that.»
«Yes,» he exhaled. «I’m bringing a dog.»
Silence hung in the phone.
«The one from the bus stop?»
«Yeah.»
«You fool, Nikita,» tears were audible in his wife’s voice. «Such a fool. I love you.»
At home, Ryzhik first toured the entire apartment, sniffing every corner. He stopped at the brand new sofa, looked questioningly at the owners.
«Just not on the sofa!» Sveta jokingly wagged her finger.
The dog sighed and lay down on the rug. Five minutes later, Sveta was sitting on the same rug, hugging the red neck and cooing:
«Who’s our smart boy? Who’s so handsome?»
As Nikita fell asleep that night, he felt a warm, furry body wriggling at his feet. They let him on the bed after all—where else to go.
A week later, his mother called:
«Vitka showed up! Apparently, he couldn’t get along with his daughter, sold the apartment. Now he’s wandering around here, asking about the dog.»
Nikita turned cold:
«And what?»
«Nothing!» his mother snorted. «Petrovich explained to him what would happen if he started making trouble. And what rights does he have? He abandoned the animal—he lost all rights.»
They were silent on the phone.
«Son?»
«Yes, mom?»
«Bring him over sometime… Ryzhik, I mean. I’m cooking porridge, got some bones. And I miss him already.»
Nikita smiled:
«We’ll come over the weekend, mom.»
And Ryzhik, as if understanding what was being discussed, approached and rested his head on Nikita’s knee.
