Svetlana crouched down, extending her hand with a piece of sausage. — So, Buran, how are you doing? The old dog with a white spot on his forehead sighed deeply, lazily looking up at her. Only after that did he slowly raise his snout and carefully took the treat. He always ate with dignity—not greedily or swallowing his food whole, as many stray dogs do, accustomed to snatching everything on the run.
— Take your time, — Svetlana smiled, stroking him behind the ear. Buran glanced at her, bit the sausage a couple of times, and suddenly wagged his tail—slowly, as if reluctantly, but clearly with gratitude.
He appeared in their yard last winter, when the snow lay in high drifts and the frost grew stronger day by day. Life for homeless animals was particularly tough then. But Buran did not roam the streets in search of food, did not rummage through garbage containers, and did not hide under cars. He just sat.
Svetlana noticed him right away. There was something special about this dog. She first saw him early in the morning when she went out for bread. He sat at the entrance, slightly tucking his paws so they did not touch the frozen asphalt, and watched people attentively. Passersby rushed somewhere, paying no attention to him. The next day he was there again. And the day after that too.
The dog did not look like most homeless dogs. He was thin but not emaciated, dirty but not neglected. Most importantly, his eyes did not read fear or despair, which you usually see in dogs that have lived alone for too long. He just waited.
One day, Svetlana came out with a plate of hot porridge and set it before him. — You’re not just here for no reason, right? — she asked, sitting down beside him. — Waiting for someone? Buran looked at her attentively but did not rush to the food. First, he sniffed, then began to eat cautiously, slowly.
— So, you have a character too, — she smirked. The dog finished eating, neatly licked the plate, raised his head, and gently nudged her hand with his nose. That’s how they became friends.
When Svetlana returned home in the evening, the night had already enveloped the yard with a cold blanket. The wind drove dry leaves across the ground, raising them in small whirls and flinging them against the walls of houses. Somewhere far away, a door slammed, and its echo spread through the deserted yard, making Svetlana involuntarily shiver. Her footsteps echoed too loudly for such a deserted place, as if someone invisible was creeping behind her.
She huddled her shoulders and quickened her pace, hoping to reach the entrance sooner. — Miss, wait! — a voice called out from the darkness. Svetlana flinched, stopped, and slowly turned around. In front of her stood a middle-aged man, stooped, in a worn jacket with a hood covering his face. His features were lost in the shadow, but something in his posture caused alarm.
— Do you have a cigarette? — he asked hoarsely. — I don’t smoke, — she replied shortly and tried to continue on her way, trying to maintain her composure. But the man took a step forward. — Maybe just chat for a bit?
Something in his tone seemed odd. He deliberately tried to speak softly, but tension was apparent in every word. Svetlana felt everything inside her tighten.
— Sorry, but I really need to get home, — she said, quickening her pace. — Hey, why the hurry? Don’t be afraid, I won’t harm you, — the man took another step forward, and his voice became quieter, a bit mocking, as if he was performing a play for a frightened victim.
Svetlana abruptly stopped. And at that moment, a deep, ominous growling sounded from the darkness between the garages. The sound was so powerful that it made both her and the man freeze in place. The next second, a silhouette appeared from the shadow—a large, massive dog with thick fur. He moved smoothly, but each of his muscles resembled a steel spring, ready to act. Yellow eyes shone in the darkness, and the growling became louder, turning into a threatening rumble.
The man involuntarily stepped back, locking eyes with the immovable mountain of muscles and gleaming eyes that seemed to burn right through him.
— Is… is that your dog? — his voice trembled treacherously.
Svetlana didn’t even think, reflexively responding: — Yes.
Buran took a slow step forward. He didn’t bark or bare his teeth, just stood, intently watching the man. But that was enough.
— Alright, alright, I’m leaving! — the man muttered, backing away and not taking his eyes off the dog until he disappeared around the corner.
Svetlana stood still for several minutes, feeling her heart pounding against her ribs. A strange feeling slowly bloomed in her chest—a mix of relief, gratitude, and warmth, as if a reliable protector had always been by her side.
She sat down on the cold curb next to the dog.
— You… you saw all this time, right? — she whispered.
Buran did not move, just shifted his heavy gaze to her and gently nudged her shoulder with his wet nose. Svetlana exhaled and, without understanding why, ran her hand through his thick, slightly damp fur. He was cold, but surprisingly cozy, as if creating an invisible shield around them.
— Thank you, friend, — she said quietly.
The dog sighed again, closed his eyes, and slightly tilted his head as if listening intently to her words.
From then on, Svetlana started visiting Buran not only with food but just because. Sometimes she brought something special—a piece of meat or hot porridge. And sometimes she just sat next to him, stroked him, and talked. About work, everyday problems, about how life sometimes becomes too complicated. Buran silently listened, as if he understood every word. But somehow, it was easier with him.
One evening, when Svetlana went out into the yard, Buran was not there. Every evening he always waited for her by the garages—either lying curled up or sitting, raising his ears, attentively listening to the surrounding world. But now he was not there.
Svetlana stopped in the middle of the yard, looking around, and a nagging feeling began to grow inside.
— Buran? — she called.
Silence was the only response.
She walked around the yard, looked behind the garages, checked every corner where he could usually be found. But neither a dark silhouette in the twilight nor a familiar gaze from the shadows. Her heart beat faster.
— Could he have left? — she whispered to herself, trying to calm down. The dog was a stray, used to a free life. Perhaps he just decided to go somewhere else. But in all the time they had known each other, he had never disappeared without a trace.
Svetlana stood for a while, listening to the silence around. The wind continued to drive dry leaves across the asphalt, but nothing else disturbed the peace of the yard. Anxiety settled in her soul.
The next morning she went out into the yard a little earlier than usual, hoping to see Buran. Perhaps his absence the day before was just a fluke. But when he appeared, Svetlana immediately understood: something had happened.
He moved slowly, almost dragging one paw. His fur was tangled and dirty, in places stuck to his body in clumps. His eyes had lost their former shine, becoming dull and tired.
Svetlana froze, then rushed to him. — Buran!
The dog weakly wagged his tail, as if glad to see her, but clearly had no strength for more. She knelt before him, carefully looked into his clouded eyes, and ran her hand down his back. The dog was hot, breathed intermittently and often.
— What’s wrong with you? — she whispered.
Buran did not answer. Just closed his eyes and flinched slightly when she touched his sore paw. He quietly whined.
— Lord, poor thing… — Svetlana clenched her fists. Who could have done this to him? A car? A fight? Or just human cruelty?
Just yesterday he was so strong and confident, but now…
Svetlana ran her hand over his wet snout, feeling a resolve boiling inside. — Enough, friend. Let’s go to my place.
Buran slightly opened his eyes, looked at her as if trying to understand if this was really happening. Then he took a few uncertain steps forward.
Getting used to the apartment was not easy for Buran. He didn’t rush inside, didn’t start wagging his tail joyfully like a domestic dog finding an owner. No, he carefully stepped over the threshold, sniffed the air attentively, looked around, and then froze at the door.
Svetlana sat down next to him, watching him. — There you go, — she said quietly. — Now you’re home.
But Buran did not move.
At first, he did not even go deeper into the apartment, as if afraid that he would be thrown out at any moment. He always stayed by the door, reminding himself that he had to be ready to leave at any time.
Svetlana did not rush events. She bought him a soft mat, but Buran never decided to lie on it. She brought two bowls—one for water and one for food. They stood untouched for a long time until he finally approached and took a few cautious sips.
And she brought him a toy—a simple rubber one. Although she knew he probably would not play, she still wanted to try. Buran sniffed it, pushed it with his paw, but showed no interest.
Days went by, and the dog continued to behave cautiously. He did not bother, did not make noise, just lay by the door and watched. When Svetlana went to work, he watched her leave, and when she returned, he just raised his head and closed his eyes again.
But one morning everything changed. She came out of the room and saw that he was no longer standing at the door but had moved closer to the kitchen. A few days later, Buran settled by the sofa.
Now he always slept by the front door. But one night, when it was raining outside, Svetlana woke up from a warm touch on her hand.
At first, she did not understand what was happening. Then she slowly opened her eyes and saw two yellow, slightly troubled eyes in front of her.
— What is it, Buran? — she muttered sleepily.
The dog sighed, shifted from one paw to the other, and then slowly, almost shyly, lay down next to her.
Svetlana smiled and, without opening her eyes, stroked his warm fur. — Alright… Just this once, okay?
But they both knew: he would stay here forever.
