A Friend with a Toy

We have a friend.

He lives in an end-unit townhouse in the town of V and wanders outside on his own—near the house, close to the road, among his toys scattered across the front lawn.

Usually, he simply lies on a dog bed by the door. But whenever we walk past, the dog gets up, picks up a toy in his mouth, and gently wags his fluffy tail, looking at us with kind, sad eyes—hoping that we will come over and play with him.

The first time we met, he ran up to us with that very toy, and we even had time to exchange a few friendly pats.

He is big, shaggy, and always beautifully groomed.

But then his stern owner came out of the house and called him back. The dog retreated and, ever since, has carefully observed the same ritual: he brings out his toy but does not come too close—apparently so as not to provoke his owner.

Yet he still longs to play, be petted, and simply enjoy a little company.

We say to him:

“Hello!”

In Russian.

Every time, this leaves him slightly puzzled, and he watches us for a long time, until we disappear around the corner.

Then he settles down again to wait for our next walk past his bed.

Author:  G Un