“Mum, I’m Getting Married!” Cheered the Son “That’s nice,” replied Sonia with little enthusiasm. “Mum, what’s wrong?” asked Victor, surprised. “It’s nothing… Where do you plan to live?” she squinted. “Here. You don’t mind, do you?” Victor replied. “It’s a three-bedroom flat, surely we’ll all fit?” “Do I have a choice?” Sonia asked. “We can’t exactly afford to rent,” her son said gloomily. “So I really don’t have a choice,” Sonia said resignedly. “Mum, rents are so high now we’d barely have money for food,” Victor insisted. “It won’t be forever. We’ll save up for our own place much quicker this way.” Sonia shrugged. “I hope so… All right, you can move in and stay as long as you need, but on two conditions: We split the bills three ways and I am not going to be anyone’s housekeeper.” “Fair enough, Mum, whatever you say,” Victor agreed immediately. The young couple had a simple wedding and all moved in together: Sonia, Victor and his new wife, Irene. From the moment they arrived, Sonia seemed to have a new lease of life. Every evening, when the newlyweds got home, the house was a mess and there was nothing cooking. Sonia was always out: one day at choir rehearsals at the Community Centre (“They say I’ve got a great voice, you know!”), the next day at a poetry reading (“You remember how much I love Shakespeare!”), or at coffee and bingo with her new friends—all pensioners enjoying themselves until late, taking over the kitchen with laughter, tea, and biscuits brought from the corner shop. She purposefully refused to do any household chores, leaving everything for Victor and Irene. At first, they didn’t complain. Then Irene started giving sideways looks. Next they grumbled, and finally Victor resorted to loud sighs. Sonia ignored it all, embracing her active lifestyle. One day, she came home singing “Greensleeves,” and announced cheerfully, “Good news, children! I’ve met a wonderful gentleman and we’re off to a spa together tomorrow. Isn’t that lovely?” “It is,” Victor and Irene agreed in unison. “And is it serious, Mum?” asked Victor, secretly worried about one more moving in. “We’ll see after the spa,” Sonia said, helping herself to soup and seconds. When she came back, she was disappointed: “Alex wasn’t my type, so I’ve moved on. But life is still ahead of me!” She kept up her busy social calendar, her circle of friends growing. Eventually, one day Irene snapped, slamming the empty fridge: “Sonia, couldn’t you help with the housework? The flat’s a tip and there’s no food! Why should we do everything?” “And what’s got you so wound up?” Sonia replied with genuine surprise. “If you lived on your own, who’d do those chores?” “But you live here!” Irene argued. “And I’m not going to be some sort of Mrs. Mop for you. I’ve served my time! I warned Victor straight away: I won’t be the maid. If he didn’t tell you, that’s not my fault,” Sonia said. “I thought you were joking…” Victor mumbled. “So you want a free ride AND for me to tidy your mess and cook? Absolutely not! I said I wouldn’t, and I won’t! If you’d rather, you can always live on your own,” Sonia declared, and went to her room. The next morning, she cheerfully sang, did her lipstick and put on her best blouse, and set off to the arts centre—her choir was waiting.

Author Walton MerrittReading 6 minViews 14

Mum, Im getting married! my son said cheerfully one sunny afternoon.

Thats nice, I replied, doing my best to sound pleased, though I dont think I managed much enthusiasm.

Mum, whats wrong? Oliver looked at me, puzzled.

Nothing Where are you planning to live? I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Here, with you! You dont mind, do you? said Oliver. Its a three-bedroom flat, surely well all fit?

Do I have a choice? I countered.

We cant afford to rent anywhere, he answered glumly.

So, I havent got a choice then I sighed, feeling resigned.

Mum, renting nowadays is so expensive wed have nothing left for food, he said. It wont be forever. Well be working and saving up for our own place. Its much quicker this way.

I shrugged. I suppose Listen, you can move in, stay as long as you need, on two conditions: the bills get split three ways, and Im not going to be anyones housekeeper, I declared.

Of course, Mum, whatever you say, Oliver agreed instantly.

They had a modest wedding, and so our little flat became home to the three of us: me, Oliver, and his new bride, Charlotte.

From the very first day, as soon as the newlyweds moved in, I seemed to develop a whole new busy schedule. Oliver and Charlotte would get home from work to find the flat a mess just as they left it, pots empty, nothing cooked everything scattered about, untouched.

Mum, where have you been? Oliver asked one evening.

Well, Ollie, I got a call from the Community Centre they needed voices for the Folk Choir. You know my singings not half bad

Really? Oliver looked genuinely surprised.

Yes! You’ve just forgotten, but I did tell you once. Its all pensioners my age, we all get together and sing. I had a wonderful time, and Im going again tomorrow!

Another choir practice tomorrow? he asked.

No, tomorrow its a Poetry Evening. Well be reading Wordsworth. You know how much I love Wordsworth.

Really? Oliver was sceptical.

Yes! I told you! You never listen to your mother! I chided him, a hint of reproach.

Charlotte just watched the exchange, silent as ever.

After Oliver got married, it was as if Id found my second wind. I threw myself into every club for older folk I could find. My circle of friends grew, and now, besides old friends, new ones would drop by in cheery groups, taking over the kitchen till late, drinking cups of tea with biscuits theyd brought and playing bingo. Sometimes Id go out walking, or be so engrossed in my favourite period drama that I wouldnt notice the children greeting me when they got in.

As for housework, I stuck to principle and kept my hands off it, leaving all the chores to Oliver and Charlotte. At first, they didnt complain, but soon Charlotte began giving me side glances, then quiet mutterings were exchanged, then Oliver began sighing loudly. I ignored all of it, maintaining my lively, age-defying routine.

One day, I came home beaming, humming Greensleeves under my breath. I walked into the kitchen where the young ones were gloomily eating homemade soup.

Good news, my dears! Ive met a wonderful gentleman, and tomorrow were off to a spa together! Isnt that exciting?

It is, they replied in unison.

And is this serious? Oliver asked tentatively, maybe worried wed have another resident soon.

I cant say yet, but after the weekend away, Ill know for sure, I replied. Then I served myself some soup and helped myself to seconds, thoroughly enjoying my meal.

After the trip, I returned rather disappointed. I told them that William wasnt really my type and wed parted ways, but quickly added that my best years lay ahead. I still had my clubs, outings, and chats with friends.

Eventually, when the children came home yet again to an untidy flat and empty cupboards, Charlotte lost patience. Slamming the empty fridge door, she snapped:

Mrs Smith! Couldnt you do some housework too? The flats a tip! Theres nothing in the fridge! Why should we do everything while you do nothing?

Why so touchy? I asked, genuinely surprised. If you lived on your own, whod do all the housework for you then?

But youre here! she protested.

Im not your servant, Charlotte. I spent years running this household; Ive done my share! Besides, I told Oliver from the start I wouldnt be a housekeeper. If he didnt tell you, thats hardly my fault, I declared.

I thought you were joking Oliver muttered sheepishly.

So you want to live here comfortably and have me cooking and tidying up after everyone? No! If I say I wont, I mean it! And if you dont like it, youre welcome to move out, I said, and went to my room.

The next morning, humming Early One Morning under my breath, I put on my favourite blouse, dabbed my lips with red lipstick, and off I went to the Community Centre, because my Folk Choir was waiting for meThat evening, over tea and the clatter of washing up in the kitchen, I heard laughter drifting down the halltwo voices, uncertain at first, joining together. Something had shifted; a new understanding settled quietly amongst the plates and unwashed mugs.

Soon Charlotte poked her head around my door, her expression softer. Mrs Smith, would you teach me that card game you played with your friends last Thursday? I keep hearing them laugh about it.

I smiled. Of course. Come and bring Oliver toohes dreadful at cards, but maybe youll have more luck.

So, we gathered around the battered old table. I taught them tricks, and we swapped storiesmine well-seasoned and theirs new and tentative. Laughter came easier now, the flat filled with warmth and a cheerful mess. The chores got done together, sometimes haphazardly, sometimes well, but always as a team.

One evening, as I watched them cooking dinner side by sideCharlotte rolling dough, Oliver chopping vegetablesI realized the flat was no longer too small or too crowded. It was a nest, noisy and imperfect and gloriously alive.

And just as I was slipping out for Bingo night, Charlotte called after me, Dont let them win too easily! We need to keep up your streak!

I winked and closed the door behind me, heart light. Home, I thought, smiling to myself, is not a place you keep spotlessits the people who keep you company, and the stories you share.

Natalie, You’ve Been Gone Five Years—You Never Cared How I Was or What Became of Me Natalie and Ben had lived together for over five years. Ben never earned a fortune; his wages were modest, as he worked a regular labourer’s job. Natalie always dreamed of a life of luxury—preferably wealth—so she was thrilled whenever she met men more prosperous than her husband. One day, Natalie’s luck seemed to change: she caught the eye of a wealthy businessman who promised her the world. Swayed by his offers, she left her poor husband behind, eager to begin a glamorous new chapter. Ben was shattered by his wife’s betrayal. He pleaded with her desperately, promising to change—he’d earn more money, quit his job, work day and night, do anything to make her happy. But Natalie was unmoved. She dreamed of sailing on white yachts and shopping in London’s most exclusive boutiques—things her poor husband could never provide. No promises or declarations of eternal love could change her mind. Five years later, as Natalie turned thirty-two, her rich suitor lost interest—there were always younger, more enticing women at his side. He told her she was too demanding and argumentative and finally abandoned her. Penniless in the capital, unaccustomed to working or fending for herself, Natalie decided to go back to her ex-husband. She believed that, since he’d sworn eternal love, he must still be waiting for her. Approaching their old flat, Natalie saw the door open to a stranger—a woman holding a small girl. “Sweetheart, we’ve talked about not answering the door alone,” the woman said to the child. “Who are you looking for?” she asked Natalie. Stunned, Natalie hesitated. “I’m looking for Ben. Is he in?” she managed. “Ben, there’s a woman here asking for you! What’s your name?” the stranger called out, then looked at the guest. “Natalie!” Ben exclaimed, surprised, before turning to his wife. “Love, go inside, I need to talk.” “Who was that?” Natalie asked, watching the woman and child go. “That’s my wife, Olivia, and the little one is my daughter, Maisie,” Ben replied. “You remarried? And have a daughter? You promised me everlasting love, said you’d never love anyone like you loved me!” “It’s been years! I was heartbroken at first, but I realised life didn’t end when you left. Then I met Olivia and fell for her completely. She made me happy. She gave me a daughter.” “And what about me?” “Natalie, you’ve been gone for five years and never cared how I was or what became of me. You left for a wealthier man and a lavish life. Maybe we were never rich, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. Now you’re back—did you expect me to just wait here for you all this time? “I was foolish! I love you!” “Natalie, stop this charade. Please go—I don’t want you here. Your rich boyfriend ditched you so now you’re running back to me? It makes me sick. Please just go.” Natalie broke down in tears, hurt that no one wanted her, while Ben felt satisfied that he had finally moved on and found his own happiness at last.

Go Away and Never Come Back — Go, Do You Hear Me? Go and Never Return! Never. With trembling hands, Michael unclipped the heavy metal chain, dragged Berta to the garden gate and, flinging it wide open, tried to push her out onto the road. But she didn’t understand what was happening. Was she really being thrown out? But why? She hadn’t done anything wrong… “Go, please, I’m begging you,” Michael repeated as he hugged the dog tight. “You can’t stay here. He’ll be back any minute and…” Just then, the front door slammed open, and a drunken Victor staggered out onto the porch with an axe in his hand. ***** If people could imagine, even for a moment, how harsh life is for the dogs abandoned to the streets through no fault of their own, perhaps they would look at them with sympathy and compassion, not resentment or disdain, as so often happens. But how can we know what our four-legged friends go through, what trials they must face? How can we possibly understand? Dogs cannot tell us their stories. They cannot complain about their fate. All their pain, they carry in silence. But I will tell you one story—one of love, betrayal and loyalty… And my story begins with Berta, who was unwanted from her very first days. No one really knows what it was about her that displeased her first owner. Maybe just for being born. And he could think of nothing better than to take the then two-month-old puppy to the nearest village and… just leave her by the roadside. Yes, just abandon her—not even in the village where someone might have taken her in, but right on the edge of the road. He drove away with a clear conscience, leaving her in harm’s way, where cars, buses, lorries sped past at terrifying speeds—a single misstep and that was it. Perhaps that’s what he hoped would happen. If not, what chance did she have to survive alone, hungry and thirsty? She was only a baby. But that day luck was on her side. That day, the nameless little pup met Michael. And thanks to him, she lived. It happened on the very day Michael was given a brand new bike for his fourteenth birthday. He couldn’t wait to take it for a spin. “Don’t ride out of the village!” called out his mother, Annie, as Michael cycled off, excitement in his legs. “Alright, Mum! Everything will be fine!” chirped Michael as he whisked away. But of course, he left the village. The roads in the village were full of potholes—awful to ride on, and hard to walk, especially at night. Just a month ago, the city road had been freshly paved, and Michael wanted to feel the wind in his hair. There weren’t many cars out on a weekend morning. So, as he neared the road and prepared to turn back, he noticed a tiny pup running frantically at the roadside—darting toward passing cars, then jumping back just in time. Horrified, Michael pulled over, gently placed his bike in the grass, and approached the trembling puppy. ***** “Mum, Dad, look who I found!” beamed Michael as he entered the house. “Someone dumped her by the road. Can we keep her? Please?” “Michael, did you leave the village? I told you not to!” Annie exclaimed. “Sorry, Mum… I just wanted to ride to the road and back. And look—I didn’t go for nothing. If I hadn’t picked up this pup, she might have died!” “What about you?” sighed Annie. “You could’ve been hit, too. Roads are no place for children.” “I won’t do it again, I promise. But what about the puppy? Can we keep her? Please? It’s my birthday, after all.” “It is your birthday, isn’t it?” Annie shook her head. Michael clutched the puppy tightly, afraid she’d be taken back out to the roadside. “Annie, stop scolding the boy,” Michael’s dad, Victor, interrupted, his mood bright from a few celebratory drinks. “He’s fourteen now. And look, he picked up a fine pup—not a scraggy mutt but a proper one. She’ll look after the yard. Let him keep her. I’ve no problem.” “Well, if Dad says yes, then I do, too,” Annie smiled at her son. “Thank you! You’re the best parents in the world!” Michael was overjoyed. That very day he named the puppy—Berta. At first, he thought she was a boy, but he quickly realised she was a girl—a good girl: kind, gentle, and instantly attached to Michael. The bike was forgotten. From then on, Michael spent every hour with his fluffy four-legged friend. Life at last seemed perfect—Berta safe from death, Michael finally with the dog he’d always dreamed of. His parents were happy to see their son so happy, too. Fairy tale ending? If only. Trouble came—six months later. It started when Victor lost his job and began drinking heavily, spending all the family savings. No pleas or tears from Annie could sway him; they only made him angrier, more cruel, especially with vodka in his blood. He even began hitting Annie, for any or no reason at all. And Annie strictly forbade Michael from interfering. “You could get hurt too,” she would say. “Better not try your luck.” During arguments, Michael escaped to Berta, stroking her, watching the house as his parents fought. Berta would gently lick Michael’s salty cheeks. Once Victor caught Michael playing with Berta and, without provocation, gave him a series of rough cuffs round the head. Michael tried to hold back the tears, tried to break free, but Victor’s grip was fierce. Suddenly, mild, gentle Berta barked fiercely at Victor—so fiercely he froze. Michael seized his chance and pulled away. But Victor stormed into the house, slurring threats of violence. Michael knew he would be back—with something heavy. What could he do? “Go, do you hear me?” Michael whispered, tears flowing. “Go, and don’t come back! Never.” His hands trembled as he undid Berta’s chain, tugged her to the gate, and tried to push her out. She didn’t understand—was this really goodbye? “Please, you must go,” Michael repeated, hugging her close. “It’s not safe here. Dad will be back and…” At that moment, the door crashed open and Victor, axe in hand, staggered onto the porch. “Michael!” came his father’s enraged roar. “Why did you let the dog go?” “Dad, please, don’t—” Michael stammered, backing away. He wanted to run, but couldn’t leave his mother inside with the madman. “Don’t touch the dog, Dad. Just go sleep it off. You’re not yourself—” “Oh, I’ll show you, you insolent whelp! I’ll deal with that mangy mutt and then teach you some respect!” Victor lurched forward, losing his footing but clinging to the rail, lumbering down the steps. “Hurry!” Michael turned to Berta, looked her in the eyes, kissed her black nose, and with a desperate shove, sent her out into the road. “Run! Run and forgive us… forgive us, Berta. I never wanted this.” Fury twisted Victor’s face as he realised Michael was letting the dog go. Berta looked at Michael one last time before bolting towards the woods—her only chance of survival. “Don’t come back, Berta, or he’ll kill you!” Michael yelled after her. What happened next, Berta never saw. She could only hope her beloved friend and his mother would be safe. ***** Seven years passed—a lifetime for a dog. Seven years Berta waited for a miracle, hoping to see Michael again, but each year hope faded as she never found Michael or Annie. Returning to her old home after six months, she found only a charred ruin of a house. No Michael, no Annie, certainly no Victor. She came back a few times, but always alone. Eventually, Berta wandered from village to village, until an old man found her, outside the very forest she once ran into. “Lost, are you?” the grey-haired, bearded man chuckled. “Want to live with me?” And Berta did. She had no other choice. The old man, though partial to drink, was kind. He fed her well and took her to work with him—as a night caretaker at a cemetery. At first, Berta hated the graves, but in time, she grew used to them—and to Nicholas, her lonely companion. When he drank, he didn’t turn cruel, but wept and confided his heartbreak—about the wife who left, the daughter who wanted nothing to do with him. Berta would snuggle by his feet and listen in silence. And when Nicholas fell silent, Berta remembered the happy days with Michael and Annie—and tried to forget Victor for good. One day, Berta came across Victor’s grave. She sniffed it, not believing it—yet the hateful, bitter scent was unmistakable. “You’re stuck there, are you?” Nicholas said, noticing her halted by the grave. “Victor, it says… Must be the one who drank himself to death in his own house after the family left for the city.” Five years Berta stayed at the cemetery, until Nicholas, too, died, leaving her alone once more. She stayed on. Where else could she go? No one would take in an old dog now. She decided she’d wait for the end among the stones. But then, when the first snow fell, the impossible happened. While searching for food, Berta heard voices—by Victor’s grave. A man and a woman. She crept closer—curious who would visit him. “Told you, Ox,” the man said, “it’s pointless coming here. Why should I care about the grave of a father who made life hell for my mum and me? Forgive him? For what?” “You have to, Michael,” said the woman. “Forgive and let go. Otherwise, you’ll never have peace. Your nightmares will go on forever.” “Maybe you’re right…” Michael sighed, looked at the grave and said, “I forgive you, Dad— for Mum, for myself, for Berta… I just wish I hadn’t had to send my best friend away. I hope she’s alright.” All the while, Berta stood behind Michael, scarcely believing it was him—her beloved person. He was grown, a man now, but she knew him instantly. Would Michael know her? He turned, feeling eyes on his back. “Mike, what is it?” Oksana asked. “It’s a dog,” Michael replied. “Silly—there are lots of dogs at the cemetery.” But Michael stared, stepped closer, hesitated—then stepped closer again. Berta wagged her tail and crept forward. Then they both ran—flinging themselves into each other’s embrace. Oksana barely had time to react before Michael was kneeling, hugging the dog he hadn’t seen in seven years, while Berta licked his cheeks, nose and chin in a joyful frenzy. Her greatest dream had come true at last. ***** Of course, Michael brought Berta home. She and Oksana became fast friends, and soon their little family grew. First three of them, then four—when Berta found a tiny kitten and no one could resist taking him in. Then five, when a baby boy named Nick arrived. Later, Michael rebuilt the house in the village, and every year they spent summers there together. Despite all the pain and trials that life brought, both Michael and Berta found happiness.

Go, and Never Come Back — “Go, do you hear me?” Mikhail whispered through tears. “Go, and never come back! Never.” With trembling hands, the boy unclipped the heavy metal chain, pulled Berta toward the gate, flung it open, and tried to push her out onto the lane. She didn’t understand what was happening. Could she really be cast out? Why? She hadn’t done anything wrong… “Go, please,” Mikhail repeated, hugging his dog. “You can’t stay here. He’ll be back any minute and—” At that moment, the house door burst open and drunken Vasily stumbled out onto the porch, axe in hand. ***** If only people could imagine, even for a moment, how hard life can be for dogs forced onto the streets, many would surely look at them with more pity and understanding than with outrage and contempt, as so often happens. But how could people ever know the trials our four-legged friends face or what they must endure? Dogs can’t tell their stories. Nor complain of their fate. They hold all their pain inside. Well, perhaps I’ll tell you just one story. A story of love, betrayal, and loyalty… Let me start by telling you that Berta was unwanted from a very young age. What exactly her first owner found so objectionable about her remains unknown. But for some reason, he decided one day to take the two-month-old pup to the nearest village and… leave her by the roadside. Yes, just leave her. He couldn’t even be bothered to take her into the village, where someone might have taken her in. He just left the pup next to the road and drove off to the city with a clear conscience. Cars, buses, lorries, all thundered down that road at terrifying speed – a single wrong move and the tiny puppy could have ended up beneath the wheels. Perhaps that’s what her owner was counting on. Even if she didn’t die in traffic, she never would have survived long without food or water. She was only a baby, after all. But that day, her luck turned. That day, a yet-unnamed little pup met Mikhail. And because of that, she lived. It happened that, on that very day, Mikhail’s dad had given him a brand-new bike for his fourteenth birthday, and the boy was eager to have his first ride. “Just don’t go beyond the village,” Antonina called as he pedalled off, brimming with excitement. “You hear me, son?” “Alright, Mum…” Misha called back joyfully. “All will be well—oooh…” But Mikhail did go beyond the village, because the roads in the village were terrible – pothole after pothole. Not just impractical for cycling, even walking was tricky. And just outside the village, a brand-new tarmac road had recently been laid, and Mikhail wanted to ride on it, fast. There were usually few cars, and being the weekend, the roads were quiet. As he neared the main road and was preparing to turn back, he spotted a little puppy running frantically along the verge, dashing towards cars then springing away at the last moment. It was a frightening sight. “What’s wrong with it… and what’s it doing there?” Mikhail wondered, dismounting. He laid his bike gently on the grass and hurried over to the puppy. ***** “Mum, Dad, look who I found!” Mikhail beamed as he entered the house. “She was dumped on the road. Can we keep her? She’s lovely.” “Misha, you went out past the village?” Antonina scolded. “I told you!” “Mum, I only wanted a quick ride to the road and back,” he said guiltily. “And as you see, it was worth it. That puppy might have died if I hadn’t picked her up.” “And you?” Antonina sighed. “Did you think about yourself, son? You could have been hit by a car. Children mustn’t be alone near the road. Especially on bikes.” “Mum, I promise I won’t do it again. So… what about the puppy? Can we keep her? I’ll look after her. I’ve wanted a dog for ages… and it’s my birthday…” “So it’s your birthday,” Antonina shook her head. “You deserve a good hiding for not listening.” Mikhail hugged the puppy tighter, afraid his parents would take her away. “Tonia, don’t scold the lad like a schoolboy,” his father said, slightly tipsy and in a good mood. “He’s fourteen today! A proper young man. And he’s found a fine puppy. Not some mangy stray – she looks purebred. Let her guard the yard. Keep her, son, I don’t mind.” “Well, if Dad doesn’t mind, I don’t either,” Antonina smiled. “Hooray! Thank you! You’re the best parents in the world!” Mikhail was over the moon. That same day, he named his dog (well, his girl dog) Berta. At first he thought she was a boy, but on closer inspection, discovered otherwise – and she turned out to be a wonderful girl: gentle, kind, affectionate. She and Mikhail bonded instantly. Forgetting all about his new bike, Mikhail and his furry friend spent every day together, and life seemed perfect. What could possibly go wrong when everything ended so well? The puppy was saved from certain death, Mikhail was delighted to have the dog he’d always dreamed of (secretly – he’d believed his father would never allow it), and his parents were happy their son was so cheerful. Happy ever after? If only… But bad things did happen, six months later. It all started when Vasily, Mikhail’s father, lost his job and began to drink, heavily. He spent the family’s savings and ignored all of Antonina’s pleas or warnings. The more she implored, the angrier he became. Eventually, even Antonina got on his nerves. Vasily became a different person – vodka changed him into a cruel, angry brute. He even occasionally hit his wife, often over the smallest things – or no reason at all. Bread missing from the fridge, a leaky roof, rising prices – it was all Antonina’s fault. There was no point explaining: “Me?! My fault?” he’d roar. In reality, it was all down to him. No one forced him to drink. He could have found another job: maybe not in the village, but in the city – as a driver, a loader, anything. His son was soon applying to university, and they needed money. But Vasily didn’t want to work in the city. And since the farm where he’d worked for more than twenty years had gone under, there was no work in the village. Certainly nothing decent. “Tonya! Where have you hidden my vodka?!” Vasily would shout first thing each morning with a hangover. Antonina tried everything to stop him – but nothing worked. Speak back to him, and there’d be a major row; hide his vodka, there’d be violence. Antonina strictly forbade her son to get involved, to avoid catching the worst of his father’s temper. At moments like these, Mikhail would leave and sit with Berta, stroking her head in silence, listening to the sounds of his parents’ arguments. And Berta, sensing his pain, would lick his salty tears. She supported him the only way she could. And she, too, would gaze sadly towards the house. One day, Mikhail got caught in the crossfire himself, when his mother was at the shops and he was out in the yard with Berta. Vasily summoned him, grabbed him by the arm, and cuffed him, again and again. Mikhail tried to bear it but eventually cried out in pain, and, twisting free, managed to escape. Berta, to everyone’s amazement, barked fiercely at Vasily – so fiercely that he faltered. Mikhail seized the moment and fled, but knew his father wouldn’t let this pass and would soon return – with something heavy. What should he do? “Go, do you hear me?” Mikhail whispered through tears. “Go, and never come back! Never.” With trembling hands, the boy unclipped Berta’s chain, pulled her to the gate, swung it open and pushed her towards the road. She didn’t understand what was happening. Could she really be cast out? Why? She’d done nothing wrong… “Go, please,” Mikhail said again, hugging his dog. “You can’t stay here. My dad will come back and he’ll…” At that very moment, the door burst open and out staggered a drunken Vasily, brandishing an axe. “Misha!” came the furious shout. “Misha, why did you let the dog loose? Did anyone ask you to?” “Dad, don’t…” Mikhail said fearfully, backing away. In that moment, Mikhail was so frightened he was ready to run away with his dog. But… he couldn’t leave his mother alone with such a monster. “What do you mean, ‘don’t’? Don’t touch the dog? She shouldn’t have barked at me. I fed her, gave her water, and she barks at me… I’ll sort her out, and then I’ll sort you out. Where’s the respect, eh? I’ll teach you to respect your elders.” Vasily took a step forward, stumbled, managed to grip a post, and then started quickly down the steps. “Bring her here!” “Vasya, don’t, please…” Antonina screamed, returning from the shop. “She’s just a baby! You’ll kill her!” “Don’t you beg me. This cur needs to learn who’s boss! Misha, bring her here!” They couldn’t wait any longer. Mikhail turned to Berta, looked her right in the eyes, kissed her soft black nose and, pushing her hard on the road, shouted: “Go! Go now! And forgive us… Please forgive us, Berta. I never wanted this to happen…” “You little—!” Vasily raged, realising what his son was doing, but too late. And Berta, giving Mikhail one last look, ran towards the woods – the only place she could hide. “Don’t come back, Berta, or he’ll kill you!” Mikhail shouted after her. What happened next, Berta never saw. She only hoped that her beloved boy and his mother would be alright. ***** Since that moment, it wasn’t a month, or even a year – but a whole seven years. Seven long years of waiting and hoping that one day she might see Mikhail again. But each year, hope faded. Mikhail and Antonina were gone from the village. Berta returned only six months after she ran away, but… slowly nudged the slightly open gate and found only a burnt-out house. No one there. Not Mikhail, nor Antonina, nor Vasily (who Berta least wished to see). She returned three or four more times, but never found a soul. Deep down, she didn’t sense anything bad had happened to them – they must just have moved on. But where, and when, Berta had no idea. She realised they’d probably never return. Their home was gone, her own family was gone… She wandered for a year or more between villages, never staying in any one place, until she was found by an old man – near the same village where she once lived. Déjà vu… “Lost, are you?” the old man with silver hair and a long beard chuckled. “Want to come live with me?” Berta followed – she had no other option. And the old man, as it turned out, though partial to a drop himself, was kind. He kept her well-fed with broths, porridge, and meaty bones. He took her to work – as a night watchman at the cemetery. At first, Berta was uneasy among so many graves, but she got used to it – and to Nikolai Fyodorovich, as the old man was called. He proved a decent sort, just lonely and longing for company. When he drank, unlike Vasily, he was never violent – if anything, he’d sigh and tell Berta sad stories, about being abandoned by his wife, estranged from his daughter, and his life as a failure. At such times Berta would curl up beside him, listening, knowing how much it meant. When he fell silent, she’d remember happier times: Antonina, Mikhail – and try to forget Vasily, once and for all. But fate had another twist. One day, during her rounds at the cemetery, Berta came across Vasily’s grave. She could hardly believe it: but the scent was the same – full of bitterness and drink. “Why did you stop?” Nikolai Fyodorovich asked, noticing the dog by a grave. “Vasily… that must be the one who burned in his own house.” Berta looked at him in surprise. “Yes, there was such a man. His wife and son, thank God, left for the city, but he drank himself silly and suffocated in the fire. A stupid death. People said he abused his family. If so, he got what he deserved. But… about the dead, speak well or not at all. Let’s go. May the earth rest lightly on him.” Berta lived nearly five years with the cemetery watchman, but when he died, she was alone once again. Old now, she knew no one would take her in, so she decided to remain at the cemetery, where food could sometimes be found. This would be her resting place too; she needed no new master – and she saw Nikolai not as a ‘master’ but as a fellow sufferer. So, as the first snow fell, something utterly unexpected happened. That day, on her usual foraging walk, she heard voices near Vasily’s grave – a man and a woman. Unusual for the usually quiet cemetery. Berta crept closer, curiosity piqued, to see who could be visiting Vasily. “I told you, Oksana – it’s a bad idea coming here,” said the man. “What do I need to be at my father’s grave for? After everything he did, why should I forgive him… for what? For putting my mum in her grave early?” “You must, Misha… forgive and let go. These nightmares will stop, I know it! No matter what, he was your father. And if his memory is haunting your dreams, he needs forgiveness.” “And how would you know that?” “My grandma always said – forgive and everyone will rest easier, you and your father.” “Alright… Maybe you’re right.” Mikhail looked at his father’s grave, frowned, then cleared his brow and said: “I forgive you, Dad. For me, for Mum… and for Berta. If only you hadn’t made me send my best friend away. I hope she’s OK.” All that time, Berta stood quietly behind Mikhail, barely believing her eyes. It was him! Her beloved boy. He had grown, become a man, but she knew him instantly. Would Mikhail recognise her? Sensing eyes on his back, Mikhail turned suddenly and froze. “Mish, what’s wrong?” Oksana asked, worried. “You’ve seen a ghost!” “Not a ghost… a dog,” he murmured. “So? There are dogs at cemeteries all the time. Are you frightened?” “I think… I think I’ve seen her before. Wait, that’s…” He took a few steps towards Berta, hesitated, then took a few more – his doubts falling away with every stride. Berta wagged her tail and stepped closer, then both raced to each other. Oksana scarcely had time to blink, and Mikhail was on his knees, hugging his dog for the first time in seven years, while Berta licked his cheeks, his nose, his chin. Her deepest dream had finally come true: after all those long years of waiting faithfully, she was reunited with her boy. ***** Of course Mikhail took Berta home, and she became fast friends with his new human companion. They all lived together: first three of them; then four, after Berta found a stray kitten and they unanimously adopted him too; then five, as a new baby – Nikita – arrived. Mikhail repaired the village house, and the whole family – people and animals – would visit there every year. And after all the suffering both Mikhail and Berta had endured, they were, at last, truly happy.

📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic