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.

Author Wanda MirandaReading 14 minViews 1

Go Away and Don’t Come Back

Go, do you hear me? I whispered through tears, my voice shaking. Go, and don’t come back! Not ever.

With trembling hands, I unclipped the heavy iron chain, pulled Bessie towards the gate, flung it open, and tried to nudge her out onto the lane.

But she couldnt understand what was happening.

Was she really being sent away? But why? She hadnt done anything wrong

Please, Bessie, just go, I said again, hugging her tightly. You can’t stay here. Hell be back any minute and

At that very moment, the front door crashed open, and my father, Martin, stumbled onto the porch, drunk and wielding an axe.

*****

If only people could even imagine, just for a moment, how hard a street dog’s life can be, perhaps they would treat them differently. At the very least, they might look at them with sympathy, not with anger or disgust, as so often happens.

But how could people know what our four-legged friends endure, or truly understand their struggles? Dogs cant tell us their stories.

Nor can they complain about their fate. They carry their pain in silence.

But perhaps I can share this one storya tale of love, betrayal, and loyalty.

It began with Bessie, who was unwanted from the very start.

Why her first owner didnt favour hernobody really knows.

Perhaps it was as simple as the fact that she was born at all.

Instead of caring for the two-month-old pup, her owner drove to the nearest village and left her at the roadside.

Yes, just left.

He didnt bother to take her into the village, where surely someone would have adopted her.

Instead, he abandoned her beside a busy road, then drove back to the city with a clear conscience.

Cars, lorries, and coaches roared past at high speed. One wrong move and it could all have ended in an instant.

Perhaps the owner hoped that would be the case.

And even if it hadntwithout food or water, she couldnt have lasted long on her own. She would have died soon enough. She was only tiny, after all.

But fate intervened that day.

By chance, I was out riding my new bicycle. It was my fourteenth birthday, and Dad had only just given it to me. I was eager to try it out.

Dont you go past the end of the village, Mum called after me just as I was mounting my new steel horse, all boyish excitement and spinning wheels. Did you hear me, Will?

Alright, Mum I shouted back, overjoyed. Everything will be fine, I promise!

But of course, I went past the village. The lanes there were riddled with potholesriding was hardly possible; walking was bad enough. On the main road to the city, though, theyd just put down smooth new tarmac. I just wanted to feel the wind for once.

There were hardly ever any cars on a Sundayall the locals stayed home.

I had almost reached the road before turning around, and thats when I spotted the little pup, running back and forth along the verge, frantic.

Dashing towards each car, only to leap aside at the very last second. It was painful to watch.

What on earths the matter with it, I wondered, getting off my bike.

I laid the bicycle carefully on the grass and started towards the puppy.

*****

Mum, Dad, look who I found! I said, smiling as I brought the pup inside. Someone’s dumped her by the road. Can we keep her? Shes lovely.

Will, did you go out of the village? Mum demanded, instantly cross. I told you not to!

II only wanted to see the road and come right back, I mumbled, staring at my shoes. And as you can see, it was worth it. She might have died.

And you? Mum sighed. What if something had happened to you, Will? Its dangerous for kids, especially on bikes.

Sorry, Mum. I promise it’ll never happen again. So, can we keep her? Ill look after her, I promise. Ive always wanted a dog, and it is my birthday today.

Birthday or not, youre not too old for a telling-off, you know, Mum shook her head.

I hugged the pup close, sure they would take her away.

Dad finally intervened, cheerful from a pint at the pub. Leave the lad alone, Sue. Fourteen today, isnt it? Remember the things we got up to at his age. Besides, shes not just any muttshes a proper dog. Let him have her. Shell watch the garden and everything.

Mum gave in with a smile. Well, if Dads alright with it, then so am I.

Thank you! Youre the best parents ever!

My heart soared. Mum and Dad let me keep her.

That very day, I named her Bessie.

At first, I thought she was a boy, but soon realised otherwise. She was the best sort of girlgentle, affectionate. She and I were inseparable almost from the start.

The shiny new bike was soon forgotten; I spent each day with my fluffy friend.

Everything was perfectwhat could ever go wrong?

Saved from death, I had the dog Id dreamed of, and my parents were happy to see me happy. The end of the storyor so I thought.

But things changedsix months later.

It began when Dad, Martin, lost his job. It broke him, and he turned to drink.

He drank away our savings, the money he and Mum had put aside for tough times.

No pleading from Mum could change him. Tears, tantrums, nothing worked. She only irritated him, and in time, he turned cruel, even raising his hand to her, for any or no reason at all.

No food in the fridge, the roof leaking, cigarettes or drink too expensiveit was always Mums fault.

But nothing would get through. Me? My fault? hed shout at her.

The truth was plain: it was all him. He hadnt had to drink. He couldve found work, even in the cityeven as a driver or a loader, but he wouldnt try. Not after the farm went under, where hed been a tractor man for two decades.

Soon, our house was heavy with anger and threat.

Sue! Where have you hidden the gin, eh? Martin would roar each morning, eyes wild.

Mum did everything to slow him down, but nothing helped.

She even forbade me from getting involved. Dads hand was heavy; best to keep out of the way.

So in those awful moments, Id slip off to find Bessie, stroke her head and stare at the house while Mum and Dad screamed inside.

Bessie would lick the tears from my cheeks, always salty, always wet. She supported me, and sometimes looked at the house as though she understood it all.

One day, I got caught up in Dads fury myself. Mum was out shopping; I was in the yard, just playing with Bessie.

He called me over, grabbed my arm, clipped me round the headagain and again. I tried to hold out, but it hurt so much I cried out and tried to break free. But his grip was vice-like.

Suddenly, Bessie, usually so calm and gentle, started barking furiously at Dad. She barked so fiercely that he lost his grip in shock. I broke free.

Dad swayed into the house, shouting threats about coming backhed return, and hed have something heavy. I knew he meant to do something truly awful. I panicked.

Go, Bessie, please go! I begged through tears, shaking as I unclipped her chain and dragged her to the gate, pushing her out onto the lane.

She only stared, confused. Was she really being sent away?

Please, girl, you cant stay. Hell be back, and I cant protect you

Just as I finished, the front door burst open, and Dad staggered out, wielding the axe.

Will! he bellowed. Whyve you let that blasted dog off? Who said you could?

Dad, dontplease, I stammered, stepping back. I wanted to flee with her, but I couldnt leave Mum in there alone with him.

Dont what?! Dad thundered, eyes wild, glaring at me, then at Bessie.

Leave the dog, Dad. Go and sleep it off. Youre not yourself

Oh really? Not to be touched, eh? After I fed her, and she barks at me? Ill teach her a lessonand you too, for having no respect for your elders.

He lurched forward, nearly fell, then grabbed the porch rail and started down the steps.

Bring her here!

Martin, dont, please Mum cried, appearing, shopping bags in hand. Shes only a little thing. You’ll kill her.

Dont start with me. This wretch needs to know whos boss round here! Will, bring her hereI said now!

There was no more time.

I turned, looked Bessie in the eye, kissed her soft nose, and shoved her through the gate towards the road.

Go! Go now! Forgive us, Bessie, please forgive me. I never wanted this

You little! Dad exploded with rage as he realised what Id done.

And Bessie, glancing back at me one final time, ran off towards the woods.

It was the only place she could hide.

Dont come back, Bessie, or hell kill you! I shouted after her, sobbing.

What happened after, she never saw.

She could only hope her beloved boy, and his mother, would survive.

*****

From that moment…

…it wasnt a month, not even a yearit was seven long years that Bessie lived in hope of a miracle.

She always wished she might see me again.

But with each year, that hope faded. I, and Mum, had long since left the village.

Half a year after she fled, Bessie dared to return. She nosed open the gate, now half off its hinges, and found the house burnt to the ground. No one left. Not me. Not Mum. Not even Dad, whom she didnt want to see.

She visited the spot a few more times, but never found us there. Yet she didnt feel that we had diedmore likely, wed just moved on. When, or where, she didnt know.

But she understood: we would not return.

No home left for usor for her.

So she wandered, village to village, never staying long.

Until an old man picked her up near the same village as beforea bit of déjà vu, that.

Lost, are you? he chuckled, grey-haired, beard down to his chest. Come on, then, you can live with me.

And so Bessie didshe had no other choice.

He turned out to be kind, though he did take to the drink now and then.

He fed herbroth, porridge, juicy bonesnever spared a penny on her.

He even took her to work.

He was the local cemetery caretaker, and night watchman.

At first, Bessie found wandering amongst gravestones unsettling, but she got used to it, to the quiet and even to Mr. Tomlinson.

He was good to her, but terribly lonely, and sad, much like she was.

When he drank, he didnt become a beast, unlike Martin. Instead, hed sigh and tell Bessie all his woeshow his wife had left him, his daughter wouldnt speak to him, called him a failure.

Bessie would snuggle close, resting her nose against his knee, listening intently. Sometimes, the only thing a soul needs is someone to listen.

And when hed gone silent, Bessie would remember her own happy daysMum, me. She tried her hardest to forget Dad.

And wouldn’t you know itone day, making rounds in the graveyard, Bessie stumbled upon his grave.

She couldnt believe it at first, but even though hed gone, the scent still lingeredhate and drink, all mixed together.

Whats got you spooked, then? Mr. Tomlinson had noticed her staring at the headstone. Ah, Martin Burned up in his own house, he did. Thats the one all the village talked about. Wife and son moved to the city, lucky for them. Served him right, people said, after all he did. But thenone shouldnt speak ill of the dead. Come on, Bessie. May he rest in peace.

Bessie lived with Mr. Tomlinson for nearly five more years. But when he died, she was alone again.

Where could she go? She was no longer a puppywho would take her?

So, she stayed at the cemetery. There was food, now and then, andif it was a resting place for people, well, she would settle there and wait for the end. She didnt need another masterMr. Tomlinson had been more of a companion in sorrow, after all.

Then, one chilly day, just as the first snow dusted the earth, something most unexpected happened.

She was on her usual rounds in search of scraps when voices reached her ears.

Weekends seldom brought visitors to the graveyard. Yet there were two voicesa man and a womanstanding by Martins grave.

That seemed odd, so she crept closer out of curiosity.

I told you, Emily, it wasnt a good idea coming here. What are we doing at my fathers grave? After everything he did, what am I supposed to forgive? For putting Mum in an early grave?

You must, Willforgive and let go. How much longer will you suffer these nightmares? Im sure as soon as you forgive, things will change. Whatever kind of man your father was, hes still your father. They say if the dead visit you in dreams, it means theyre troubled.

And how would you know?

My Nan always told me. Forgiveeveryone will find peace. You, your father as well.

Maybe youre right

I looked at the headstone, then softened.

I forgive you, Dadfor me, for Mum, and for Bessie Its only a shame I had to send my best friend away because of you. I hope shes alright.

All that while, Bessie stood behind me, scarcely believing her eyes.

It was meher boy.

So many years had passed, I was a man now; but she knew me at once.

Did I recognise her? I turned around, feeling her gaze burning into my back.

Will, what is it? Emily asked, concerned. You look like youve seen a ghost.

Not a ghost, I murmured. A dog

What? Graveyards are full of stray dogsdont tell me youre scared?

No, I I think Wait, its

I took a few steps toward Bessie.

Stopped, hesitated. She wagged her tail, hesitated too. But thensuddenlywe both leapt forward.

Emily barely had time to react before I dropped to my knees and Bessie threw herself at me, licking my cheeks, my nose, my chinher dream of seven long years had come true.

She was with her beloved person again.

*****

I, of course, took Bessie home. She got on famously with Emily, and we became a family.

At first there were three of us, then fourBessie once found a stray kitten, and without question, we brought him home. Then, five: our little boy, Harry, joined the world.

Eventually, I rebuilt the familys old house in the country, and every summer wed return for holidays, all together.

Through all the hardship, all the painBessie and I found 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.

Everything Happens for the Best Margaret Smith, a strong-willed mother, had always shaped her daughter, Victoria, in her own image, believing she knew what was best for her. Margaret, a successful woman in the construction business—a field dominated by men—insisted that her daughter follow her guidance at every turn, never allowing a step off her carefully plotted path. Victoria, eager to please and devoted to her mother, did everything she could to live up to these high expectations, even when the pressure became overwhelming. Childhood mishaps and school triumphs alike were met with her mother’s exacting standards, and Victoria graduated top of her class, as was expected. Despite her wishes to attend university in another city, Margaret forbade it—Victoria had to remain under her watchful eye. At university, Victoria fell hard for Josh, a charming, blue-eyed fellow student who was struggling more than she with his studies. Victoria often ended up doing his coursework, and their relationship blossomed, with Josh meeting her parents and even passing Margaret’s scrutiny, though Margaret remained unconvinced of his worthiness. Insisting her daughter could do better, Margaret maintained strict control over Victoria’s life. Despite her mother’s objections, Victoria defied her for the first time and eventually married Josh after university. Life, however, had its twists: Josh, once labeled a mediocre student, landed a prestigious job and began to outshine his studious wife in the professional world. Victoria continued working for her mother and soon felt the trap of never-ending supervision. The marriage soured, with Josh eventually leaving to pursue a new relationship, and Victoria finally broke free—quitting her mother’s company, moving out, and starting over on her own. One day, after a literal misstep and an injured ankle, Victoria was helped by a friendly passerby, John. A hospital visit turned into friendship, and friendship quickly blossomed into love. Four months later, they married, and a year after that welcomed their daughter, Katie. When asked about her wonderful husband, Victoria would just laugh and say, “He picked me up off the street—ask him if you don’t believe me!” Thank you for reading, subscribing, and for all your support. Wishing you every happiness in life.

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.

Granddad It Happened One Summer Evening: Heading Home from Practice, I Saw an Old Man Fallen on the Pavement. Everyone Passing By Thought He Was Drunk and Avoided Him, but He Was Reaching Out for Help, Mumbling Unintelligibly. My Mum Always Taught Me to Lend a Hand Where I Can, so I Approached and Asked, “Do You Need Help?” He Couldn’t Answer Coherently, Just Reached Out to Me. A Woman Walking Past Warned, “Stay Away, He’s Drunk and Dirty, You’ll Catch Something!” I Noticed His Hands Were Covered in Blood and Fear Rose Up in Me. He Tried to Tell Me What Happened but Only Managed Mumbles—He Pointed to a Bag Beside Him Full of Broken Beer Bottles. That’s Why His Hands Were Bleeding. I Cleaned His Hands with Wet Wipes Before Helping Him Up—Not Wanting to Get Blood All Over My Clothes, If I’m Honest… Once His Hands Were Clean, I Helped Him to His Feet and Tried to Ask His Address, but He Couldn’t Respond Properly. Instead, He Signalled Where to Go and Led Me to a Block of Flats in the Same Estate. He Pointed at the Intercom and Indicated Two Numbers—I Realised It Was His Flat Number. I Buzzed the Flat and a Woman’s Alarmed Voice Came Through. The Old Man Mumbled Again, and Seconds Later a Man and Woman Rushed Out. They Checked Him Over First, then the Man Thanked Me and Carried the Old Gentleman Inside. The Woman Was Eager to Thank Me and Insisted I Wait, Suddenly Remembering Something. She Darted Up the Stairs and Returned with a Massive Basket of Raspberries from Their Own Garden—She Boasted About Them. I Tried to Refuse, but She Was Insistent. She Explained How Distraught They Were When They’d Arrived Home from Their Allotment and Found Grandpa Missing. Here’s the Thing: During the War, He’d Been Captured by the Germans. Holding an Important Post, He Injured His Own Tongue to Stop Himself Talking. With No Sanitation in the Camps, He Developed an Infection and Lost Half His Tongue—Now He Can Hardly Speak, Only Makes Noises Like a Deaf-Mute. Teens in Our Estate Started Drinking Beer in the Playground, Smashing Bottles Everywhere. Even After We Complained to Police, Nothing Changed—Kids Kept Getting Cut. Ever Since My Daughter Sonya Sliced Her Foot, Grandpa Has Been Picking Up the Glass to Keep the Playground Safe for Children, Despite His Bad Legs. We Tried Everything to Stop Him—Even Hiding the Keys—but He Still Slipped Out. Last Time He Fell, He Lay Five Hours on Cold Ground Before Anyone Helped. We Were About to Start Searching When You Called Downstairs. Thank You. After Hearing Her Story, I Was Left Speechless. She Pressed Raspberries into My Hands, and I Bowed—Yes, Bowed—to Her, Words Failing Me. On The Way Home, I Burst Into Tears. Why Is It Like This in Our Country? Why Do We Only Think of Ourselves? To Everyone: If You See Someone Fallen and Unable to Get Up, Don’t Assume the Worst. Approach and Offer Your Help—They Might Truly Need It. Especially to Young People: Let’s Remember We’re HUMANS, Not ANIMALS!