“Mum, I’m ten years old now, right?” Mishka suddenly asked after coming home from school. “So what?” Mum stared at her son in surprise. “What do you mean, ‘so what’? Have you forgotten what you and Dad promised to let me do when I turned ten?” “Let you do? What did we promise?” “You promised I could get a dog.” “No!” Mum cried anxiously. “Anything but that! How about an electric scooter? The fanciest one – as long as you never mention a dog again.” “So that’s what you’re like…” Mishka pouted. “And you call yourselves parents… Teaching me to keep my word, but forget your own… Fine, whatever…” He locked himself in his room until Dad came home. “Dad, do you remember what you and Mum promised…” he began, but Dad interrupted. “Mum already rang me and told me about your wish! I just don’t get why you want one.” “Dad, I’ve dreamed of a dog for so long! You both know that!” “We know, we know. You’ve been reading too many stories about boys and their dogs! You know breed dogs cost a fortune, right?” “I don’t need a pedigree,” Mishka said quickly. “Any dog will do, even a stray. I read on the Internet about abandoned dogs. They’re so sad.” “No!” Dad cut him off. “What do you mean, a stray? Why would we want that? They’re not even nice-looking! I’ll make you a deal, Mishka: if you can find a young, pedigree, abandoned dog in this city, your mum and I might just give in.” “Really?” Mishka frowned. “Yes! You’ll have to train it, enter it in dog shows, the whole lot. And you can’t train a grown dog, can you? So if you find a young, good-looking pedigree stray, fine.” Dad exchanged a sly wink with Mum. Mishka sighed, knowing well he’d never seen a pedigree stray on the streets – but hope dies last, and he’d give it a go. On Sunday, he and his friend Billy set off to search. By evening, they’d scoured half the town but hadn’t found a single abandoned pedigree dog – every nice-looking pup was with its owner, on a lead. “That’s it,” Mishka said, tired. “I knew we’d find nothing…” “Let’s try the animal shelter next Sunday,” Billy suggested. “There could be pedigree dogs there – I’ve read about it. We just need to find the address. For now, let’s sit and rest.” They sat on a bench, and dreamed about picking the prettiest dog from the shelter, training it together. After dreaming and resting, they trudged home. Suddenly Billy tugged Mishka’s sleeve and pointed. “Mishka, look.” Mishka saw a tiny, dirty, white puppy wobbling along the pavement. “A mongrel,” Billy declared, and whistled. The puppy turned and scampered towards them, but stopped two metres short. “He doesn’t trust people,” Billy noted. “Someone’s probably scared him badly.” Mishka gently whistled. The puppy leaned towards him; and when Mishka got close, the little dog just anxiously wagged its grubby tail. “Let’s go, Mishka,” Billy said. “What do you want with a mutt? A pedigree dog deserves a fancy name. This one – only something like ‘Button’ would suit.” Billy turned away and walked on. Mishka stroked the puppy a little more, then sadly followed Billy. Truthfully, he would’ve happily taken even this little dog home. Suddenly, a yelp sounded behind him. Mishka froze as the puppy whimpered. “Quick, come on, Mishka! Don’t look back – that puppy’s looking at you! Like you’re his owner, leaving him… Run!” Billy called. Billy ran, but Mishka couldn’t move his feet. When he finally turned to go, he felt a gentle tug at his trouser leg. Looking down, he saw those bright black eyes. And at that instant, Mishka forgot everything else and scooped the puppy in his arms. If Mum and Dad wouldn’t let him keep her, he’d run away. Together with her. Turns out, his parents had kind hearts too… Because the next day, when Mishka came home from school, not only Mum and Dad were waiting – but so was a clean, snowy-white, cheery Button. (Note: Mishka becomes “Mishka” or “Mikey” in English. “Vovka” becomes “Billy”. “Knoopka” is “Button”, a common cute pet name in English.)

Mum, Im ten years old now, arent I? Oliver announced the moment he wandered in from school.

So you keep telling me, his mum replied, looking at him with obvious suspicion.

What do you mean, so? Dont tell me youve forgotten what you and Dad promised me when I turned ten?

Promised? She squinted. What exactly did we promise?

To let me have a dog, obviously.

Oh, not this again! Mum wailed as if hed asked to bring home a crocodile. Anything but a dog, Oliver. How about we get you one of those brand-new electric scooters instead? The priciest one in the shop, if you like. On one little condition… you never mention dogs again. Ever.

So thats how it is? Oliver puffed out his cheeks. And there you are, going on about keeping your word, but youve forgotten yours already. Some parents, honestly… Fine, whatever.

With a loud, tragic sigh loud enough for the neighbours to hear, Oliver stomped off to his room and didnt emerge until his dad arrived home from work.

Dad, do you remember what you and Mum Oliver began dramatically, but Dad cut in.

Your mum phoned me at work about it! Ive already heard youre on a dog quest. I cant see for the life of me why you want one, though.

Oh, Dad! Ive dreamed of having a dog forever! You both know that!

Yes, yes! Dad rolled his eyes, Ever since you read all those stories about that boy and his flying friend, youve had dogs on the brain. You know pedigree dogs cost a fortune, dont you?

I dont need a fancy one! Oliver blurted out. Ill take any dog! Even a stray. I read online about abandoned dogstheyre so badly in need of homes!

Now hold on, Dad interrupted. Why would we take in a mongrel? Scruffy things! If were getting a dog, lets agree it has to be a pedigree, and young. Thats the deal.

Young and posh? Oliver groaned.

Yes, Dad said, glancing at Mum and giving her a secret wink. Youll want to train it, take it to dog shows, all the rest. Cant teach an old dog new tricks, can you? So if you manage to find a beautiful, young, pedigree stray wandering around town, well then… I suppose your mother and I will have to say yes.

Oliver heaved a great, sulky sigh, though he knew very well that stray pedigree puppies didnt fall from the sky. Still, hope is a stubborn thing, and he wasnt ready to give up.

On Sunday, Oliver called his friend Alfie, and after lunch they set off on Operation Perfect Dog.

They traipsed all over town until dusk, but every fine-looking dog they found had an owner firmly attached to the end of its lead.

Thats that, Oliver grumped in the park. Told you it was hopeless.

Lets try again next weekend, Alfie suggested. We could go to the rescue shelterbet there are pedigree dogs there sometimes. I read it online. We just need to find out where it is. But for now can we please just sit down?

The boys flopped onto an empty bench and proceeded to daydream about friendly, glamorous shelter dogs whod love obedience training and win ribbons by the dozen. After a while, they got up and shuffled in the direction of home, daydreams fading.

Suddenly, Alfie tugged Olivers sleeve.

Oi, Ollie, over there.

Oliver looked up, and there, lurching along the pavement, was a tiny, patchy white puppy. He moved with the tragic dignity of someone whose bath had been long overdue, and yet, somehow, held his lopsided head high.

Definitely a mongrel, Alfie declared, and gave a low whistle.

At the sound, the puppy perked up and came gambolling overbut hesitated a few feet away.

Not surprised, Alfie said. People probably scared him off. Poor thing.

Oliver, trying to be gentle, whistled quietly and stretched out a hand. The puppy edged closer, tail uncertain but hopeful, until Oliver was right there. Still, he didnt bolt, just wagged his muddy tail with caution.

Lets go, hissed Alfie. If youre set on a pedigree, you cant take this one. Youd better call him Buttonhes just about good enough for that. Im off.

Alfie turned his nose up and strode away. Oliver crouched to stroke the puppy a little longer, feeling a strange fondness bloom in his chest. Truth be told, he wouldve gladly brought this ragamuffin straight home.

Then suddenly, a sharp yelp. Oliver spun roundthe puppy was whining, staring after him with those big, shining eyes.

Come on, mate, just walk away! Alfie called, but Oliver was rooted to the spot, heart pounding. The puppy crept closer and tugged tenderly at Olivers trouser leg.

Looking down, Oliver met that hopeful canine gaze, and that was that. All logic and pedigree plans melted away. Gathering up the scrawny pup, Oliver cuddled him close. Even if his parents said no, he reckoned hed just have to run awayafter all, there were worse fates than being a boy on the run with his best friend, Button.

But as it turned out, his parents were big softies after all because the very next day, when Oliver got home from school, there was Buttonfreshly bathed, snowy white (well, mostly), and bouncing with delight, right beside Mum and Dad.