Lada - A Pretty Common Story

I loved her. People love many things, animate and inanimate in all sorts of ways. They love men and women. They often love their children. Not so often their parents. They love theater, restaurants, good wine, self-pickled mushrooms with onions as a chaser for a shot of vodka. They love noisy companies and quiet solitude. They love trips overseas and angling on a riverbank. They love foreign-made posh cars and chic clothing. They possessively love money. They also love pigeons and horses, cats and dogs. As for me, I loved her, a German sheepdog.

After the death of Gray, a huge and ferocious wolfhound, we wanted to take in a more civilized dog, for instance, a German shepherd. Of course, a male, as a more aggressive and reliable guard. But the dog breeder had only a bitch puppy. She was the last in the litter and the smallest one. Take her; you won’t be sorry she persuaded us.

We took her. Brought a small furry ball into our house and named her Lada.She turned soon into a totally unidentifiable creature. An extended muzzle of a pig. Long ears of a hare, one of which is standing up, while another is hanging down. What did the dog breeder palm off on us? It’s a disgrace, not a sheepdog!

She was frisky beyond description. Three thousand devils seemed to be sitting in that little pig, giving her not a minute’s rest.She ran about the garden snapping at our feet, and applying her teeth to them. Let’s play and bite! We screamed and fought her away using newspapers rolled into a bundle. When my wife dug vegetable patches, Lada came by, and also did the digging, pushing the earth aside. If I raked in sawed off branches, she took them in her mouth and carried them, following me… At all times she wished to be with us. Without us, she felt miserable and sought vent to her tempestuous energy.She climbed up on the roof of the shed. I don’t know how, but she got even to the mail box. Managed to extract The Economist magazine, which I receive from London. She had conscientiously read it, shredding it to pieces. I got mad. Grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, dragged her out to the gate where our mailbox is, poked her muzzle into it, and yelled:

- "Don’t! This is a box!! Understand?"

She laid back her ears, and put her tail between her legs. She was terrified. What for, master? What’s my fault?

I let her go. Hunched up, she instantly ran away to her kennel.Enraged, I hurried home. I sat down over the PC and started writing a mail to London telling that the best of my friends, possessed by the lust for knowledge in the field of political economy, has gobbled up the latest issue of the magazine, in connection with which I kindly request the editors, in case of the availability of spare copies, to be generous enough to send me such-and-such issue.

Sometime later, I received a parcel from London, half a bag of copies of one and the same issue of The Economist. Probably, with their inherent humor, Englishmen decided to foster my dog’s longing for learnedness.

Thus I gave her a shake-up. And on several more occasions I had offended her nastily and undeservedly. Now it’s a pain to remember, and a shame to describe…

But she harbored no grudge against me. When I returned from business trips abroad, she was beside herself with joy. She jumped at me, spun her tail, squealed… Master! You are back home! It’s so great!

I had brought her a dog collar from Berlin (here is a present for you from the land of your forefathers). And here is a tin of dog food from Malta, a delicacy from Europe.

Time went by. And then there occurred what always occurs in fairy tales. An ugly duckling turned into a swan. Lada became a big and beautiful German sheepdog featuring a finely shaped head and dark almond eyes that looked with attention and devotion. Stand-up ears rotated now this way, now that, like radars in search of a sound.

And how she ran! She was literally flying, barely touching the land with her paws…

My wife and I decided to attend a dog show with her. To see others, to show ourselves, so to say.

We didn’t like the German shepherds at the show very much . They were all so small, kind of hunchbacks. Our Lada was bigger and heftier than some males.

We found ourselves by chance at a table where dogs, participants of the show, were registered.

"Your documents, please", - a strict-looking lady over the table addressed us. Sure enough, she was in charge of the proceedings. Not very young, and with gray hair in natty curls. She smokes not a lady’s cigarette, but a papirosa, a paper-tipped cigarette with strong tobacco without a filter.

We’re not participants, actually. We’ve come just for the fun of it", - I said. – "We don’t even have a pedigree certificate".

The strict-looking lady looked carefully at Lada, drew on her cigarette.

"That’s a pity. This one would decorate a magazine cover. A regular beauty!"

She was not just beautiful. She was intelligent. I taught her easily all of the dog tricks. She understood everything that was required of her.

I could lay down a piece of sausage before her, and saying: “Guard it!” , go away in full confidence that the sausage was in safe keeping despite the watchman’s watering mouth.

Taking anything from the table was unthinkable, be it even meat just brought from the market. In such cases she only sat down by the table and tilted her head. Will you give me a tiny bit, master? Not to give was impossible.

As she grew up, she began to behave differently. She would come into the kitchen from the garden, lie down in her corner and stay there making her presence felt as little as possible. But once, in a talk, I put in: “Lada come!” she would rush out from her corner, and sit down opposite me in anticipation of further orders.

Sometimes she afforded a lady’s weakness. She would come up to me and lay her head gently down on my knee. Please, stroke. I stroked warm velvety head. She closed her eyes blissfully.

Sometimes it seemed to me that our dog was much too pampered and would not perform her primary canine function – will not display aggression against an unwelcome guest. This is all the more important given that there is a car in our garden (if such a trashy thing as Zaporozhets can be referred to so) plus a shed with tools. Quite a lure to a thief.

I invited a dog instructor for training her. He had arrived at the appointed time. In a protective suit, he cautiously entered our garden. At his signal, I set the dog loose. She darted headlong at the instructor. He proffered her a dog bite sleeve. But she felled him and dashed at the unprotected head. Proficiently experienced in dog fighting, the instructor instantly used the sleeve to fend off the assault. Lada hanged on him like grim death. In vain did he try to shake her off.

Finished! Pull the dog away!" – he yelled.

I dragged Lada away with difficulty. She growled maliciously. Master! Let me go! Lemme at him! He’s a dangerous type. He’s trespassed on OUR garden…

I led her away into the garden and tied to an apple tree.

Then I returned to discuss the lesson with the instructor.

He was putting his damaged gear in order.

"Your dog is doing a good job. Sleep quietly. She won’t let a stranger in. Yours is a hellish brute."

Winter had come… I was clearing snow on the street. Suddenly, I heard something like a dog’s squeal far away. I kept throwing the snow. All at once a wicket gate swung open, my son sprang out and cried: “Lada cut herself!” I followed him hurriedly.

Lada was lying with her head on her forepaws. The snow around her was thickly bespattered with blood. She looked scared. Excuse me, master. It was just an accident. I chased a sparrow and cut myself against a nail in the fence…

I examined her right forepaw above the elbow and my heart stopped. The wound was terrible. A bone was exposed. Blood was gushing out of the vein. My son fetched a rubber band from his car first aid kit. We tied it very tightly above the wound. I carried her into the kitchen. My son ran for a vet. I stayed with Lada, keeping my hands on her wounds. They quickly became sticky.The veterinarian Yevgeniya Ivanovna, a big mannish woman, arrived in her jeep rather soon. Before entering the house, she asked me to muzzle the dog.

Lada met her on three paws with a fierce roar. The vet completely ignored it.

"Now there… I’ve seen many like you. Put the dog down on the table."

"But how?" – I enquired.

"That’s how!" She grabbed a fifty-kilo creature and flopped it down on the table like a kitten. "Keep her legs crossed!"

I obeyed. Lada started shivering with fear.

The lamp light is dazzling. A terrible woman starts doing dreadful things. Oh, she hurts! She’s cutting out a piece of my paw! She is stabbing needles!! What a phantom!!! It’s TERRIBLE…

The vet bandaged the sutures.

"That’s all! Take her away!"

Cautiously, I remove Lada to the kitchen corner. She is so sacred, she doesn’t respond to anything.

"The wound is serious","My dear Lada! Please be patient, darling! This too shall pass… "

The cut took long to scar over. But it must be a truism that: “All heals up on dogs”.

One day we decided to take in a kitten. The house must be protected against mice. Lada categorically refused to accept the newcomer. What a scandal! The Master’s hands, which had always caressed her, are now stroking that caddish grinning cat! Not in my dog’s life! So, we had to give back the kitten.Since then cats have become her bitter enemies, and those who did enter our garden, by day or night, ended up badly… Some cat, probably wishing not to give up without fighting, tore her ear. We had to call Yevgeniya Ivanovna once more. On seeing her, Lada shivered with fear… Again that monster with needles?- Yevgeniya Ivanovna says. "The biggest of the veins is ruptured. It won’t work any more. But the blood supply will be restored by other channels. The dog is young and healthy, so everything must heal up over time. "

I passed that night in the kitchen with Lada. Her groans became heartrending. Probably, the pain was becoming unbearable. I could do nothing but stroke her. Finally, Lada could stand it no more. She crept up to me, poked her muzzle into my lap and began to whimper and to cry…

For the sake of her health, we decided she should pup.

She gave birth to nine puppies. Three died in the first days due to our inexperience. But those who survived were outstanding specimens of the canine race. All were robust and big-headed creatures. Take one in hands and you can’t help admiring a charming little fellow!

We feared we would have a hell of trouble with that caboodle. Each of them eats and, consequently, relieves itself. But we didn’t have any problems with that. Lada ate up their emissions and then licked off the traces. Thus she maintained “the children’s corner” in an ideal sanitary condition. She licked the puppies’ bellies and genitals. Their hair glistened. Looking at them snuggled up at her teats, sucking on them vigorously, while she was diligently and lovingly licking their bodies, one couldn’t help crying out “Thank you for our happy childhood, Mom”.

But ill fate awaited us. Suddenly, Lada refused to suckle her pups. And then she herself refused to eat. She became dull. Scouring began.The pups followed suit immediately. Can you imagine what our “pups corner” and the kitchen turned into very soon despite all our countermeasures? Six pups squirted like jet rockets. In the meantime their mother lay listlessly under the table and groaned. We rang up the dog breeder. What should we do? But got no sensible answer. So, we put Lada into the car, placed one pup into the box as a specimen, and went off to a vet hospital. A medical checkup. Analyses. Costly medicines. And then daily multiple injections to the entire litter. We did save them all. And cured their mother.Time had come to sell the pups. And that’s when the breeder popped up. Did you use my male for mating? You did. I charge two hundred bucks for that. Or give me two of your pups.

I was indignant to hear that. Where were you when the epidemic catastrophe befell us? You didn’t show your nose. But now that it’s come to money, you are up and demanding. Take any one of you like. And don’t ask for anything else.

She took the sole male puppy and flung off without saying good-bye. I knew I had acquired a deadly enemy...

It took us ages to sell the pups. But all of them had gone to kindly hands.

We disassembled “the children’s corner”. And tidied up the kitchen. Life took its normal course…

Work. Jogging in the park with the dog. A daily routine testifying to life and business as per usual.

However, we noticed recently that Lada became sad. She refused to eat. Ah, this happens to dogs every now and then, we thought. But she hasn’t eaten anything for a third day. The hospital where our pups had been treated was closed. We went to another one."Let’s apply a dropping tube technique." a young man in a light green smock suggested.

The following morning, she was in a worse condition. It looked to me like her throat had swollen. Again we took her to the hospital. The same technique was applied to her.

At noon her neck swelled up. She began to choke, and then to wheeze. We called Yevgeniya Ivanovna. Come quick. The dog is real bad.Yegeniay Ivanovna woman had come.

"My God! What have you been doing?"

"Taking her to the hospital for dropping tube treatment."

"What dropping tubes?! The fluid must be drained, not introduced! Let’s operate on her immediately!"

We laid her down on the table. She hardly resisted. There was no strength left in her.

A bright beam from the lamp strikes her straight in the eyes. A terrible woman starts doing dreadful things.

Yevgeniya Ivanovna shaved a patch under her throat. Took a thick needle in the form of a tube.

I saw Lada’s eyes full of horror. I love you, Master! Protect me!!! Yevgeniya Ivanovna stabbed a needle under her throat…

A trickle of blood dribbled from the tube…

The vet took a second needle. Another jab under the throat.

She’s gotten at me, eventually. I was right fearing her. – Lada jerked. A jet of urine squirted from under her tail. Her body slackened…"That’s all," - the vet said, unbending over the body.

We stood stock-still. It can’t be! It’s impossible!

No use to describe our condition…

I leaned over her. Lada, are you not any more? Tears welled up and flowed from my eyes.

"Cut out the sentiments," - Yevgeniya Ivanovna interposed.

She prized open the dog’s mouth, pulled out the tongue. Under it was a huge livid tumor, the size of a fist…

"Why! Those were some experts, dash my wig! Couldn’t they at least look into the dog’s mouth? " She shook her head. "Will you bury her yourselves or shall I take her away with me?"

"Take her away", - my wife said. – "Already, we’ve got quite a cemetery in our garden.""Wrap her up in a blanket and bring out to my car," - ordered the vet. – "You owe me seven hundred rubles."I took the still warm body out into the street. Placed her on the seat in the Jeep.

"Put her down on the floor or she will soil the seat cover," - Yevgeniya Ivanovna observed. – "Next time I advise you to take an Asian sheepdog. Superior health and a reliable watchman."She lit a cigarette, switched on her Jeep and went…

Several days passed.

What a gnawing emptiness in the garden. What a hole in the soul… For three years you have been by my side. You ran along with me over grass. And swam over water, keeping your ears down to your head and snorting. I enjoyed your company. As you did mine.

You loved me for nothing at all, little as I deserved your love. You never asked anything of me, except for stroking your head occasionally. I knew you were prepared to follow me into the fire. Meantime, I seem to have missed out on your inoculations. Forgive me, Lada…

My wife enters the room where I sit over my computer. She glanced at the monitor.

"You’ve written a story about her, haven’t you? "

"I really have. "

"I wonder if we should grieve so over her. She was just a dog." "Yes, she was a dog, I said. – but aren’t we humans?"

My wife showed me a newspaper with pups-for-sale advertisements. "Look for a proper candidate here. After all, one can’t live in a private house without a dog…"