A loyal dog waited at the village bus stop every day, hoping his owner would return from the city. Weeks passed, but no one came. Then, a man visiting his hometown noticed the dog’s quiet hope—and made a decision that changed both their lives.
“How’s everything in the city, son?” his mother asked as she bustled around the kitchen, placing warm pies on a plate.
Nikita smiled, watching the silver in her hair. She was always in motion, always doing something—only time had changed her.
“It’s peaceful, Mom. We finally finished the renovation.”
“And how did it turn out?” she sat beside him, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Sveta did great. She chose the wallpaper herself and even put it up. I helped with the ceilings and the wiring.”
“She’s a good one…”
“Yes, she is,” Nikita nodded. “Just tired lately. Teaching takes a lot out of her, and the renovation didn’t help.”
Outside, a neighbor’s cow mooed. The scent of fresh-cut grass and Mom’s pies filled the air. Just like childhood—only now, he was different. A city man.
“Let me fix that fence while I’m here. It’s really leaning.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, son.”
“No, it needs doing. And I’ll patch the barn roof too—it’s leaking, right?”
“It is,” she sighed. “I meant to call someone, but…”
He spent the whole day working. Fixed the fence, patched the roof, weeded the garden. His mother kept saying it wasn’t necessary, but Nikita knew—she was alone.
That evening, on the way to the store, he overheard the village grannies chatting:
“That dog’s still sitting at the bus stop.”
“How long now?”
“Must be a month since his owner went to the city.”
A large red dog sat near the bus stop. Every time a bus came, he would stand, look into the windows, then lie back down.
People had gotten used to it.
“Poor thing. Still hoping someone will come back.”
“Such loyal creatures, dogs.”
Nikita started paying attention. Something about the dog touched him—maybe the hope in its eyes, maybe the loyalty in its waiting.
“Whose dog is that?” he asked one day.
“It belonged to a man who used to live nearby,” an elderly neighbor replied. “He moved to the city to live with his daughter. The dog was left behind.”
Nikita brought food the next day. The dog hesitated, then cautiously came closer. It ate gently, politely. It had clearly been someone’s pet.
That night, Nikita stood on the porch, thinking.
“I’ll take him,” he said out loud without realizing.
“Take who?” his mom asked as she stepped outside.
“The dog. The one at the bus stop.”
“What?! Are you serious? You just finished fixing your apartment!”
“I know. But I can’t leave him. He won’t survive out here alone.”
“And what about Sveta? Have you even told her?”
“She likes dogs.”
“She may like them, but who’ll take care of it? You both work all day!”
She sat on the steps, shaking her head.
“You’ve always been like this. Remember when you brought that kitten home in fifth grade? Got sick, and who looked after it? Me!”
“Mom, I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Still the same heart though. Always rescuing someone… But did you think about your wife? About yourself? A dog is a big responsibility.”
“And leaving him there isn’t?” Nikita asked gently. “Is that right—to just abandon him?”
His mother was silent. Then she sighed.
“Do what you think is best. Just one thing.”
“What?”
“Call Sveta. Right now. Don’t let her feel like you just dumped this on her.”
He called, but couldn’t quite bring himself to say he was taking the dog. So he told her the story. About the loyal dog who waited.
The next day, Nikita went to the dog’s former home to ask permission to take him. The family agreed—on the condition that he would look after the dog well.
To make things official, Nikita called a friendly local officer for help.
In the car, as they drove home, Nikita glanced into the back seat. The dog was lying quietly, watching the road.
“Sveta’s going to kill me,” Nikita muttered, dialing her number.
“Where are you?” her familiar voice asked.
“On my way home. Not alone.”
“Oh no, don’t tell me…”
“Yes,” he exhaled. “I’m bringing the dog.”
Silence.
“The one from the bus stop?”
“Yeah.”
“You idiot,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “You big soft idiot. I love you.”
At home, the dog explored every corner. When it paused near the new sofa, Sveta raised an eyebrow.
“Not on the couch!” she joked.
The dog sighed and lay on the rug. Five minutes later, Sveta was on the rug too, hugging him.
“Who’s the best boy? You are!”
That night, as Nikita drifted off to sleep, he felt a warm body curl up at his feet. They let him on the bed in the end—where else would he go?
A week later, his mom called:
“That man came back—the one who used to own the dog. He asked around about him.”
Nikita tensed. “And?”
“Nothing. The officer had a word with him. He won’t cause trouble. He knows he gave up the right when he left.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“Son?”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Bring him next time you visit. I’ve got some bones ready. I already miss him.”
Nikita smiled.
“We’ll come this weekend, Mom.”
And Ryzhik, as if he understood every word, gently laid his head on Nikita’s knee. Maybe asking, maybe thanking. Or maybe just saying:
“Home.”
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only.
