Ive already decided everything, Mum, dont start anew! Charlie stared stubbornly out of the window.
Youre just a traitor!
Me?!! the boy gasped, his indignation turning to fury. He stormed out of the room, slammed the door, and buried his face in the pillow, slipping into memory.
Summer. Charlie had turned fourteen. For his birthday his father gave him a brilliant trick bike, the one the boy had been dreaming about. Charlie spent whole days racing with the lads down the lane, forgetting that his fathers own birthday was approaching. Grandfather Albert pulled the boy back to reality.
Charlie, have you got a present ready for Dad yet?
No, the grandson stammered. Granddad, what am I supposed to give him?
If you dont mind, I can help. Well make it together.
For two weeks Charlie and Albert laboured over a gifta carved wooden keyrack. They sawed, burned, sanded, and screwed in delicate turned hooks. Charlie worked side by side with his grandfather, even forgetting his new bike for a spell.
On his fathers birthday James was unusually cheerful and sprightly. He accepted congratulations with a smile, praised Charlies handiwork, hugged and kissed Albert. Mother Elizabeth handed James a particularly fashionable coat; he joked that if he didnt have such a remarkable wife, he could even marry the coat itself. Elizabeth, with a teasing flick of a towel, replied that shed never seen such a blindingly white coat.
When they were all seated around the festive table at the cottage, James suddenly announced:
And now, my dears, forgive me, but I have also made a present for myself. I have finally fulfilled a childhood dream.
He rushed to the garden shed where a rusted engine had once stalled a tractor, returned with a wicker basket. Charlie glanced inside and gasped: a plump black puppy lay peacefully curled.
Meet Dawson.
Mother Elizabeth, eyes narrowed at James, could only manage:
Well, James, youve outdone yourself!
James smiled with a childlike grin, crinkling his nose at the pup, his heart melting. Charlie was instantly smitten.
Soon everyone adored Dawson. The little black bulldog, though not a day old, grew quickly into a powerful, broadchested beast with a surprisingly calm, optimistic temperament. He loved James above all, as if he understood that James was the most important person in his canine life. He adored the rest of the family too, playing chase with Charlie, lounging lazily at the kitchen table while Mother cooked, joining Grandfather on the porch when guests arrived, and even watching television with a lazy stare. For James he would have walked through fire and water; he once rescued him from a serious mishap.
One evening James, as usual, took Dawson for a walk in the old park behind the house. They left late, the streets empty, and James, unusually, let the dog off the leash. Dawson instantly vanished into the nearby bushes, attending to his secret canine business. James ambled slowly along the lane, occasionally calling to keep the dog from straying too far.
Lost in his thoughts, he didnt notice two figures emerging from the darkness onto the path.
So, whatll it be, a cigarette or some money? the rougher of the pair rasped.
Ive got neither, James replied kindly. I dont smoke, Im not after caps.
Youll have a go then? the other snorted.
Whats that for? James asked.
Look at me, you rogue! one of the thugs stepped forward, flicking a sharp object from his pocket.
At that moment Dawson burst from the bushes onto the path, black as soot, broadchested and looming in the moonlight. The thugs froze, eyes widening.
Over here!
James slipped the leash back onto Dawson and calmly said:
Go on, lads, dont cause trouble. I have nothing you need, and Id advise you not to provoke the dog.
Later, James would say, if theyd known Dawson wouldnt bite a fly, theyd have thought twice before bothering him.
Charlie was convinced that gentle, placid Dawson would never let James be hurt. The only time Dawson couldnt help was when James fell ill suddenly, a swift fouryear battle with leukaemia ending his life. Charlie was then eleven.
From that day Dawson never left Charlies side, just as he had never left James. It was as if the dog sensed his young master needed protection, and for a long stretch the old mans absence lingered like a distant shadow.
Charlie sobbed. He was now fifty. A year ago his mother met Graham, a decent man who treated Charlie well. Two months earlier, when Graham moved in, it emerged he was allergic to dogs. At first there was no trouble, but once they all lived together, he began to wheeze. Mother started urging Charlie to give Dawson away.
Charlie couldnt believe it, but he clenched his teeth and, honestly, tried every friend, hunting for a family that might take Dawson. Every time he looked at the dog, tears welled up. No one seemed ready to shoulder the responsibility of a creature like Dawson.
Grandfather Albert could no longer look after Dawson; his frail body could not manage the bulldog any longer.
I wont send him to a shelter! he declared after yet another heated discussion. He cant go there! Hes ours!
Charlie, Graham is ours now, too. Hes family. Mother fought back tears. Do you think a dog is more precious than a person? Than me? Than Graham?
Mum, dont be angry. Graham is dear, yes. Dawson is my family. Mine, yours, and Papas. Charlie burst out, his voice cracking. Mum, lets move in with Granddad. We wont be a bother. And we we wont
And what am I to do, split my life between two houses, work, and now run around the city for chores? Mother complained.
Charlie stared at the keyrack hanging in the hallway, the leash still dangling from Dawsons collar, and stubbornly declared hed decided everything.
Thats when Mother finally called him a traitor.
Liddell, Granddad said over the phone one evening, let Charlie stay with me. Well sort the household; its not the first time. And itll be easier for me, having an extra pair of hands.
Youre right, Liddell, Graham nodded, patting his cheek. Hell help Granddad, and we wont have to part with the dog.
A click of a lock sounded, and Dawson slipped into the narrow corridor, followed by Charlie with a large sports bag.
All right, Granddad, weve got Mum! Graham helped! Now well all live together!
Dawson gave a contented grunt and settled near his usual spot by the television.
Charlie, Granddads voice crackled over the line, sounding guilty, something feels off. My heart aches this morning. How long more?
Oh, Granddad, why didnt you call earlier! Im on my way!
Ivan hurried away from his teacher and raced home. By the time he arrived, the ambulance was already there, and Granddad lay on the porch.
Thank you, Margaret Sergeevna, for looking after him. Im on my own now.
Together with Dawson, the black bulldog, they escorted the paramedics in.
Dont be scared, he said, holding the curious dogs collar, Dawson is gentle, he wont bite.
Im not scared. The young nurse stepped into the room after the doctor, her eyes wide at his grim look. He just looks solemn.
Its serious, young man. He has heart trouble thats only just appeared. Ive given him a prescription and will write a referral. It would be good to arrange a drip at home. Do you know anyone who could do it?
No. Charlie answered, feeling helpless. We have nobody.
I wouldnt recommend the hospitals right now. the doctor glanced at his pale assistant, Ksyusha, and added, maybe you could come by?
Ill pay, Charlie said, his voice trembling, looking at Ksyusha. Im a university student and I work parttime.
Im not worried, the nurse smiled. Ill come as long as the dog doesnt eat me.
She settled on Dawson, who was sprawled lazily in the middle of the room, and winked at him. Dawson tucked his tongue back, tilted his head, and watched her intently.
Not a bite! Of course not! Charlie exclaimed. Alright, Mrs. Wilson, Ill fetch everything we need. Ill leave the key for you.
Call us today. Ill drop by tomorrow and well talk. Just call me Ksyusha, not Mrs. Wilson.
Very well. Im Ivan, like my Granddad.
See you soon, Ivan.
Charlie raced to the pharmacy, poured tea for Granddad, and set off for a stroll with Dawson.
Did you like her? Granddad asked as the boy returned.
Ksyusha? Yes, shes sympathetic and agreed to help.
She seems a good person. You, Charlie, are quite the catch.
Ksyusha visited Ivan Alexeyevich as promised. Charlie, when home, saw her leaving with Dawson and the dogs heavy frame. She no longer feared the bulldogs formidable look. Their walks with Ivan became more frequent and longer, the young couple spending increasingly more time together.
A year later a little boy named Thomas was born. The proud Dawson, together with everyone, met Ksyusha at the maternity ward and never left his side again.
He swapped his favourite spot by the television for the nursery, sleeping beside the cot, growling protectively if Thomas stirred, and sniffing the tiny fingers with restless curiosity. On walks he guarded the pram, becoming the fiercest defender the infant could have.
Thomas began to grasp Dawsons collar, taking tentative steps, while the old dog, now fifteen, moved slowly, his ears twitching whenever the baby wailed loudly.
Granddad seemed to regain youth, driving around with his grandson in sheer delight, rarely venturing out alone except occasionally with Charlie.
Charlie placed Ivan Alexeyevichs name on a small bench by the house, while faithful Dawson curled at the foot of the gate. Thus they lived.
Ivan Alexeyevich, Im stepping into the shop for a minute, okay? Thomas is still sleeping, only a few more minutes. Ill be back quickly.
Go on, Ksyusha, dont worry, everything will be fine. Ivan smiled. Thomas and I will manage. And Charlie will be here soon.
I wanted to call Charlie, ask him to pop into the shop, but his phone is off. Weve run out of milk, and the babys nappies are finished.
Ksyusha, dont scold me. You worry too much about us. Go calmly, no rush.
Ksyusha hurried away. Ivan Alexeyevich settled into his armchair, turned the TV down so Thomas wouldnt miss a thing, and suddenly felt a sharp pain behind his ribs. Breath grew shallow. He tried to sit up, but his body slumped back. The prescription lay on the table. His vision dimmed
Dawson barked once, leapt onto the armchair, licking the boys face, his paws on the boys hands.
Thomas sobbed, his tiny body shaking, and the dog lunged into the adjoining room. Seeing Dawson, the infant giggled, chattered something in his own language.
Dawson returned to the armchair. The owner lay motionless. The bulldog gave a short, puzzled growl, looking at the ceiling. Thomas, still wailing, tried to push the door open.
The door, which Ksyusha had left ajar, swung shut abruptly. Dawson burst into the hallway.
Margaret Sergeevna was bustling in the kitchen when a sudden knock at the door startled her. She listened, then smiled as Dawsons bark echoed. Someone was at the door the neighbors, the doctor, Ksyusha. The knocking continued; Margaret opened the door. Dawson, breathing heavily, let out a low whine.
Whats wrong, Dawson? Something happened? the neighbour asked, stepping in with the dog. The doors open.
Ksyusha! she called.
From the bedroom rose Thomass cries. Seeing Ivan on the sofa, Margaret gasped and lunged toward him. Dawson fled to the adjacent room. Thomas stopped crying.
Charlie, youve betrayed me. I shouldnt have left. Ksyusha, like a tiny girl, dabbed her cheeks with a napkin. If only Dawson hadnt She pressed her face against the heavy head of the bulldog.
Its all right, dear, its passed. Ivan embraced his wife.
Dawson looked closely at his master.
Well done, truly the best dog in the world!
In the room Granddad whispered something to Thomas. The baby burst into a hoarse laugh.
The grey snout of the old bulldog lay on the floor, eyes lovingly fixed on the people he loved most.
