A single tear rolled down his muzzle. Slowly, Dunai made his way along the narrow trail behind the gardens, heading toward the woods. Deep within, he had long ago spotted an old spruce tree with a cozy hollow at its roots — a place he had chosen to stay forever…
Dawn had only just begun to paint the treetops in soft pink hues. The village was wrapped in morning stillness: the livestock still dozing, the houses silent. The beginning of September felt more like summer — warm and clear.
The old dog, who had spent the night on the porch, slowly rose. He looked at the quiet house, swayed a little, then headed toward the gate. He knew — it was time to go. Alone, so he wouldn’t cause his beloved humans any pain.
Dunai had lived a happy dog’s life. He never knew the chains of a kennel — always by the family’s side, in the house, in their hearts. He understood that his passing would bring sorrow to his owner, so he decided to spare him that grief. He would simply vanish.
Dunai often ran to that spruce tree, hiding there from his master. At first, Kolya had been annoyed by the habit, but later, they both laughed at the dog’s mischief. Now, that hollow seemed like the perfect place for a final rest.
“Just make it there… don’t fall…” Dunai thought as he neared the edge of the forest.
Suddenly, a puppy jumped out onto the path — scrawny, scruffy, barking with excitement.
“Who are you?” Dunai asked hoarsely.
“I ran away. My human drove me out. Said I wasn’t needed…” the puppy blurted out.
Dunai sighed. “Maybe… maybe my time here isn’t quite over?” he thought, looking at the little one. The puppy stared up at the old dog with hopeful eyes, clinging to the chance that he wasn’t alone anymore.
Nikolai gently slipped out from under his wife’s arm, poured himself a glass of kvass, and stepped onto the porch. Dunai hadn’t come inside the night before — he’d stayed out in the open. Nikolai was worried. His old friend had been fading fast.
Years ago, his grandfather had given him the puppy for his birthday — “Here’s your guard and your friend,” he had said. By then, the grandfather had signed the house over to Nikolai and moved in with a woman. From then on, Dunai had become a true member of the family.
He was a kind, cheerful dog, but a serious guard when needed. Over the years, he’d become the soul of the yard, and even the grumpy old grandfather had come to respect him.
But now, Dunai was old. Nikolai knew he didn’t have much time left. He stepped into the yard and called for him. Nothing.
Katya noticed her husband’s unease right away — something was wrong. Dunai had left. Where to — no one knew.
Meanwhile, Dunai was heading back. The puppy bounded along beside him, chattering questions, bouncing excitedly. Dunai grumbled, scolded, tried to teach him manners. “So much for a peaceful farewell…” he thought, sighing to himself.
When they returned to the yard, the family was already up. Seeing the dog and the puppy, Katya raised an eyebrow:
— “Did he… bring us a replacement?”
— “Looks like it,” Nikolai nodded.
Dunai lay down by the chair, tired but relieved. His master sat beside him.
— “No dying just yet. You brought him — now raise him.”
Dunai snorted, but agreed silently: “A little more… I can still teach a little.”
They named the pup Amur. He grew quickly, and Dunai did his best to pass on everything he knew. Nikolai continued the training.
— “So, who was your mentor?” Amur asked one day.
— “My master. Only him.”
— “He didn’t growl or bite?”
— “No. I was lucky.”
— “Guess I wasn’t, then…”
— “Don’t complain. You’ve landed with the best people. When I’m gone — you’ll protect them. Got it?”
— “Got it!” the puppy barked proudly.
Two months passed. November came with frost. Dunai could barely move. One morning, he lay in the yard watching Amur play. Suddenly, his body shuddered, his breath stopped. His soul slipped away…
Nikolai dropped to his knees, cradled the dog’s head, tears streaming down his face. Amur, sensing what had happened, howled toward the sky. The whole family gathered around Dunai. They buried him beneath that spruce in the woods.
— “He loved to hide here,” Nikolai said.
A year passed. November again. Amur, now big and strong, romped through the yard. As Nikolai left for work, he called out:
— “Amur, keep an eye on the house.”
— “Woof!” the dog answered, lying by the door.
And he thought: “I really am lucky…”
