Marat will certainly grow wolfhound - a great dog, a real protector and guard.

In the late seventies of the last century, our family lived in a small village in the Moldavian SSR. One dad, who drove refrigerators, brought home a puppy. He said that he picked up on the roadside, apparently, someone threw the dog out of the car.

I'm an eight shrimp, of course, I came to the indescribable delight! My God, what is he was a pretty - a fur ball on a short powerful legs and two beady eyes.

I squeezed the puppy until he began to fight back and poskulivat while Dad took from me Marat, explained that he was still a child at all, because he wanted peace and restful sleep. This dad came up with a puppy called Marat. Why Marat - I do not know. Even the pope said that Marat will certainly grow wolfhound - a great dog, a real protector and guard.

Wolfhound of Marat, however, did not happen, but vymahal pretty dog. One year later, the fluffy bumpkin was unrecognizable lump squeaky, which dad brought home.

We were good friends with Marat. Papa often went into flying, my mother from morning till night was in school, I was returning from training, you untying the dog, and we raced with him in the field, to the river - swimming, rushed like mad. Marat loved me, but most of all he loved, of course, Dad. If I was to Marat equal, a friend, the Pope, he is revered as a leader. The dog is always waiting for my father to return, certainly he knew when Dad arrives.

No mobile was not there, because Dad could not tell when it will be at home, but my mother every time began to gather on the table when Marat, suddenly rushed to play with me, froze at the gate, staring at the road. It was a sure sign that in a few hours for our narrow street, kicking up clouds of dust, my father's will drive a huge van squeak brakes and stopped near the front garden.

At the same moment Marat rushed to the driver's door and froze have footrests, with ill-restrained excitement waiting for the host appears. And when the owner appeared, the dog could not be appeased. Marat dad licked from head to toe and only calmed down when out of the house with a bucket of warm water came out mom and dad was taken to wash.

The day Marat was restless in the morning. Loitering (namely loitering) across the yard from time to time lay in the shade of plum, then suddenly broke away, ran to the gate, anxiously looked at the road, but without waiting for the familiar rumbling truck, heavy, almost human, sighed and trudged back under the sink. By the evening he was already just not himself. Neither me nor my mother did not pay any attention, he rushed from the drain to the gate, and wailed loudly. We could not understand what was happening, my mother even suggested that Marat was sick. But he has not fallen ill, he just sensed trouble.

It's almost in the night on a motorcycle policeman arrived, and with it - a fat guy, the director of my father's motorcade. They hesitated for a long time, asked to take me, but I have not gone. In the end a fat guy said that under the Tiraspol there was a terrible accident - my father's van rolled over, Dad died.

We began to live three - myself, my mother and Marat. Mom is now spent all day long in school - the house could not be located. I knew it and did not condemn - are all reminiscent of his father, everything was done with his hands: he planted our plums, he took care of the vineyard, he broke the flowerbed, he built a gazebo. We Marat no longer running and besilis. The dog scared missed - emaciated, once thick hair climbed tufts, and his eyes were huge, huge mountain.

We Marat went to the cemetery almost every day - bring flowers and dad were sitting near the grave mound until it began to get dark. So two years passed, and the third mother brought us Peter ... She said that she and Peter love each other, and it will have to live now. Peter treated me bad, bought dolls and candy, but I am by his side. My mother said that Peter offended that I did not want to call him Dad. And how could I call Peter dad when my real dad and dearest lay in the cemetery, and every day I went to his grave? Marat, too, did not recognize Peter for his, in fact - despised. If porridge or soup in a bowl pour Marat Peter dog to eat or touch. Peter pouted, mother nervous, and we held each other Marat. "Ripe" - so said about us Marat mother.

Then things got really bad - Peter started chickens. My mother did not mind, saying that the chickens - family help. What other help, if they ruined all the beds arranged dad ... Marat suffered these insolent invaders a month or two, and then could not resist - a couple strangled. What's happened! Peter fell into a rage. But the worst thing - my mother took his side. Together they decided to get rid of Marat.

I was crying, saying that go with the dog, but nobody listened to me. And I could in his early eleven years? Marat was thrown out of the gate. He immediately understood and did not ask ago - proudly walked away, walked aimlessly. Only once I turned. Like as interested - I was with him or not?

I stayed with my mother and with Peter ... Well, how could I leave my mother? Especially since she was expecting a baby ...
Marat forgive my cowardice. Every time we met in the village, he wagged his tail affably, but treats out of my hands now do not take. He lived hard, hungry. Good people fed the dog, but can not eat alms - Marat completely emaciated.

Sometimes, as in the past, we used to go with him to the grave of the Pope, but the cemetery dog ​​tried to keep me at a distance - say, I love you, Anna, of course, do not blame, but the former friendship between us is now impossible. The front garden is our Marat get round. I think he even our street did not go - whether out of pride, or not to be tormented by memories of past happy days.

But once the dog still appeared in our yard. Where did he come - I'll never know, both from the ground he jumped. It Was August evening. Peter was busy in the paddock with my chickens, my mother under the sink to bathe in a small trough Andrey - my brother. Swim, mother wrapped the baby in a towel and carried home - fed and put to bed.

And then it turned out to be on the doorstep and Marat. He looked terribly -sherst hung in tatters, skinny hips in repyah, eyes watering. But he obviously did not come to beg, do not repent and do not ask back. Seeing the approaching mother with a baby lying on the steps of the dog rose, bared his fangs and scary growl. Honestly, I had never heard of Marat growled at someone of their own. Mom froze in fright, and I tried to calm down the dog: "Marat, Maratika. Hello, darling ... Let us pass, please, kids need to eat and sleep. "

I tried to pet him, but he yelled and nearly rubles gained my fingers. I screamed, he ran to the noise Peter with a stick in his hands. The stick did not make any impression on Marat - he sat scherilsya and roared louder and louder. "Get out of here, dog!" -Petr Swung at Marat stick.

It seemed to me that he wants to throw her dog in the head, and I hung on to the hands of Peter: "Do not you dare!»
At this point, the earth trembled. Inside the house, something cracked and boomed, framed glass rained down. House tilted so that its hinges tore the front door - Marat barely had time to jump.

Romania came from the earthquake caused a lot of trouble then. Our house had a long time to recover. But it does not matter. The trouble would occur, go to Andrey mother's house. From quake cracked walls, ceilings collapsed, one of the beams crushed baby cot.

When the turmoil caused by the earthquake subsided a bit, I rushed to look for Marat. Mama and Peter were prepared to take the dog back -to the end, he saved our family from the terrible grief. But Marat never was - as the ground collapsed. He played his last duty to the family of beloved master and disappeared.

I will never met him, none of the township is also did not see the dog. Thank you, Marat! Every day I think of you and your dog, which is very similar to you, too, called Marat - in memory of you.



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