My brother is smaller. William Fedorovich Kozlov

1
It so happened that I was left alone. I returned from a business trip, and at the door of my apartment there was a laconic but expressive note: “The apartment has been exchanged. Your suitcase is with the neighbors. Lina. Lina is my ex-wife. The handwriting is hasty and careless. After staring at the door so familiar, upholstered in brown leatherette - we lived in this apartment for five years - I, now my ex-husband, put a crumpled piece of some kind of receipt with a note on the back into my pocket and went to the neighbors who lived on the floor below.

I can't say that I was particularly surprised by what happened. Our family life fell apart a long time ago, and we, already divorced, lived side by side by inertia, waiting for someone to be the first to put an end to this bleak existence. And this is what Lina did. I marveled at only one thing: why, when she saw me off on a business trip, did she not say that she would finish the deal with the exchange of the apartment in my absence? And even on the threshold she gently kissed - probably also out of habit, out of inertia ...

However, this story is not about my failed family life, but about something completely different. About another life - and also, one might say, a failed one.

As I approached the neighbors' door, I heard barking. It was the voice of Karai. I have always marveled at his amazing ability to smell me through thick brick walls. As soon as I went up to my landing at any time of the day or night, Karay burst into joyful barking. In fairness, it must be said that there were exceptions: for example, when I returned home from the guests drunk, Karay not only did not bark, but also did not meet me on the threshold, did not jump on his chest. For some reason, at such moments, he preferred not to show himself to my eyes at all. Not because, God forbid, that I, for example, could hit him or offend him - on the contrary, I loved him even more and tried to prove it to him with words and affection, but he obviously did not take all these signs of attention seriously, as a sober person does not take seriously the drunken chatter of a friend, such as “Do you respect me? ...” Karay could not stand even the smell of alcohol.

However, these are trifles. For all the years that Karay lived with us, he never ceased to amaze me for a variety of reasons.

… Karai is a purebred Airedale Terrier. I still have his pedigree, which any aristocrat could envy. The pedigree traced something like fifteen generations. All my Karay's ancestors were medalists and champions in their dog business. His grandfather, Zaisan, was the champion of the Soviet Union, and his father, Sambo, was the champion of Leningrad. The mother, Gypsy, was distinguished by her magnificent exterior and beauty, for which she received medals at each exhibition.

Karay, presumably, went to his parents, but, to his misfortune, the owner he came across was not too conceited. I must admit that the chest of this noble offspring of such glorious parents was not adorned with a single failing medal. And, of course, I was the only one to blame.

When Karay was two years old and he went through the usual training course with me on the dog playground, I took him to the city show, where I hoped to win all the gold and silver medals together with my talented dog. Such inexcusable self-confidence was inspired by his magnificent pedigree ...

I remember it was the end of May. At the green stadium, where the exhibition of service dogs was opened, there was a long judging table, at which very respectable and serious dog breeders sat. They were talking quietly among themselves and without any interest looked at the owners of the dogs: in my opinion, they did not notice us at all, just as the Gypsies do not notice the cart and harness, concentrating all their attention on the horse. Interest appeared in the eyes of the judges only when they examined the dogs.

The battle for medals began rather tediously and primitively: we, the owners of the dogs, walked around the lawn with them around a long table, and the stern judges, after conferring among themselves, asked one or the other of us to move from such and such a place to such and such. I, for some reason, found myself at the very end of this strange procession, slowly moved forward. An overweight retired major general (on this occasion he put on a uniform with numerous order blocks) marched in front of me, as if in a parade. The cockade on his cap, trimmed with gold cord, let out dazzling bunnies. A lanky, skinny Airedale terrier trotted absently at his foot. Unlike the general, who was completely imbued with responsibility for everything that happened, his dog did not behave quite decently. He twirled his hatchet-shaped head with a scrawny beard, every minute poked his nose into the cut grass, sniffed out something, squinting his brown eye, turned to Karay, clearly showed a desire to get to know him better ... And all this happened at a time when he was supposed to step decorously, with dignity, at the feet of his master. Finally, the dog was disgraced when they were told to stop. Instead of crouching beside his master like a long-eared column, he madly rushed off somewhere to the side, but the general held him back by pulling on the leash, and then the excited Airedale gracefully lifted his shaggy leg and, looking at the judges with an intelligent, concentrated look, sprinkled the owner’s trousers with bright red lampas.

Not appreciating the canine humor, the judges asked the general to move two places further at once. I was even closer to the start of our little procession. The award, as they say, was within easy reach: the fact is that the first three were awarded diplomas and medals. When there were only two people in front of me and I was already excitedly looking forward to how I would attach the first, even bronze, medal for exterior to Karay's collar, something irreparable happened: the judge casually called me to him and began to meticulously examine Karay. Not in the least afraid that he would bite his hand, he pulled his lip, revealing white and even teeth like a dog's selection. Karay's bite was impeccable. Then he began to knead the muscles of the paws, squeeze the joints, examine the ears, feel the hair ... At the last one, we cut ourselves off! Not wanting to torture the puppy with plucking, I always trimmed Karai with scissors - as a result, the coat turned out to be softer than expected.

When the judge busily showed me where to stand (I again had to follow the general), I spat on all this rigmarole and left the stadium. I was tired of walking in circles as usual, especially since the heat was becoming more and more unbearable. Respectable dog owners wiped sweat from their faces and bald spots with handkerchiefs. The red-faced retired general, perked up after my defeat, made a serious suggestion to his Airedale, and now he obediently trotted close to the sprinkled leg of the owner. He didn't look back at the other dogs. In addition, I was tired of being "Punish" - the judges called us all by the nicknames of our dogs; the general, for example, was called Tyupa, and a respectable citizen in a straw hat, apparently, was the head of some large enterprise, Naida. Yes, what you will not endure for the sake of a medal for your beloved dog! ..

Getting home with transfers by tram (dogs are not allowed on other modes of transport), I absently hummed the words of an old song: “They didn’t give us medals…” Unlike my cheerful and philosophical dog, who, apparently, didn’t give a damn about all the insignia in the world, I was, to put it mildly, a little disappointed.

This was the first and last attempt to raise Karay to the dog Olympus, the road to which, overcoming all the ingenious barriers, his glorious ancestors trodden at one time.

And now we were left alone: ​​Karay and I. We live in a huge communal apartment in Baskov lane. My dog ​​turned out to be extremely accommodating and quickly won the favor of numerous neighbors. From time to time they knocked on the door and offered him leftover soup, bones, or some other dog treat. And when I was not there, they put saucepans and plates on the floor by the door. It happened that in the dark I touched them and knocked over ...

In the yard - late Leningrad autumn, rain pours outside the window. You can hear the water rushing from the drainpipes onto the pavement. I sit at my desk, and Karay lies by the inactive fireplace on his checkered bedding. The bluish light from the table lamp (at this time of the year it is dark in my room even during the day) falls on Karay's curly hair. The black and gray rings on his back glisten, and his lively brown eyes glisten. And they are directed at me. I feel it in the back of my head. I also hear heavy sighs with a muffled howl (this is how a man sighs, crushed by unbearable