The story the dog told the thistle

The shelter was located on the outskirts of town. It wasn't the largest, but it was the only one in the area. Getting there by car was difficult, as it was invisible from the street, and the entrance had to be found in the densely overgrown "wall" of greenery on the right. Once a week, a car with barred windows would leave, carrying two men dressed in pale green overalls. The car would return a few hours later, filled with animals that had wandered alone through the city and were then rounded up by shelter staff. They were then locked in individual cages. Small enough to take only a few steps, or perhaps even wander around if they needed exercise. But what good is such a cage for an animal accustomed to freedom and open space?

One day, the car returned from its weekly trip out of town. Dogs barked at the shelter. They barked at the mere sight of the car. They knew another "delivery" had arrived. The workers unpacked the small cages in which the animals were transported, and then the animals were moved to their new "homes."

One of them was an old dog. It was difficult to classify him as a breed. He was probably a German Shepherd-pointer mix. He was the only one who seemed calm. He was old, as you could tell, and utterly resigned. He seemed to have seen so much in the world that nothing could surprise him. Or perhaps he simply didn't want to live and didn't care what anyone did to him. He was placed in a cage adjacent to the shelter fence, where there were no "tenants" in the vicinity.

Just outside the trellis of his new apartment, a thistle grew. For days, the dog lay against this very trellis, gazing sadly at the plant. It looked as if they were talking to each other, but no one could tell. The thistle swayed lazily in the breeze and leaned toward the dog's cage. He, too, was old. He had been growing there for quite a few years. He had grown fond of his new neighbor. And so a friendship blossomed between the dog and the thistle.

One day, the dog began to talk to him. They couldn't communicate in either language. The dog spoke dog language, and the thistle responded with the gentle rustle of its thorns in the wind, but he decided that telling someone would ease his soul. It was a sad story, but it told the story of his entire life up until he arrived at the shelter.

"I know you can hear me. I know you can't answer me, or maybe you can, but I just don't understand you. When I was little, a man brought me to his house. Unfortunately, I don't remember my parents. This man had a wife and a son, who was an only child. I don't know why they didn't have more children. Perhaps they were too absorbed in their offspring, who seemed to be their whole life. They fulfilled his every whim. He always got what he wanted. I was one of his whims. He wanted a dog, so his father got one. I remember playing with him, and then, when I was bigger, he would go for walks with me. I loved those long autumn trips to the park or to the meadow outside the city, right next to the forest. I would run through the dry leaves in the autumn sun. I loved him very much, and perhaps it was this love that blinded me to the point that I didn't notice things that were obvious to others. The boy grew quickly, grew taller, and I didn't even notice when I started. Growing old. Perhaps that was the first time I saw the light.

My master no longer treated me the way he once did; he lost interest in me. He no longer took me for walks. From the moment other boys his age started coming to visit him, he no longer had time for me. I was fed, but the bowl that always held food was no longer washed, and the one that held water simply sat there. And when he remembered I was thirsty, he would pour me some stale liquid that might once have been water. I had previously slept right next to his bed, but he stopped letting me in there too. I found a spot on the mat by the door. I kept hoping that when he came home from school, he would pat me on the head and take me for a walk. In vain. But that was only the beginning of the difficult days to come.

He and his friends began to find some strange pleasure in tormenting me. His parents didn't react. They were still fixated on their "offspring." Sometimes, when he came home from school, I'd be fawning over him, just for a little petting, and he'd kick me. Once, he even broke a rib, and I had trouble moving. It healed, but occasionally, when I'm running and tired, I still get the pain.

One day he came home, and, as usual, I approached him with a humble face, asking him to pet me. He did so. I thought I would go crazy with joy. Then he took me for a walk. He was walking with his friends. They were talking in whispers, probably something cheerful, because they kept bursting into laughter. But then I realized what they meant. They tied a string to my tail and placed several cans on the other end. As I started moving, I heard a noise behind me. I started running. The noise didn't leave me, constantly chasing me, and I could still hear peals of laughter receding from me. I don't know how long I ran. After a while, I lost the string tied to my tail, but I was exhausted. After all, I'm old now.

I knew I was lost and wouldn't find my way home. I went to sleep under the nearest tree. I needed to rest.

For several days, I wandered around the city, hungry and exhausted. I searched the trash cans, hoping to find something to eat. When I was utterly exhausted and couldn't even stand on my own two men in green overalls approached me. They put me in a cage and brought me here. It's not the most pleasant place, but it's still a home. I'm old now, and I don't know how much longer I'll live."

So the dog and the thistle talked, weeping their sorrows.

Every few days, the dog dragged a bowl of water near the thistle and, scooping it up with his paw, watered it. They lived like this for days, weeks, months... The seasons changed.

One autumn morning, the dog didn't move again, nor did he drag the bowl of water or water the thistle. The thistle, in turn, stared at the motionless body lying in the cage. Then the men in green overalls came and took it away. The cage was empty again.

A few days later, the thistle withered.