The fourth story, "About whether it's possible to humanize

 

Mr. Atanazy's dog," was very ambitious. Definitely more ambitious than Mr. and Mrs. Sonia, who admittedly sent Sonia to school because they wanted a well-behaved companion dog, but when they realized Sonia had no such ambitions, they gave up. Mrs. Atanazy wouldn't let herself—or her dog—be at peace in the slightest. The golden Atanazy was supposed to be the absolute best. And in everything. He was supposed to be the prettiest, the best groomed, the most obedient, and have the most medals. Atanazy was supposed to stop being a dog altogether; he was supposed to become human!

Of course, Mrs. Atanazy wouldn't tell anyone she wanted to humanize her dog. She would consider it some kind of pyramid-shaped eccentricity.

"A humanized dog!" They didn't even show anything like that on television. It's a foolish idea—that's what Mrs. Atanazy would probably say when someone suggested her strange tendencies.

But all it took was a look at her behavior to see that, although she consciously didn't want to humanize Atanazy, she did everything she could to succeed.

***

"You see, Ewelinka," Atanazy's mother spoke to her daughter the day after the show, where Atanazy had only placed second. "The judges were prejudiced. That redheaded flounder who heads the jury has a great-aunt, who has a nephew, who has a cousin who breeds golden spaniels. So who do you think won? Of course, it was their dog. I investigated all this thoroughly, and of course, that's not so easy to detect. I'll make a scandal for the entire kennel club! I'll be performing at the next spaniel section!"

(In the Kennel Club, breeders and owners of various dog breeds meet and work in so-called "sections." While the word "section" itself can—with the right attitude—sound quite neutral, "spaniel section" or "German Shepherd section" are terms straight out of a horror movie.)

"And Aunt Hela?" the daughter asked.

"Aunt Hela? Aunt Hela is a little thing," Mr. Atanazy somewhat brutally summed up Aunt Hela. "She's only the vice-president and doesn't have much clout. The fact that Atanazy comes from her granddaughter's kennel and the fact that she's my cousin didn't really help much. Well, only second place really helped.

" "Well, yes. That's really bad luck. And how did Atanazy handle it all?"

"Of course, it was terrible. He was so excited before the show. He could barely sleep for two nights. I was even worried about how it would affect his appearance. But you know, Atanazy is a true professional. When it came time to prepare: brush his hair, do his nails (here you go, a perfect example of humanizing Atanazy; he doesn't have claws, he has nails that also need to be "done": trimmed and filed a bit. Fortunately, it's done without painting), apply a coat polish, he was, of course, very brave. And then, oh, how he looked afterwards," Atanazy's mother dreamily recalled the magnificent jog, during which Atanazy's carefully brushed hair waved in rhythm with his springy steps. "When the results were announced, he was simply devastated. It was painful to watch. I explained to him that it was all a trick, that he was the best anyway, and that next time... But he was still devastated."

"When's her next appointment with that dog therapist?" asked the young lady. Her personality surprisingly combined rationality (she was, after all, a successful accountant, skilled not only in company finances but also in quickly calculating how much that cell phone call would cost her) with a belief in all sorts of therapies, including canine psychotherapy.

"She's supposed to go tomorrow. Right after the show, I called Atanazy's hairdresser, and she somehow made an appointment for tomorrow, because Atanazy wasn't supposed to have a regular appointment for another two weeks. Those are the deadlines, and you have to act quickly.

" "Certainly. And how much will that visit cost?

An accountant's mind is an accountant's mind after all.

"

Mrs. Atanazy's dream was to have grandchildren. Admittedly, she was a little afraid she'd look older when her little ones, and then her ever-growing children, called her Grandma. On the other hand, she desperately wanted someone to take care of her. But in reality, she so desperately wanted to boss someone around. Mrs. Atanazy, who had long since forgotten what it was like with small children, who weren't often or easily bossed around, firmly believed she could handle it perfectly. She could already see, in her mind's eye, walking through the yard, holding her granddaughter's little paw in her slender and well-groomed hand (she preferred a granddaughter because, according to some, little girls have significantly more charm and grace than little boys), and all the neighbors marveling at how perfectly Grandma and granddaughter understood each other, how well they played together, and how pretty and "well-behaved" she was. Even better-behaved than Atanazy, who, after all, had his "moments of forgetfulness and insubordination," as his Mrs. Atanazy used to say.

Unfortunately, there was no indication that Mrs. Atanazy's dreams would come true anytime soon. Young Mrs. Atanazy was focused on her career. Her mother had told her so many times (while she was still in school) that she should study hard, and then (when she was already working) that she had to try hard, fulfill her duties perfectly, and that thanks to this, she would surely "achieve something," that Young Mrs. Atanazy took it so personally and completely failed to see the possibility of diligently fulfilling her work duties while also diligently fulfilling her motherly responsibilities.

Her attempts to convince Mrs. Atanazy that she would help, that she would take care of herself, were to no avail. Young Mrs. Atanazy knew she couldn't pass the exam and steadfastly refused to fulfill her own mother's dream. Mrs. Atanazy finally understood that nothing would happen anytime soon.

One early summer afternoon, Mrs. Atanazy had an epiphany.

"Atanazy!" she shouted. "Atanazy?" she thought for a moment. "Atanazy!" "Atanazy! " she exclaimed with such verve and force that the surprised dog decided to listen this time.

"Atanazy, you can have children, you must have children! Come on, let's go find the mother of your children. "

Atanazy was speechless.

"He, Atanazy, is supposed to have children? Why does he need children? Does he need anything to be happy? And where are they supposed to go looking for this mother? To a marriage agency?" the dog smiled, but he didn't even realize how wrong he was.

Mrs. and Atanazy ran home. Mrs. hadn't even managed to remove the silver chain he wore as a collar from Atanazy's neck before she grabbed the phone and called Aunt Hela, who until recently had been a "little brat" to her.

"Helcia, Helcia, darling, how could I not have thought of that before? Atanazy should, Atanazy must"—she thought for a moment to find the right word—"must reproduce!"... Too young? And where was too young? He's at the perfect age, in perfect shape, and we need to find him the perfect match. Helcia, I'm begging you, think about it, consider among the breeders who he could have children with. It has to be some female with an excellent pedigree! An aristocrat!

And so the search began. Aunt Hela's first choice was a female from her breeding kennel, whose representative had beaten Atanazy at the last show.

"Oh dear," thought Pancia, convincing her wounded ambition to forget the insult of second place. "At least we'll have better terms at the next show; we'll finally be a family then. And there won't be any pressure on Atanazy and that female's children; they'll have such support!" Pancia rubbed her hands with glee, even though it wasn't a gesture befitting an elegant middle-aged lady.

Atanazy had been set up with Oktawia.

"So, my dear Atanazy, it's going to be a date. Oktawka is a truly beautiful, perfectly pedigreed dog," Pancia explained to Atanazy, brushing his ears, something he particularly hated, and she repeated stubbornly, convinced that half of Atanazy's charm lay in his ears.

Oktawia was brought to Atanazy so he wouldn't be too stressed by his new surroundings, and the owners and dogs went to the forest. Atanazy really liked his new friend; she was truly charming, young, shapely, athletic, and she smelled so good. But that was the problem; for Atanazy, she simply smelled nice, but there was nothing particularly appealing about that scent. Oktawia liked galloping through the trees, crashing headlong into the sand of forest paths, climbing hills, and then running down them as fast as she could. She also liked to simply run around, aimlessly and somewhat pointlessly. Just like Atanazy. And for this reason, and this reason alone, Oktawia was incredibly attractive to Atanazy. Listening to her mother's conversation with Oktawia's mother, Atanazy quickly realized that it wasn't about that kind of attraction after all.

"You know, he's a bit stressed," she explained, or rather, not herself, but Atanazy, his mother. "I explained it to him. He's a bit ashamed."

Oktawia's mother looked at Atanazy with growing astonishment.

"It's probably about instinct, not explanation.

" "Oh no, no. You're wrong. Atanazy is very reflective; he needs to understand first.

" "It seems he didn't understand this time. Thank you for the walk. I think we'll go now."

And they left. Atanazy felt sad, because he was having such a nice time with Oktawia.

"Don't worry, it's not your fault." "She was too young and inexperienced," Pacio consoled the dog, for which he was grateful, although he didn't quite understand what she meant.

After consulting with Aunt Hela and the dog therapist, it was decided that a more experienced candidate for the mother of Atanazy's children needed. So the following weekend, Leonia arrived. Leonia was the opposite of Oktawia. She didn't want to chase them through the forest at all, nor play hide-and-seek or fetch. She just kept telling Atanazy that they would have beautiful children and that he should trust her with everything. Atanazy had had enough and started running away from her.

"You know, ma'am. This is all a joke," Leonia's owner fussed. "I come here from Wołomin, such a long way, and your dog hides in the woods. You have to pay me back for the gas. Do you know how many offers I have? I only came here because Helena asked me. Leonia, let's go!"

And off they went. Mrs. and Atanazy returned home. They weren't in the best of moods. Mrs. because of her dog's strange behavior, which failed to recognize Leonia's attractiveness, and Atanazy because of the wasted afternoon, which he could have spent pleasantly with his friends from the yard.

The following weekend, Atanazy had another date. Earlier, Mrs. had a conversation with her dog about butterflies and birds, a topic that greatly interested Atanazy. During a walk in the forest, the dog decided to deepen his knowledge of other animals and, following his Mrs.'s earlier suggestions, diligently observed the lives of butterflies and birds. He was so absorbed in this activity that he paid no attention to the dog accompanying him on the walk.

After these three "dates," no self-respecting owner of a pedigree dog wanted to arrange a meeting with Atanazy. Mrs. Atanazy was devastated.

"Well, instinct must be at work here! After all, she's an animal!" "You know," Mrs.

Atanazy said, sounding offended. "Instinct, instinct, animal! What are you talking about? Atanazy... well, he just didn't feel like it, that's all. He has other plans. Everyone can have other plans."

***

On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, the dogs, tired from their usual runs, settled down on a hill. The sun was warm, the dogs felt genuine exhaustion and blissful contentment.

"You know," Golden Atanazy began. "We're just lying here, it's so nice, and I think there's nothing better in life than being a dog. We need so little to be happy. All we need is for our masters and masters to be good to us, to take care of us, to walk us, to feed us well. Good food is very important. It's enough that we can have all this fun and then get a good night's sleep at home. And it's also important that we have to take care of our owners." It's not easy sometimes, but it brings so much happiness; they need us so much. Oh," he sighed, "it's good to be a dog!"

Everyone looked at each other. The paean to being a dog came from the one who had been so persistently humanized.

"But you can't transplant a dog into a human," Pysia concluded. "A dog is a dog, that's all!"