"No wolves yet?" - Mikhalych, lost in thought, was startled by his wife's remark.
"Just like last time, remember? The wolves howled the same way when you drowned Marta's puppies," his wife grumbled.
Marta was the name of their old mongrel dog that lived with them.
"What does that have to do with anything?" the old man replied, trying to hide his unexpected fear.
"You keep drowning her puppies all the time, that's not humane..."
"Stop nagging, don't you feel sick of them? If we don't drown them, they'll multiply like crazy. Don't tell me you're too stupid to understand that they already run in packs."
Earlier that morning.
Usually, Marta lived under the porch, but now she had moved and was sleeping in the barn. Little lumps wriggled next to her on the old coat in the hay. The puppies were a few days old, still blind, clumsily poking around in all directions, looking for their mother. If they couldn't find her for a while, they started to squeak amusingly. Marta licked them tenderly, showing them that she was there. When they found her, they crawled up to her nipples and quieted down for a while.
Marta looked at the puppies, and images floated before her eyes. This gray one with white patches, very agile, would be walking with Mikhalych in the forest to help him, as he was getting old. And this one, completely gray, the densest of them all, was brave and didn't stray far from Marta - he would be a good guardian for the house. The smallest one, almost white with small gray spots, would probably bring many puppies. The fourth puppy had not yet shown itself, it was the quietest. "Oh well, the owner will come up with something for him too," thought Marta happily. The fact that she had never seen her puppies grow up did not occur to her.
A noise was heard. Marta had smelled it for a while, but she left the barn when the owner was already in the yard. She ran up to him, wagging her tail, wanting him to come into the barn and see the puppies. The owner was slightly tipsy, he did not miss the opportunity to stop by the wine shop and have a drink. To Marta's joy, the owner entered the barn and went to the corner with the puppies.
Marta had slightly outpaced him, she was bursting with pride. She circled around the puppies, happily whining. The owner stopped near the puppies and unexpectedly sighed heavily.
"What are you doing, calm down," he said, patting Marta on the withers - "Look at you, you're not an easy one."
He stood there for a while, then turned and left the barn. Marta lay down again next to the puppies, carefully nudging the most agile one with her nose. The puppies had been restless all day, now they lay side by side and snored together. Marta looked at them and once again indulged in dreams, happy that the owner had come to see the puppies.
In the evening, Mikhalych entered the barn with a cup, in which a large bone was whitening. He called Marta and went to the far end of the barn. Leaving the puppies, Marta ran after him, she really wanted Mikhalych to come in and see the puppies. The owner put the cup on the floor and petted the dog. She started growling, happily taking the bone. Mikhalych stood for a while, then went to the corner with the puppies. Apparently, the puppies had crawled over each other during the day, and now they lay side by side and snored together. He quickly put them in a bag that was prepared in advance and left the barn, locking the door behind him.
Marta, sensing something was wrong, forgot about the bone and ran after him, but ran into the closed door. Whining and howling, she started scratching the door and the floor, trying to open it. She circled the door, as long as she felt the owner and the puppies. But with time, their smells began to fade, and she remembered a small gap in the corner of the barn. Running up, she tried to squeeze through, using her paws to help. After half an hour of trying, the board finally gave way, and Marta squeezed through the hole.
Meanwhile, Mikhalyich was already at the river. He picked up a stone lying on the shore, ignoring the protesting whimpering of the puppies, and put it in the bag. He looked around furtively, but there was no one around, and it was pitch-black. The old man, slightly cracking, threw the bag into the middle of the river. He didn't have the heart to drown the puppies in a bucket like they usually do. Besides, he thought, the puppies were small, and the river fish wouldn't leave anything of them until morning. He stood there for a while to calm his racing heart, crossed himself, and headed back to the wine shop.
In the shop, he ordered a full glass and immediately drank it all without eating anything, just wiping his sleeve.
"Mikhalych, did something happen?" - the shopkeeper asked him. - "You don't look right."
To which he only waved his hand in annoyance and left. He went outside, looked at the black sky, shuddered, and heavily walked home.
Meanwhile, Marta was already at the river. She sensed the place where the puppies' scent ended on the shore, and where it led away from the village towards Mikhalyich. She ran around this place and couldn't understand where they disappeared to. Of all the scents surrounding her, Marta clearly felt each of her puppies. Here was the agile one with white socks, here was the smallest one, and here was another...she felt them all at once and each one separately. She tried to run where the scent was stronger, but no matter which way Marta ran, the scent became weaker. Not understanding what was happening, she whined and ran in circles.
The moon rose, indifferently watching the dog running along the riverbank, looking for her puppies. The moonlight flooded the surroundings, sharply outlining the black river. The same black despair began to overwhelm Marta, who was already completely exhausted. She lay down where the puppies' scent could only be guessed, and froze, motionless, afraid to scare away even this fleeting spirit...
The cold, autumn wind rustled, somewhere the well chain creaked. Marta raised her head and howled mournfully at the moon.
