Galina Petrovna’s Three-Legged Dog Story. Andrea Bennett
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down the corridor, and then swiftly withdrawing at the sight of the representative of the law and his companion.
‘Citizens, I am sorry for the delay in opening the door, but it is very late. What can I do for you?’
‘Baba, Baba, don’t worry,’ cried the chubby policeman in a loud voice, wobbling slightly under the weight of his friendly words and leaning on the door jamb for support. ‘We know it’s late, but you’re welcome, very welcome … Do come in!’
Galia looked at him steadily and raised her eyebrows slowly. The policeman giggled and put a chubby fist into his mouth, realizing he had made some sort of mistake, but not quite able to work out what it was. The giggle gradually petered out, and he frowned instead, his glossy bottom lip protruding.
‘I warn you, be careful, Baba!’ he grimaced, fingering his gun holster with one clumsy hand and gesticulating towards his accomplice with the other. ‘Be careful, granny, he’s got teeth, this one. Oh, you – yes, you!’ here he pointed directly at Galia with a puffy finger, ‘need … to be careful! We all need to be careful!’ he giggled again, and leant against the wall more heavily, breathing hard. ‘Have you got any drink, Baba?’
Mitya cleared his throat, and winced, as if the action caused him pain. He should have warmed up in the car, he thought, but this drunken fool had distracted him. Now he appeared weak, nervous, mucus-ridden. The prolonged incident with his mother had, in truth, unnerved him somewhat and left him feeling slightly unwell. But the fight went on, and the canine had to be brought to justice, no matter how tired and spent he was. He could sense the damp from the basement on the East Side still sticking to his clothes, and his nostrils quivered as he caught a sour whiff of something, which he thought must be the policeman.
‘Orlova, Galina Petrovna?’ Mitya spoke, the pitch a little higher than he would have liked.
Galia nodded slowly, still looking at the greasy policeman, and wondering if she knew his mother.
‘You have in your apartment a dangerous dog, which I am here to remove.’ There was a pause, and Mitya coughed. ‘My colleague here, as you see, is somewhat tired. It has been a long day.’
‘It’s my saint’s day today, Baba!’ chipped in the policeman.
‘However, our actions have all the force of law, and he is armed. Now I call on you to stand aside so that the dangerous canine can be removed.’
‘It’s my saint’s day every day! This modern Russia is sooooo great!’
Galia ceased examining the drunken policeman and turned her gaze to Mitya the Exterminator.
‘Where are your papers, sir?’ she asked softly.
Mitya the Exterminator thrust seven sheets of paper into her face the instant the words left her mouth. All stamped, sealed, laden with official signature, her address, details, birth date, star sign even. She was about to relent and vacate the door space to allow them in, when Vasya joined her on the threshold, looking flushed, breathless, excited even: in a word, a dangerous condition for an elderly man in the middle of the night.
‘Now then young Mitya, we don’t want any trouble here,’ he began. The Exterminator’s eyes became clouded and his cheeks flushed a dull red at the words. ‘I am sure we can sort this out without any unpleasantness. What exactly is the complaint against the dog?’
There was a long pause, filled only with the sound of the policeman shifting from foot to foot and back again, a casual move that required a huge amount of concentration in his present state, and made the sweat drip off his stubby, turned-up nose. Mitya breathed deeply and evenly, his eyes still far off, his hands loose by his sides. Gradually, just as Galia was wondering whether he was still fully conscious, he drew his eyes back from the middle distance and re-focused on Vasya for a few seconds. He reached for his plastic-leather bum-bag and pulled out a notebook. He cleared his throat, peered closely at Vasya for a second time, and then started to read, ‘“That on the aforementioned date said canine did bite the official state dog warden both on the finger and on the ankle and when commanded to desist did recklessly continue to bite the official state dog warden further to said aforementioned place both on the calf and on the wrist. This being an offence under Article 27 of Presidential Decree 695 and in direct contravention of the laws of the Russian Federation, said dangerous dog is required to be exterminated forthwith before it becomes a menace to society.” And that’s the President of the Russian Federation that wants your dog dead, Citizen, not just me.’ Mitya finished with a rush and a prolonged frown.
‘But Boroda would never bite anyone, let alone an official state dog warden!’ cried Galia, offended on the dog’s behalf, and worried by the thought that the President himself could think so badly of her. ‘She is a good dog – a shy dog. She knows what it is to be a stray and has respect for all citizens. She knows an official when she sees one.’
‘A stray, you say?’ enquired Mitya.
Galia hesitated, her eyes wary, not sure what answer she should give.
‘But Galia, isn’t that the dog, exactly the dog, that you took to the river just this evening to drown?’
Galia glared at Vasya for a second as if he had pierced her heart with a knitting needle. Indeed, he thought she might at any minute attempt to strike him, as she raised her hand in horror and leant towards him. He even took a slight step back at the look in her eyes, inadvertently stepping on the drunken policeman’s bunion. This was a grave and fateful error, as he let out a howl that caused an answering howl to echo from deep within the apartment, which made the Exterminator’s left eye twitch. Galia regained her composure in an instant, as if slapped, and coughed loudly to try to drown out the sound of the howl. She nodded slightly at Vasya.
‘Yes, yes, Vasily Semyonovich, you’re right. Gosh was that your stomach – you must be hungry. We have been so busy this evening … The dog … had to go. Yes, she had turned a bit funny, and I am old, and I thought, well, I can’t cope, so … heart-breaking as it was—’
‘We dropped her in the river in a bag full of stones,’ Vasya confirmed quickly, pulling the door almost shut behind him, as he heard Boroda whining in the depths of the wardrobe.
‘The dog is in the river?’ asked Mitya softly.
‘Yes, yes,’ Galia replied, eyes on his second button, hands twisting slightly in front of her. ‘She had to go. I didn’t really want to say … you know, people talk about rights for animals these days, and everything.’
Mitya removed a small red rubber ball from his bum-bag.
‘In the river, you say?’
‘Yes sir, in the river. About a mile down-stream from here. Where it’s deep.’
‘Stand aside, Elderly Citizens.’ He bent towards the door.
‘I say, have you got a permit to do that?’ asked Vasya gruffly.
Mitya squeezed the small red rubber ball sharply and deliberately, three times. It squeaked with a raw venom that zipped up the Elderly Citizens’ backbones and puckered their faces like limes. A small silence was followed by the inevitable clang of doom: a clatter of clever-stupid claws on the wardrobe door. ‘Here doggie, doggie, doggie!’ called Mitya in a strange, childlike voice, squeezing the ball again, and dropping a few morsels of bacon rind on the floor just inside the door.
‘Now then, young man, who gave you permission to strew—’ began Vasya.
‘Stand aside, Volubchik,’ commanded Mitya with some force, placing one finger in the centre of Vasya’s chest.
The squeak and the bacon rind had worked their sensual magic. Their long, chewy fingers of saltiness had reached out to the dog and hooked around her nose, dragging her forward almost against her will, out of the bedroom door and into the hallway, claws skittering softly on the ragged parquet despite herself, edging for the bacon rind and the door, the open door where her mistress stood talking to some familiar, but all the same slightly terrifying, guests. The dog gently scooped up the bacon rind