“Marina, I just don’t get it. Why is it chicken on the dinner menu again? We came here to relax, not to grow feathers! Vovochka’s got terrible heartburn from your endless poultry. He needs veal. Grilled, preferably.”
Karolina Prokofyevna stood smack in the middle of my summer kitchen, arms akimbo, staring at the thawing chicken thighs with such disdain, it was as if they personally triggered the global economic crisis.
I slowly tore my eyes away from my laptop screen. It was midday on Wednesday. I was right in the thick of my workday, three thousand rubles were missing from my reporting spreadsheet, and an insistent thought kept pulsing in my head: family ties are a mysterious thing. They seem to grow especially strong and juicy wherever free food, fast Wi-Fi, and fresh air converge.
Sashka—my husband—and I bought this dacha three years ago. Well, technically, it was me who bought it, after adding a generous chunk of my savings to the inheritance from my grandmother. Sashka pitched in with hard work, fixing up the roof, building a great gazebo, and installing plumbing, transforming the ordinary summer plot into a comfy country house where you could live from May to October. We dreamed of quiet evenings, a glass of wine on the terrace, and the scent of pines.
But there was one important factor we overlooked—Karolina Prokofyevna.
My mother-in-law had a rare gift: she could walk into someone else’s home as if she’d just won it in the lottery—including the owners. Her visit was supposed to be a quick “I’ll just come for the weekend to get some air.” But the weekend faded into a week, the week slipped into a month, and by mid-July, her entire entourage had firmly taken root all over my lawn.
Her entourage included my sister-in-law Oksana—a forty-year-old with a sensitive soul, perpetually searching for herself. Oksana liked to do her soul searching exclusively in my woven hammock, ideally with my tablet in hand. Along with Oksana came her husband, Vova. Vova was a professional rester. No one really knew what he was so tired from—he hadn’t had steady work in three years—but he relaxed loudly and with flair, demanding cold beer and silence during football broadcasts.
My Sashka is a golden man, but incredibly busy. He manages a logistics department and works in the city, Monday through Friday, so he only escapes to the dacha by Friday evening—exhausted. All the weekday caretaking falls to me, since I work remotely.
“Karolina Prokofyevna,” I replied calmly as I pressed save on my file, “We’re having chicken because veal costs a pretty penny per kilo. And the reluctant sponsor of our impromptu retreat—yours truly—has gotten a bit tired of funding your culinary dreams.”
My mother-in-law clutched her chest theatrically, right above the big but extremely thrifty heart beating beneath her colorful robe.
“You really are so calculating, Marina!” she chided, dragging the words out. “Money shouldn’t even be an issue in a family when it comes to the health of loved ones. We’re family! Vovochka needs protein—he’s a man!”
At that moment, little Vova let out a loud yawn and oozed from his deck chair into the hammock with the grace of a well-fed sloth who knew the joy of life at someone else’s expense. He clearly needed protein only to help keep his impressive belly within the boundaries of his shorts.
«Wonderful,» I nodded. «Since we’re one family and Vovochka’s health is a priority, let Oksana transfer five thousand to my card. I’m planning to stop by the farmer’s store anyway. I’ll buy the finest veal.»
Only the fridge kept humming softly. Karolina Prokofyevna looked at me as if I’d just suggested she pawn the family diamonds she’d never even owned.
«Oksana is in a creative crisis right now,» my mother-in-law muttered through pursed lips. «They’re having temporary difficulties. You could show some respect for someone else’s troubles. Hosting guests is a tradition, you know! And besides, we’re Sasha’s guests here, not at a restaurant to be paying bills!»
«Actually, this is my house, Karolina Prokofyevna. The documents say so. Bought before the marriage,» I reminded her of what she tried to ignore every day. «And for the record, Sasha eats chicken and doesn’t complain.»
My mother-in-law snorted, spun on the heels of her orthopedic slippers and marched toward the gazebo, muttering something about young people these days having no sense of decency or hospitality.
I got back to work, but out of the corner of my eye, I started to notice oddities. For the past couple of days, the relatives had been acting suspiciously energetic. Normally, they’d fall into a satisfied food coma after breakfast until lunch. But this morning I caught Oksana upstairs, busily snapping photos of the guest bedroom on her phone while carefully adjusting the bedspread. When she saw me, she jumped and quickly hid her phone, mumbling something about looking for good light for a selfie.
And a bit later, when I went out to pick some herbs, I saw Karolina Prokofyevna pacing the yard with a tape measure. She was measuring the distance from my rose bushes to the fence, jotting things down in a notepad. Vova stood next to her, thoughtfully scratching his lower back and nodding as if in deep agreement.
My intuition—finely honed by years of working with contracts—quietly warned me that there was some sort of project in the works on my property, one that the actual owner wasn’t supposed to know about just yet.
By evening, the situation became clearer, but first, the relatives decided to put on a little show for the neighbors.
Around five o’clock, Valentina Petrovna—the chairwoman of our country community—showed up at the gate. She was an influential woman, knew everyone, and loved to collect gossip. The moment Karolina Prokofyevna spotted her, she changed instantly. Gone was the eternally disgruntled mother-in-law; in her place stood the gleeful hostess of the estate.
«Valya, come in, dear!» she cooed, flinging open the gate. «We’re just having a little tea outdoors. Join us!»
I happened to step out onto the terrace with my mug of tea and paused in the shade of the grapevine, watching this little performance. Karolina Prokofyevna seated our neighbor at the table, fussily pulling my best cheese platter from the fridge—the one I’d been saving for my husband’s arrival—a jar of olives, and the expensive cookies.
«Wow, everything is so beautifully arranged here,» the chairwoman praised as she looked around. «A brand new gazebo, perfect lawn. It’s clear you know how to take care of the place.»
«Well, we do our best,» my mother-in-law replied modestly, lowering her gaze as she slid some cheese toward the neighbor. «I always tell Sasha: invest in the land, it’ll always provide for you. That’s why we decided to redo everything our way. We’ll get rid of those silly roses and plant apple trees instead. My daughter-in-law planted all this beauty, but what’s the use? I prefer things that are actually useful.»
Valentina Petrovna nodded in sympathy.
«Well, you know how young people are these days—all they want to do is stay glued to their phones. Yours probably just relaxes all day too, doesn’t she?»
I decided it was time to end this spectacle. Calmly stepping out of the shade, I walked up to the table and pulled a plate of cheese toward me, taking the biggest piece.
«Good evening, Valentina Petrovna. How are things going with the road repair fund contributions? I transferred fifteen thousand rubles to the association account yesterday in my name, as the plot owner. Did the payment go through?»
The chairwoman choked on her tea, and Karolina Prokofyevna’s smile vanished instantly, replaced with a look of mild panic.
«Yes, Marina, it went through,» the neighbor muttered, her eyes darting between me and my mother-in-law with curiosity. «So you handle the payments yourself? I always thought Karolina Prokofyevna was in charge here…»
«Oh, not at all, Valentina Petrovna,» I said, smiling sweetly at my mother-in-law. «Karolina Prokofyevna is just a guest here. She’s fully taken care of. She doesn’t need to worry about things like taxes, roof repairs, or buying expensive cheese. Eat up, Karolina Prokofyevna, you need the protein—wouldn’t want Vovochka to miss out.»
The neighbor quickly finished her tea, excused herself for urgent matters and left, clearly pleased with the new information. My mother-in-law sat there red-faced, lips pressed tight, angrily stirring imaginary sugar into her empty cup.
But the lesson didn’t stick. Brazen behavior, fueled by getting away with things, has a way of getting worse.
The next day, during lunch, a courier from a high-end grocery store showed up at our gate carrying two massive insulated bags.
«Delivery for 8 Sosnovaya Street!» the guy announced loudly. «Payment due upon receipt. That’ll be fourteen thousand eight hundred rubles.»
I raised an eyebrow in surprise. I hadn’t ordered anything. My mother-in-law burst out of the gazebo, with Oksana close behind her.
«Oh, that’s for us!» Karolina Prokofyevna chirped happily as she took the bags. Inside were tails of royal shrimp, jars of red caviar, marbled beef, and some exotic fruits peeking out.
She turned to me with the most innocent expression:
«Marina dear, could you pay the young man, please? I don’t have any cash on me and my card is in the house. I wanted to treat the family to a real special dinner tonight, make the kids happy. Vovochka needs to get his strength back.»
The courier handed me the payment terminal. I looked at the shrimp, then at my mother-in-law—clearly thinking she’d pulled off a clever move. The logic was simple: she assumed I wouldn’t make a scene in front of a delivery guy and would obediently pay for their gourmet feast.
«You’re mistaken, Karolina Prokofievna,» I said, shoving my hands in my jeans pockets. «I’ve already used up my quota for your charity work last week.»
I turned to the courier:
«I didn’t order this. The woman who accepted the packages will be the one paying for them.»
My mother-in-law’s face became blotchy with uneven red patches.
«Marina! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself in front of this man?» she hissed at me. «I don’t have that kind of money with me! We agreed to help each other!»
«We never agreed that I’d be paying for your feasts. If you can’t pay—just return the packages,» I replied calmly.
Sensing this was turning into a family showdown, the courier pulled the thermo bags back toward himself.
«Lady, are you paying, or am I processing a return?» he asked.
Oksana let out a dramatic sigh as the shrimp began to disappear. Vova groaned from the hammock, already mourning the loss of his delicacies. Then, a miracle happened. Karolina Prokofievna, complaining about the heartlessness of modern youth, reached into her dressing gown, pulled out a fat wallet, and—clearly suffering—counted fifteen thousand in cash for the courier.
They had the money. They just absolutely refused to spend their own.
At dinner, poking at some perfectly roasted marbled beef that she ultimately had to pay for herself, Karolina Prokofievna decided it was time to lay her cards on the table. Apparently, my refusals to pay had disrupted some master plan of hers, so now she escalated to stronger measures.
«Marinochka,» she began in a saccharine tone that always made my left eye twitch. «We’ve been talking, and we think since we’re living here, it’s time to optimize the space.»
She glanced around my domain with the regal air of someone mentally deciding where to put a monument to herself.
«Those rose beds of yours… They’re just taking up space. Oksana and I measured everything. A big inflatable pool would fit perfectly there. Vovochka needs to swim for his back, after all. And under the apple tree’s shade, we’ll set up a bigger barbecue area—yours is a bit childish. Tomorrow you’ll order the pool delivery; I’ll send you the link. It’s only twenty thousand, a mere trifle for you.»
I froze. She wasn’t asking. She was ordering.
«And another thing,» my mother-in-law continued, oblivious to my shock. «On Friday, my third cousin Antonina and her grandson will be coming. The boy is five, he needs fresh air. Prepare that guest room on the second floor—where you have your desk now. Move your computer to the kitchen for now; it doesn’t matter where you press your buttons. We’ll have a real family sanatorium here!»
Oksana, finally peeling away from her phone, chimed in:
«Yeah, Marina. And try not to make noise on the weekend. Antonina likes to sleep in, and you’re always making a racket with dishes in the morning.»
They said all this with such confidence, as if they were doing me the greatest honor by having me cater to their friends.
I exhaled slowly. Letting them speak their minds—that was my main principle. The longer they talked, the more information they gave away.
«A sanatorium, you say?» I mused. «Bonding with nature? Family support?»
«Exactly!» my mother-in-law exclaimed, thinking I had finally accepted her philosophy. «That’s the only way a family can survive! You have to share what you have and help those around you!»
«I hear you, Karolina Prokofyevna,» I said, getting up from the table. «Tomorrow, we’re going to tweak our vacation plans a little. All in the name of helping others.»
That evening, after it got dark, I stepped out onto the back porch and accidentally overheard a phone conversation. Karolina Prokofyevna was standing behind a lilac bush, loudly talking into her phone:
«Yes, Tonechka, everything’s still set! Of course, come over. We have plenty of space. Same agreement: thirty thousand for a week, meals included, fresh air. Yes, a private room—my daughter-in-law will cook for you, she’s home all day anyway. We’ll see you Friday at lunchtime!»
I quietly went back inside. Now everything made sense! Whether this Antonina was a relative or a complete stranger didn’t matter anymore. My mother-in-law had rented out a room at MY dacha for thirty thousand rubles behind my back! And with meals included and free service—all at my expense!
They wanted me to buy a pool so they could pass my place off as a «resort» to their guest. The meat delivery? Just so they could impress her. They decided to make money off my house and my work.
I locked myself in the bathroom and dialed my husband.
«Sasha, hi. Are you sitting down?»
«I’m stuck in traffic,» my husband replied tiredly. «What’s going on? Is Mom demanding truffles again?»
«Your mom wants me to dig up my roses, buy Vova a pool with my own money, and move me into the kitchen. And she’s rented the guest room to some woman for thirty thousand rubles a week and made me her personal cook and maid for free.»
Sasha let out a long, rough sigh on the phone. I knew how hard it was for him to balance between me and his mother, who had mastered the art of motherly guilt trips. But I never doubted my husband’s sanity.
«Okay, Marina. That’s it. I’m taking a day off tomorrow, coming over, and kicking this whole circus out. Let them be upset, let them do what they want. This is our home, and you shouldn’t have to put up with this nonsense.»
His words warmed me to my core. The most important thing in a family is having a man who’s willing to take a hit for you, not just tell you to «put up with it for mom’s sake.»
«No, Sasha,» I smiled vengefully at my reflection in the mirror. «Don’t take the day off. Just work as usual and come here on Friday evening.»
«What about you? They’re going to eat you alive.»
«They won’t. I have an appropriate response. Karolina Prokofyevna herself said we should help others and be closer to nature. So that’s what I’ll do. See you Friday, dear. And buy lots of meat. The cheapest kind.»
On Thursday morning, I got up early. The family was still asleep, the house filled with the heroic snoring of little Vova. I had my coffee, got in the car, and drove to the district center. On the outskirts, there’s a private dog shelter called ‘Faithful Friend,’ which I occasionally donate to.
Last week, I saw a post on their social media: the shelter was starting an urgent roof repair for the dog runs, and volunteers were begging people to take in at least a few dogs for short-term foster care so they wouldn’t have to sit in the rain and construction dust.
I found the head of the shelter, a weary woman named Lena.
«Hello, Lena. I’m Marina, we’ve messaged before. I’m ready to foster some dogs. Three of them.»
Lena looked at me with immense gratitude.
«Marina! You’re really saving us! Do you have any preferences? We have some small, timid ones, some older dogs…»
«No,» I said firmly. «I want healthy, active, happy, large dogs. The friendlier, the better. The main thing is they must be good with people.»
An hour later, my car’s trunk and back seat were loaded with a furry team.
First up was Barmaley—a terrier mix with the look of a small brown bear. Extra fluffy, overflowing with energy, and obsessed with digging holes.
Next came Zhuza, a beagle mix with incredibly sad eyes and a voice like a foghorn. Zhuza could serenade a piece of sausage for hours, hitting notes that made the windows shake.
Third was Graf, who clambered in with effort. A big, melancholic mutt the size of a calf. Graf was unhurried, loved to nap on soft things, and had the gravity of a black hole: once he lay down, only a tractor could move him.
When I unlocked my cottage gate, it was noon. My family had just come out onto the terrace, waiting for breakfast to smoothly turn into lunch. Vova was already rubbing his belly, Oksana was stretching in a lounge chair, and Karolina Prokofyevna annoyingly tapped her spoon against her empty cup.
«Marina, finally!» my mother-in-law protested without turning her head. «We’re starving here! Where have you been? And where are my croissants?»
«There are no croissants, Karolina Prokofyevna,» I announced loudly and cheerfully, flinging the gate wide open. «But we have new arrivals! Come on in, guys!»
Barmaley dashed onto the lawn first. He instantly appreciated the wide open space, barked joyfully, tore up the perfect grass with his back paws, and raced straight toward the lounge chairs. Oksana squealed and tucked her legs away as the furry cannonball zoomed under her.
Zhuza trotted straight to the summer kitchen, immediately catching the scent from yesterday’s trash bin, and started enthusiastically rooting around in the bag.
Graf entered at a leisurely pace. He surveyed the terrace, spotted Vovochka—who was just getting out of the hammock to protest—walked over, sighed heavily, and flopped down right on the blanket Vova had dropped, securing a strategic spot.
«What is this?!» my mother-in-law pressed herself back into her chair. «What are these animals?! Where did they come from?!»
I calmly closed the gate, brushed off my hands, and walked over to the table.
«This, Karolina Prokofyevna, is our chance to bond with nature. You spoke so passionately yesterday about helping others! The shelter is under renovation, the dogs have nowhere to live. So I decided: since our place is so warm and welcoming, there’s room for everyone.»
My mother-in-law opened her mouth, then closed it again.
«Get them out right now! They’re dirty! Vovochka could be allergic!»
“Vovochka is only allergic to any kind of activity,” I gently corrected. “And the dogs are vaccinated, treated, and have their papers. Unlike some guests, they ask for nothing except a bowl of food. I’ve already bought the dog food, so your finances are safe.”
Right then, Barmaley decided that the spot under the apple tree (the very place the pool was supposed to go) was perfect for storing bones. He started digging with great enthusiasm, sending clumps of dirt flying everywhere. The earth landed right at Vova’s feet.
“Hey! Get lost!” Vova shouted, swinging a rag he’d been using to wipe the table at the dog.
Barmaley took this as an invitation to play, joyfully leaping up, snatching the rag from my stunned son-in-law’s hands, and darting off with it into the raspberry bushes.
“Marina! This is unbearable!” Oksana was almost in tears. “How can I possibly relax in these conditions?!”
“You can’t, Oksanochka. In the wild, only the fastest survive,” I said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to feed the animals. By the way, Karolina Prokofyevna, you’re cooking lunch today. I have new obligations taking care of living souls.”
The next day became a whirlwind adventure.
My house was no longer a resort. It had turned into a territory where nature reigned, represented by three shaggy muzzles.
I only kept the dogs on a leash outside the property; inside the yard, they ruled. I never raised my voice at my family. I simply stopped serving them, citing my busy schedule with the pets.
Karolina Prokofyevna tried to boss Juja around, but the dog looked at her with such sincere confusion, as if a talking vegetable was performing before her. Whenever my mother-in-law sat down with a sandwich, Juja sat opposite her and began what could only be described as a hunger song. She howled so mournfully and loudly that my mother-in-law would choke on her food.
Vova lost his greatest treasure—the hammock. Graf decided the hammock was the perfect spot for his afternoon naps. The moment Vova got up for a beer, Graf’s massive body would calmly sink into the fabric. Getting him out was impossible. No matter how much Vova yelled or pushed, Graf would just sigh dreamily and shut his eyes. Vova had to settle for the hard plastic stool.
Oksana tried locking herself in her room for some meditation. But Barmaley learned how to press the door handle with his paw. No sooner would she sit on her mat in the lotus pose than Barmaley would burst in and start enthusiastically licking her face.
The family tried to fight back. Vova found an old wire fence in the shed and attempted to section off part of the patio to drink his beer in peace. He worked for two hours, sweating and cursing. When the construction was finally finished, Barmaley simply crawled under it, while Graf walked straight through, dumping the whole fence onto the lawn.
Friday arrived. The day when my mother-in-law’s grand business plan was supposed to come to life.
Around noon, a fancy car stopped at the gate. Out stepped a well-rounded lady in dark sunglasses, and a boy about five, armed with a water gun. This was the very same ‘Antonina.’
As soon as Karolina Prokofyevna spotted the client, she dashed over to the gate, shooing ZhuZhu away from the garbage bin along the way.
«Antonina Vasilievna! What a joy! Please come in, come into our peaceful haven!» my mother-in-law chimed, unlocking the gate.
The client strode onto the property with regal steps, then stopped immediately.
There was nothing peaceful about this haven.
Straight ahead, Barmaley was enthusiastically chewing up Vova’s rubber slipper. Vova himself, trying to avoid the dogs, was perched on a table in the gazebo, legs tucked in. Oksana, locked away in the glass greenhouse, was desperately chasing a signal for the internet. And on the bottom step of the porch, completely blocking the entrance to the house, lay the enormous Graf, sound asleep.
«Karolina Prokofyevna,» the client intoned, slowly removing her glasses. «What is this, a zoo? You promised me peace, quiet, birds singing, and an empty summer house. I brought my child here to breathe fresh air, not dog fur.»
Meanwhile, the boy aimed his water pistol at Graf and fired. The stream landed right on the dog’s nose. Graf opened one eye, assessed the threat, slowly stood up, and let out a deep, booming growl that sent the boy scurrying behind his mother.
«These… these are just temporary problems!» my mother-in-law began to stammer, breaking out in a sweat. «The neighbors asked us to look after them! We’ll lock them in the shed right now!»
I stepped out of the house, drying a plate with a towel, and greeted the guest with a friendly smile.
«Good afternoon. There’s no shed. These dogs are on temporary stay and need the freedom to roam. And you must be looking for Karolina Prokofyevna? She didn’t mention that we’ve opened a private shelter here. I hope you’re not allergic?»
The woman shot a piercing glare at my mother-in-law.
«That’s it, Karolina. There will be no relaxing here. Give me back my thirty thousand deposit. Right now. Or I’ll cause you more trouble than you can handle. You’ve ruined my vacation!»
My mother-in-law began to shake. Her whole scheme was falling apart right in front of everyone.
«Tonia, but I already spent part of it on groceries… I’ll transfer the rest to your card later…»
«Now. In cash,» the guest snapped, making it clear: she wasn’t joking.
Barely holding back tears, Karolina Prokofyevna trudged into the house. She had to step over Graf, who had made himself comfortable again on the steps. A minute later, she came back out with the money—her own, the same bills she’d secretly stashed away. The guest counted every note, turned on her heel, gathered her child, and drove off with a slam of the car door.
Now, only our own people remained on the property.
My mother-in-law turned to face me. She was shaking with fury.
«You… you knew everything! You brought these beasts here on purpose to ruin my plans! To humiliate me!»
«You mean your plans to rent out my house to strangers for money?» I replied, stepping closer. «Karolina Prokofyevna, you taught me about generosity. I thought you were doing your sister a favor. Turns out, you decided to run a business on my property. Without telling me.»
«I’m not going to put up with this ridicule anymore!» she screamed, losing her composure. «It’s either us or those mutts! Choose! I’ll tell Sasha everything! He’ll put you in your place!»
I took my phone out of my pocket and deliberately glanced at the time.
— I’m really sorry your vacation is being cut short. The next train is in an hour and a half. Should I tell Oksana and Vova myself, or would you like to give them the good news? I’ll help you pack your suitcases. Would you like me to call a taxi to the station, or will you walk? The weather is perfect, and a light walk will do Vovochka’s back good.
Blackmail is a powerful weapon in the hands of someone with nothing to lose. Karolina Prokofyevna was used to getting concessions whenever she made threats. She fully expected me to be afraid, not wanting to fight with my husband, and to start apologizing and begging them to stay.
But I agreed to her terms.
— You… you’re kicking us out? Family? Over dogs?! — my mother-in-law’s voice dropped to a bewildered whisper. Suddenly, her confidence vanished.
— You gave me a choice, — I replied calmly. — I chose the dogs. At least they don’t try to dictate how I live, they don’t rent out my rooms, and they don’t try to dig up my roses.
An hour later, the yard was buzzing with commotion. Oksana, tears streaming down her face, stuffed her things into a bag, complaining about the ruined summer. Vova dragged a suitcase sullenly, shooting glances at Graf, who hadn’t bothered to leave the hammock and just lazily wagged his tail in time with their packing.
Karolina Prokofyevna kept hoping I’d change my mind right up to the last minute. Even as she stood by the gate, waiting for the taxi (the first time they’d paid for it themselves), she tried to backtrack and save face:
— Marina, we’re not proud people. We can bear it for a couple of days until you take those animals back. All for the peace of the family.
— Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly, — I shook my head, putting on my most caring face. — Vovochka’s health is so important. What if he’s allergic to fur, like he is to any kind of work? I simply can’t take on such responsibility.
The car pulled up and they climbed inside, sent off by Barmaley’s happy barking—he clearly saw their departure as his personal victory. I closed the gate, slid the latch, and let out a deep breath.
Silence settled over the yard. Nobody demanded veal. No one tried to turn the place into a hotel business.
Sasha came by that evening.
He drove the car into the yard, stepped out with two huge bags from the supermarket, and stopped in his tracks.
I was sitting on the porch with a cup of tea. Graf was napping blissfully at my feet, his heavy head resting on my sneaker. Zhuza was busy chewing on a stick under the lilac bush, while Barmaley was thoroughly inspecting the bags in my husband’s hands.
Sasha blinked, looked over the empty terrace, the hammock hanging without Vova, and the squeaky-clean table.
— I don’t get it, — my husband grinned, setting the bags down on the wooden floor. — Where are our vacationers? Where are the shouts for someone to hurry and bring in the bags?
— They couldn’t handle the harsh conditions of the wild, — I took a sip of tea and smiled. — They decided to end their wellness retreat early due to unforeseen circumstances.
Sasha came over, scratched Barmaley behind his ear—Barmaley immediately rolled over for a belly rub—and then gave me a hug.
— Mom called me earlier today. She yelled that you chose dogs over family and that she won’t be coming back as long as even one animal lives here. She also complained that you ruined her chance at a really good deal.
— And what did you say to her? — I looked at my husband intently.
He said we were actually thinking about getting an Alabai. Or two. To guard the roses, of course, Sasha laughed. «Marina, you did great. I thought we’d have to argue and cause a scene, but you handled everything so gracefully.»
«I just used their own rules,» I said, gently stroking Graf. «Traditions, helping those in need, connecting with nature. Turns out traditions are most precious to those who don’t pay for them. And with our family, other people’s things are always shared property. But the moment you suggest they share something of their own, suddenly private property is sacred!»
On Sunday evening I took the dogs back to the shelter. Volunteer Lena thanked me again and again, telling me the kennels had been repaired just in time before the rain. I left them a bag of high-quality food and also transferred a nice sum—the very money I didn’t spend on farm-raised veal for Vovochka.
When I returned to the dacha, the whole yard was glowing in the sunset. Everything was quiet. Sasha and I sat on the terrace eating steaks he had expertly grilled, watching the untouched rose beds.
Karolina Prokofievna kept her word. Neither she nor my sister-in-law and her husband ever came to the dacha again. As it turns out, family ties can’t compete with dog fur—or having to pay for your own expenses.
I leaned back in my chair, listening to the sound of crickets, and thought about how helping animals is truly a great thing. Sometimes, by saving dogs, you end up saving your own life—from those who believe they have the right to live in it for free.
And I did end up ordering an inflatable pool. For myself. I put it right under the apple tree—so if Vovochka ever checks my social media photos, he’ll know for sure: the spot is taken. Once and for all.
