ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND

               ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND

 Once upon a time, it was almost fashionable to go to work in the USSR. Imagine a village in the middle of the taiga, where temperatures vary between plus 30 in the summer and minus 40 in the winter! My whole family lives in a small apartment on the third floor and is not worried at all that it's minus 34 outside because the heating works, and inside the house, it's maintained at around 26 degrees Celsius. We go to work diligently, and our children attend daycare and kindergarten, as they are 3 and 5 years old respectively. An idyllic scene in a Russian-Soviet style.

 And I have a guitar student, who is the son of a colleague from the power plant where I work. Very ambitious, obedient, strict, and the like, a student. So this student of mine decides to do something without even asking whether we want it, whether we love it, or whether we can...

 I come home in the evening after my shift and find an uproar, euphoria, giggles, and laughter. The children have no idea what they're doing, and my wife waits for me with a slightly apprehensive look, much like the Jews have been waiting for the Messiah for three thousand years. In the corner of the room, there is a small box emitting a pitiful whimpering and scratching sounds. My guitar student is sitting on one of the beds, smiling at me half-wincingly, half-conspiratorially. Without thinking, I approach the box and glimpse in its interior a small, white, fluffy ball, looking at me with a dark little eye, just like my own children used to look at their mother in anticipation of a bottle.

 I gently grab it by the neck and press it to my chest. It eagerly starts searching around me, presumably for something to eat. I immediately command the team to bring some warm milk in a saucer, heated to body temperature. My wife, like a seasoned mother, quickly enters the scene, and the little animal is presented with a porcelain bowl of warm milk. It cautiously dips its snout into the white liquid and greedily laps it up. My guitar student and I withdraw to the kitchen, where he explains that it had just been separated from its mother and was now entrusted into caring hands for the delight of our children. We return to find that the puppy, with its distended belly, had fallen asleep inside the box on top of the kids' old t-shirts, looking just like a baby. The children were wandering around the spot, wondering when it would wake up to start playing. However, I explained to them that the little creature needed at least a few days to adapt to its new home and new companions. They understood, agreed, and unanimously named it Topsy, which turned out to be a pure white "crying marshmallow." Its purebred status is in question, as neither a passport nor a pedigree accompanied it, so we could only guess.

We go to bed for the night, but at one point, I hear something whimpering by my bed. I turn on the night lamp and without surprise, see a fluffy white figure attempting to climb onto our bed. I pick it up as if it were one of my daughter's stuffed toys. Yes, but my wife immediately stirred, as this was the first domesticated animal in our family, and she had an instinctive fear of dogs. I took Topsy and moved to the couch in the kitchen. I lay down, and it snuggled up to my armpit and trustingly closed its eyes. I fell asleep, but at some point, I woke up with a strange feeling. There it was, trying to climb onto my shoulder and nuzzling the soft part of my ear, with the idea that I might be its mother, and maybe my ear would produce milk. Anyway, I got up and repeated the milk routine with the saucer...

And so, our family expanded with one more "child," which grew by the minute and demonstrated impressive intelligence. It quickly learned its place, where the food and water saucers were, and most importantly, it got accustomed to doing its doggy business only in the bathroom and in a specific spot. There was no need for comments about its name, as within just a few days of interaction, it recognized and responded to its name. It loved the children and prevented any fighting around them, yet it didn't allow them to treat it like a doll, preferring games with balls, balloons, and other rolling objects. Interestingly, no matter how my wife fed it, it didn't seek her out for play or scratching behind the ears. Somehow, it subconsciously sensed her fear, although she did love it in her own way. How could you not love this creature that seemed not to run but rather roll around on the carpet?

 The moment came when his teeth started itching uncontrollably, and one evening my wife showed me the legs of the kitchen table, which had become sharpened downwards like pencils. We got Topsy a special rubber toy to chew on, but he preferred the legs of the table and chairs, so various shavings were constantly scattered on the floor. But that proved insufficient for the canine dental needs, not only for Topsy but also for my friend Georgi (Zhoro), who was such a frequent guest that his absence was sometimes felt. Georgi had his own chair in the kitchen where he invariably sat while we played backgammon or cards. Topsy quickly established a friendly relationship with our friend, which began to escalate into a sock problem. After each visit to our place, Georgi would leave with a sock torn at the big toe. Always the big toe and always the right foot. How Topsy managed this, it remained a mystery to us, and he never answered Georgi's question on the matter. Only Georgi experienced this phenomenon, even though our home was like a transit station, with people constantly coming in or out.

 Topsy took our home seriously as his own, barking whenever someone approached the front door, but never attacking those who entered. I could have trained him to bite, but it wasn't necessary, as we lived in a community where everyone knew each other, and there were no serious criminal problems. However, the bread beetle problem was a very annoying and even tormenting situation. Having friends at the local power plant, I repeatedly took various preparations, but there was no relief from this nuisance, which initially didn't exist in our place. Our apartment was like new after renovation, but slowly these pests started creeping into our space, calmly crawling on the walls, entering the stove and the refrigerator. Thankfully, they hardly entered the bedroom, as there was nothing edible there. Millions, even billions of "cockroaches," as the Russians call them. A disgusting story until Topsy appeared. He seemed to understand that these crawling brown creatures brought discomfort to our harmonized family and set out to resolve the matter in our favor. How he did this, someone might ask?! Very simply - he would eat them like peanuts directly from the wall or wherever he encountered them. Jokingly, but in a moment, we found ourselves beetle-free, as these creatures may not have brains, they might not reason, but they had packed their bags and moved to the neighbors. Like a congregation lining up for a blessing from the priest. We had given Topsy to overcome the beetle problem. Of course, we didn't actually give him to anyone. He's ours, and we can't pass him around like a bottle of vodka.

 Until the night of the Great Tragedy...

 For a while, a strange, glowing object was hovering in the sky above Usogorsk (that's what our village was called), and people were whispering that it was a UFO. At that time, the theory of the Annunaki from Nibiru who come for gold hadn't been launched yet. UFOs with extraterrestrials, that's what it was. Invaders from Alpha Centauri, Sirius, Beta, Gamma, and Delta... Everything had become chaotic, and some couldn't sleep at night, staring into the dark northern sky.

 And once again, I returned from work to my home with my wife, children, and Topsy. However, what I found in my house was teary children's eyes and my wife almost in a state of panic and depression. Topsy was missing, that is, he wasn't there. I intervened like a lieutenant colonel at least. I rallied the family and started a thorough interrogation. It turned out that my wife had gone to pick up the children from their daycare on a sled, and when she returned, neither the dog nor Topsy were there. Everything was locked, sealed, and secured everywhere. Our home consisted of just three rooms, so these modest 36 square meters had been turned upside down, searched, and scrutinized several times. Suddenly, my wife burst into a coppery voice like Montserrat Caballe:

- Only extraterrestrials could have abducted him, our poor puppy. No one else, there's nooo one...

- What extraterrestrials are you talking about? Who do you think would see them?

- Maybe they can become invisible, who knows? I don't have any other explanation, do you understand? You're guilty for bringing that dog home. If we hadn't taken it, I wouldn't be crying...

 She's not usually the crying type, my tough girl, but apparently, the mysterious disappearance of the fifth member of the family hit her hard. I went to the kitchen and lit a cigarette. I smoked nervously and turned on the television, also nervously. The moment the TV's sound started, I heard some scratching, scraping, and whimpering from behind the sink. With great difficulty, a fluffy white creature emerged from behind the sink cabinet, instantly leaped onto the couch, and assumed its comfortable position for watching TV together, a tradition we had developed with it. At the same time, my wife entered the room and gasped so loudly that the windowpane rattled, and Topsy once again disappeared behind the sink. I said to her:

- If you'd thought of turning on the TV for him, you'd have one less thing to cry about!

- Who cares about TV at a time like this? I've never been in such a panic in my life. You're guilty for bringing that dog home!

- Of course, I'm guilty. I'm also guilty for the war in Afghanistan - I openly laugh, and I watch as Topsy once again assumes his television-watching position.

 After that incident, I greeted people at home with "Hello, extraterrestrials!"

 And the glowing UFO turned out to be a weather balloon...