Crime and Punishment
He awoke to a scream, followed by a loud thump. JR leaped out of bed and stood on the cold tile, knees bent and ready for action. Sunlight was trickling through the window, which was still open a crack, letting chilly morning air into the living room.
For a moment, the apartment was perfectly still. But just as he was beginning to think he’d dreamed up the scream, there was a terrible roar.
“J-Aaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”
George burst out of the bedroom, dressed in his pyjamas with the sailboat print. “My … my …” he sputtered, stumbling toward JR. “You … you …” Then his shoulders sagged and he held out his hand, revealing the remains of the Dumont-Sauvage Seafaring Nomad AC III.
JR swallowed hard and looked away. Outside the window, two women in fur hoods were pulling grocery carts down the sidewalk. How easy it would be to slip out and join them. He’d head for the corner store, then—
Memories of the previous night’s adventures suddenly bombarded his brain, and his stomach turned a flip. Had he actually toured the neighbourhood with a pack of stray dogs? Yes. And not only that, he’d eaten the best food in the city! And learned the Bark-and-Grab!
He pulled his attention back to George, who was stamping his feet and pulling his hair and yelling something about meteorites and zero gravity. JR tried to feel bad about the pile of parts in George’s hand, but all he really felt was joy. It was the kind of joy he’d felt chasing seagulls at Moira’s cottage, except … Yes, it was better.
And what’s more, the adventures were just beginning. He’d promised Boris he’d meet him again that night. Just mere hours away!
JR sighed happily into the folds of his flannel bed, which smelled like potatoes and bacon. He must have brought the smells home with him the night before.
He inhaled deeply. Ah, Moscow.
That morning, George broke a record for Shortest Walkies Ever. Their after-work outing was pitiful, too. But it didn’t matter. All those hours in the boring apartment didn’t matter either, with the promise of adventure later on.
On the way home from their second walkies, George picked up a pizza for dinner. Back in the apartment, he opened the box and, out of habit, headed straight for JR’s dish. Then he stopped, looked down at his bare wrist, and turned away with a grunt. He ate his pizza on the couch while JR sat near the window pretending not to notice. Who needed pizza anyway, when there was something as delicious as Kroshka Kartoshka out there?
He pitied George for not knowing about Kroshka Kartoshka.
“I’m going out tonight, boy,” George said over a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese. It sounded more like “Um goon aw tenet baw.” “Probably late,” he added, swallowing. “You shouldn’t wait up.”
So he was playing that game. JR rolled his eyes. It was meant to make him feel bad, and a few days before, it might have worked. But today, it was exactly what he wanted to hear. He couldn’t have planned it better himself.
“I met someone last night,” George continued, wiping tomato sauce off his chin and unknowingly smearing it on his ear. “At the art exhibit. Her name’s Katerina, and she seems great. We’re going to a show.”
JR rolled his eyes again. Katerina might have been great, but could she nab a potato right out of the air? With her teeth? He thought not.
Fortunately, George didn’t dally. He was dressed and smelling like leather with a hint of cinnamon within half an hour. After he’d left, JR forced himself to wait—just in case George had left his phone or his pocket comb at home and had to come back.
When five of the longest minutes of his life had passed, he slipped out the open window and onto the cool pavement below.
This second evening was no less delightful than the first. The clouds were soft and pink around the edges, and whiffs of new grass mingled with the usual gasoline and cigarette smoke. JR let his hind legs dance their off-leash dance as he trotted off to the corner store. This time, he didn’t flinch when humans passed by, knowing they wouldn’t pay him any attention. He still didn’t quite understand it, but it was just fine by him.
A miniature schnauzer walked by, tethered to its human by a tight leash. She gave JR a look of longing, and he returned one of sympathy. Then he danced off, wondering what the embassy dogs he’d met at the park were doing. In all likelihood, they were asleep beside fireplaces that weren’t really fireplaces, dreaming about the dull walkies they’d take the next day. What would they say if they knew he was out with a pack of dirty, smelly, possibly flea-bitten strays? Beatrix would probably faint.
He considered telling them all about it at the park the next day, but quickly decided against it. The strays would be his little secret. And anyway, the embassy dogs would never understand.
But when he arrived at the corner store, there were no strays in sight. He checked a nearby alley and found it empty. He sniffed the air for a whiff of Boris, Ania, or Fyodor. No sign of any of them.
He sat and waited.
The sun dropped behind the buildings and the sky darkened. In the windows across the street, families were sitting down to dinner, telling each other about their day at school and work. JR’s mouth watered and his paws twitched. What if the strays didn’t come at all? What if Boris had lied? Or what if something had happened to them?
But just as he was starting to get very twitchy, the breeze shifted directions and he got a whiff of the sour stray smell that only two days before would have made his toes curl. Now, however, it made his tail spring skyward.
“My apologies,” Boris said, drawing up beside him and pausing to catch his breath.
“That’s okay!” JR leaped to his feet, greeting his new friend with a forgiving nose-butt. He looked around. “Where are the others?”
Boris frowned. “We’ll catch up with them later, in Red Square. Ania had some business to attend to.”
“Oh.” JR wondered if it had anything to do with the update she’d mentioned the previous night. But he didn’t want to pry. And what mattered most was that he’d see her later on. “To the Red Square, then?”
Boris grinned. “Prepare to be amazed.”
When JR had pictured Red Square, he’d imagined a big red box, not unlike the green and yellow one that sold stuffed potatoes. But Red Square wasn’t that kind of square at all. It was an enormous open area covered in uneven paving stones and rimmed with ornate buildings. Tourists wandered around, snapping photos of themselves in front of the buildings, and a few policemen stood by, keeping a close watch on everything. They didn’t pay any more attention to the dogs than the other humans did.
“Welcome to Red Square!” Boris proclaimed. “This is the most important stop on any tour of the city!” The frown he’d worn upon meeting JR at the corner store had disappeared, and his eyes sparkled like a puppy’s. Boris was obviously born to be a tour guide.
“Why is it called Red Square?” JR asked. “It doesn’t look red.”
“Excellent question!” said Boris. “You see, in Russian, the word ‘red’ isn’t just a colour. It also means beautiful. And isn’t this the most beautiful square you’ve ever seen?”
JR politely agreed, although it wasn’t exactly his idea of beautiful. He considered telling Boris about the lush green grass and duck ponds in St. Stephen’s Green, but decided against it. Instead, he tried to appreciate the stately brick and stone buildings around him.
“Let’s start with St. Basil’s Cathedral, the pièce de résistance of Red Square!” Boris led JR over to a massive church, whose colourful domes were all lit up against the night sky. It looked like one of the gingerbread houses George’s Parisian girlfriend Sophie used to decorate in her bakery at Christmastime. JR had devoured one of those houses when Sophie and George were at midnight mass. He still maintained that it had served them right, leaving him alone on Christmas.
“St. Basil’s was built for Ivan the Terrible, back in the 1500s,” said Boris. “As you probably guessed, Ivan wasn’t the kindest ruler. Legend has it that when St. Basil’s was finished, he asked the architects who designed it if they could build another church just as beautiful. They told him yes, probably. And so he blinded them. So they could never build anything to rival this one.”
JR’s ears sprang up. “Really?”
Boris shrugged. “Legend has it. Now over here on your left, you’ll see the Kremlin. Most cities in Russia have a kremlin, or had one at one time. ‘Kremlin’ simply means fortress. But this is the Kremlin, the most important—”
“Boris!”
JR turned to see Ania trotting toward them, sniffing the wind. His ears pricked up again. Behind her was Fyodor, his mouth crusted with sour cream. And behind him was a handsome black and white husky-type dog with serious brown eyes. Somehow, JR knew that this was Ania’s friend Sasha. His ears lay back down.
“Ania!” Boris exclaimed, touching his nose to hers. “I’m glad you’re here. JR and I were just getting into the wonders of the Kremlin, and I thought we’d—”
“Not now,” Ania interrupted. “We’ve got to go.”
“Go?” Boris repeated. “Go where?”
Ania’s eyes flicked down to JR, then back up to Boris. “You know where,” she said. “It’s an emergency.”
“Oh.” Boris looked at the husky dog, who nodded gravely and stepped forward. He wasn’t quite as tall as Ania, but he was muscular under all his fur. JR squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his fullest height, determined not to be intimidated.
“Hello.” The dog gave JR a quick sniff. “I’m Sasha. I apologize for cutting into your tour.”
JR’s shoulders sank. Sasha was kind and polite as well as handsome. It was going to be hard to dislike him.
“That’s okay,” he sighed. “I’m JR.”
“Nice to meet you. Ania tells me you’re an embassy dog. Are you enjoying our city?”
JR nodded. “But I haven’t seen much of it yet. We just got to Red Square.”
“The tour will have to wait till another night, JR,” said Boris. “I’m terribly sorry. But Headquarters is impressive, too. You’ll see the—”
“What?” Fyodor cut in. “Embassy’s coming to Headquarters? Are you crazy?”
“Headquarters?” JR said, looking from one stray to the next. Now he was thoroughly confused.
“Well, we can’t very well leave him,” Boris pointed out.
“Yes, but …” Sasha gave JR a once-over, and JR drew himself up again.
“He’s not one of us!” Fyodor growled.
But Ania silenced him with a curl of her lip. She turned to JR and regarded him for a minute. Finally, she said, “Can you keep a secret?” Again, it was more of a statement than a question. JR nodded. “Because you won’t be allowed to tell anyone about where we take you.”
JR gulped and nodded again, suddenly not so sure he wanted to be on this tour at all.
“All right, then.” Ania turned to the others. “To Mayakovskaya.”