8

The Metro Dogs of Moscow

At first glance, it was a grand and beautiful room. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the centre of its very high ceiling. The walls were painted deep red and decorated with old paintings framed in gold, each one depicting some scene from the past—farmers labouring in a field, schoolchildren in a classroom, workers in a factory.

On closer inspection, however, it wasn’t nearly as grand as it seemed. Not any more, anyway. For one thing, there was the smell—that sour stray smell JR was now almost used to. For another, there was the carpet, which at one time must have been plush and cream coloured, but was now threadbare and the colour of dirt.

And finally, there were the couches. Not only were they just as filthy and worn as the carpet, they were covered with stray dogs.

There were big dogs and small dogs, long-haired dogs and short-haired dogs, and even one hairless dog. There were retriever-type dogs and shepherd-ish dogs and hound-like dogs, all lounging on the furniture as if they owned the place.

“Palaces for the people,” Boris had called the metro stations. This, however, was obviously a palace for the pooches. A castle for the canines. JR snickered at his own joke, then stopped when he realized that every dog in the room was staring directly at him.

“Ania.” A stocky black hound with white freckles on his snout closed the door behind them. “We’re glad you’re here. Sasha and Boris, too.” He gave Fyodor a wary look as he leaped up on the nearest couch, shouldering other dogs out of the way. Then he turned to JR. “Who is this?”

“JR,” Ania said, walking into the middle of the room. “He’s a new friend. We were showing him around the city.” She flicked her long ears in an “I dare you to argue” kind of way, and several dogs nodded. One hopped off a couch to make room for her.

“Welcome, then,” said the hound. “I am Sergei.”

“Nice to meet you.” JR tried to look serious, but all he wanted to do was let his hind legs dance. Ania had called him a friend!

“Well then, if everyone is here, I hereby call this meeting of the Metro Dogs of Moscow to order,” Sergei announced. JR followed Boris to a spot on the carpet, where he had a good view of everyone. The metro dogs sat tall on their couches, ears pricked.

“You all know why you’ve been summoned. More dogs have disappeared in the past week, and we need to discuss what we know about the situation.”

Disappearing dogs! JR stopped looking around and gave Sergei his full attention.

A few started to murmur among themselves, and Sergei held up a paw. “One at a time. Sasha, why don’t you start.”

Sasha cleared his throat. “No one’s seen Vlad for two weeks now,” he reported. “And Anastasia for three. Both were last seen around Tverskaya.”

Sergei thought for a moment, then said, “That brings the count to twenty-five.”

A dainty grey terrier with enormous black eyes stood up. JR could tell right away that she was an adorable-but-vicious type. He’d met a lot of those in Paris.

“I can’t help but think we’re worrying about nothing,” she said, licking her paw. “Maybe they’ve just found someplace nice, and they’re not telling the rest of us about it.”

“I agree,” said a slightly dim-looking retriever. “I heard that a dog food company went out of business and abandoned an entire warehouse of food, somewhere in the suburbs. Maybe all the missing dogs are there, feasting on kibble.”

The hairless dog whimpered. “Could it be true?”

“I’ll bet it’s chicken and rice,” moaned a skinny shepherd. “I love chicken and rice.”

A long-haired blond dog stood up on her couch and tossed her hair.

“Oksana?” Sergei said.

“Impossible,” Oksana proclaimed. “I know Anastasia better than anyone. If she found a warehouse full of kibble, every dog in Moscow would know about it in an hour. She can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

A few dogs chuckled and agreed.

“I heard,” Oksana continued, “that city workers are shipping strays to control camps outside the city. They think there are too many of us.”

“Is that like the pound?” the skinny shepherd asked.

“It’s worse than the pound,” Oksana answered. “There’s next to no food at these camps and no clean water. And the cages are tiny—so small you can barely turn around inside them. If you end up there, you won’t last two weeks.”

The shepherd gulped.

The dogs began to murmur again. The hairless one whined. The dim-looking retriever insisted they stay positive. Ania kept quiet, but her grey eyes were grim. Even Fyodor looked uncertain.

“But I thought humans didn’t mind strays here,” JR blurted out, then shrank back as everyone turned to look at him. The words had escaped before he could think better of interrupting the meeting. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just thought …”

“It’s not that simple, Embassy,” Fyodor snapped.

“Fyodor.” Boris shot him a warning look.

“It is complicated, JR.” Sergei sat back on his haunches. “Moscow has always had many strays. At one time, decades ago, the government would kill them to keep them under control.”

“Barbarians.” Oksana shook her long, blond head, and the dim-looking retriever let out a quiet, mournful howl.

“Eventually, though,” Sergei went on, “the Russian people decided they’d had enough of that government. And with the new one came new rules—or rather, no rules for strays. We were allowed to live where we wanted and go where we pleased. And we still do.”

“Hear, hear.” Sasha thumped his thick tail on the carpet.

“The problem,” Sergei continued, “is that these days, there are more and more of us—some say too many. But it’s not our fault. It’s the fault of all those humans who think they need big, impressive dogs for their big, impressive lives. But they don’t know how to raise them or care for them. And when they realize that having a dog is hard work, well …” Sergei sighed.

“What?” JR asked, although he had a good idea.

“The dogs get thrown out onto the streets,” Ania finished.

“Really?” JR shivered, imagining what would happen if George decided one day that he was too much trouble. Then he remembered the Dumont-Sauvage Seafaring Nomad AC III, and swore to himself that he’d never destroy anything again.

Somehow, Boris read his thoughts. “It’s getting late, JR,” he murmured. “Do you have to be getting home?”

JR consulted with his stomach. Eight o’clock had come and gone long ago, and he’d barely noticed. It was probably close to ten now. He glanced around, wanting to stay and learn more, but knowing he couldn’t. “Yeah. I do.”

“I’ll take you, then,” said Boris. “You’d never find it on your own, and frankly, I’m not sure how much more of this I can listen to.” He sighed. “Come.”

The others had gone back to speculating about possible reasons for the disappearances, so barely anyone noticed when Boris and JR excused themselves and headed back out the heavy door. Boris led the way down the corridor and up the stairs to the main station.

Back on the train, JR turned to the older dog, who was looking even older than usual. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” said Boris, straightening a little.

“Sergei said that humans are always buying dogs for the wrong reasons, then kicking them out, right?”

Boris nodded sadly.

“So all those dogs back there once had their own humans?”

“Some,” Boris replied. “Fyodor did. I did, too. In fact, I used to be a very handsome dog, if you’ll believe it. A prime specimen.” He held his head up and peered down at JR.

“Wow.” JR tried hard to picture it.

“Wow, indeed. Only the heartiest dogs survive being abandoned. Many more perish.”

JR thought for a moment, then asked, “Was Ania thrown out, too?”

Boris shook his head. “She was born on the street.” Then he chuckled. “You don’t want to mess with our Ania.”

Boris left him at the corner store where they’d first seen each other. It felt like weeks ago.

“Can we try again tomorrow for the tour?” JR asked.

For a moment, Boris looked concerned. Then he nodded. “All right. You really must see the Kremlin. Same time, same place?”

“Same time, same place,” said JR, and he turned for home.