TO THOSE WHO ARE USED TO CITIES, THE COUNTRYSIDE LOOKS LIKE AN EMPTY PLACE, PEPPERED WITH ISOLATED FARMHOUSES AND BARNS. IF YOU LIVE IN the countryside, you know how active it is. You may wake to find a beggar at your back door, offering to sharpen your knives in exchange for a good meal. Woodsmen traverse the boundless forests in all seasons, half hermits, half madmen. Neighbors visit, trading stories and local gossip.

With all of this in mind, Nikolai and I still came to the conclusion that we had to find a place outdoors, away from the house, where we could hide Zasha if necessary. We stood under an old beech tree discussing the possibilities. Zasha lay on her side next to us in the thick, cool shade. We were only a hundred yards off one of the paths to the forest, tucked down and away behind a small rocky hill, next to a trickle of a stream.

Nikolai pointed to a small opening near the base of the hill, not big enough to be called a cave, but large enough for a small boy to crawl into on his hands and knees, as we had done many times. “I think if we were very careful, we could hollow that opening out just a little more. Maybe even put sticks in there to act like supports.”

I’d gotten stuck inside of it once and had no desire to go into it again. “Don’t you think the earth would collapse if we dug more out?”

“All we need to do is make it big enough for Zasha to walk into, turn around, and lie down. That won’t be much. Plus room for the supports, like I said.”

I nodded, thinking he could be right. “If we gathered rocks, we could arrange them a few feet in front of the cave opening and make it look natural, but leave a space on the side so Zasha could come and go.”

“Yes!” He got up and pointed to the stream. “And she’ll always have fresh water. It’s low now, but it never dries up.”

“What if someone sees her?”

“There is danger for her no matter where we keep her. The workers won’t be back till September. Even then, they work so hard all day that the last thing they want to do is explore the land.”

“Will we have to keep her hidden forever?” I asked, thinking how I longed to run with her through the fields.

“I don’t know. But for now, yes. Until everyone stops being so mad at Germany.”

“Do you … do you think that will ever happen?”

“For some, no. But so many dogs starved and disappeared during the war that I think people will soon start looking for dogs again. Maybe they will forget their hatred, and if they meet a beautiful German shepherd, they’ll admire her, not want to destroy her.”

“I don’t think there are any more German shepherds in Russia,” I said, sitting down next to Zasha and stroking her neck.

“Maybe in some of the cities,” Nikolai suggested half-heartedly.

“I don’t think so. The battles were too destructive, too long. The siege of Leningrad lasted two and a half years! I think they’ve either been killed or starved or taken by the army to blow up tanks, like Mother told us.” Nikolai sat down heavily next to me, nodding his head. “She might be the last German shepherd in all of Russia.”

“Russia’s very big,” Nikolai argued.

“I think they’re all gone,” I said, my voice soft with fear. “And I think if they find Zasha, they’ll kill her, too.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” he asked after a moment.

“Anyone who thinks a good Russian must hate even the dogs of their enemy.”

“Mother said they aren’t our enemy anymore because they surrendered and the war is over.”

“Our mother is kinder and more logical than most.” I stood up nervously. “Come on, Nikolai. We need to find two more hiding places.”

“Why? This one is perfect. It’s a half mile from the house, it has water….”

“I know, I know. It’s just that we have to be prepared for the unexpected.” He stared into the distance and pulled at the grass, concentrating. “There’s the workers’ shelter down at the southwest end of the farm,” I said, referring to a square hut where the farmhands waited out heavy storms during the harvest.

Nikolai looked doubtful. “A building like that would be too obvious.”

“Yes, but for an emergency it would do.”

“What kind of an emergency?”

“Let’s say the Gypsies made a camp here.”

“They know better than to camp on farmland. I’ve heard that some were even beaten in the southern provinces for doing that.”

“I still see them sometimes in the forest.”

“All right, for an ‘emergency’ we’ll use the workers’ shelter. But you said we need three…. I can’t think of another place. The land is too flat.”

“Our house.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. If we don’t have time to hide Zasha out here, we have to have something ready — in the house, the barn, I don’t know.”

We were walking back and forth restlessly now. Zasha sat up, watching us intently. “We need to trick the eye,” I said, thinking out loud. “A person sees something and makes an assumption. Like when you see someone in uniform, you automatically believe that person is what their uniform says they are.”

“You’re saying we need to find something like that at home, that someone will see, but overlook.”

“The barn has possibilities,” I continued, “but the building is so open. You could hide a small object there in the hay; it would be perfect. But I don’t think it’s our answer for Zasha.”

“The cellar?” Nikolai asked in a tone that suggested he knew as he said it that it was a bad idea.

I shook my head. “Somewhere in Mother’s room?”

“There is that L-shaped closet….”

“It will come to us when we’re back home and looking hard. For now, let’s dig out the little cave for Zasha. At least we’ll have something ready.”

Zasha trotted behind us with interest as we gathered rocks and sticks, and with the help of a few sharp ones, we began to create her hiding place. Nikolai did the digging, knowing my dislike of the small space. I layered rocks, mud from the streambed, and the plants that surrounded us into a little wall in front of the entrance to the cave, mimicking the hillside as well as I could.

After almost an hour of work we stopped, took off our shirts, and sat at the edge of the creek, soaking our feet in the cool water; Zasha lay between us.

Without realizing it, I began to sing a song our grandmother used to sing to me. “Shine, shine, my star. Shine, my twinkling star. You are my dearest one, there will be no other.” By the time I got to the third line, Zasha emitted a sound halfway between a moan and a howl. She kept it up in the fourth line, a little louder.

Nikolai and I stared at each other in astonishment. Up until that moment, Zasha had not yet barked or made a sound louder than a growl.

“Sing the second verse,” Nikolai demanded.

“When the night comes down, a lot of stars shine in the sky….” Zasha howled along. Her tones were long, her pitches varied.

“She’s singing!” I cried, and continued the song. “But you’re the only one I see, shine, my little star.”

Nikolai fell back on the ground, laughing. “I can’t believe it! Zasha likes to sing!” He tried another song, one we’d learned at school. She repeated her performance, snout high in the air, her mouth a little askew as she felt for the notes she so obviously heard.

I lay down on my side on the soft earth, facing Nikolai and Zasha, my feet still touching the gently moving water. “I love her almost as much as I love Mama and Papa,” I confessed.

“But more than Rina?” he joked.

“Equal to Rina … on one of her good days!”

Nikolai got up and stretched. “We should get back to work. I wonder what other songs she knows.”

I petted Zasha’s head. “I’ll bet she happens to know every song we know.”

Nikolai sang the first few notes of the national anthem. Zasha joined him. I hugged her and stood up. “Let’s make a hiding place worthy of such a singer.”

As I strolled back toward the cave, I sang again: “Shine, shine, my star….” Zasha followed me, howling along. Nikolai sang, too. “Shine, my twinkling star. You are my dearest one. There will be no other.” Zasha looked at each one of us in turn when we’d finished, proud as any opera star, ready for her encore.