He was sitting at the bus stop. Small, dirty, with shabby fur and eyes that reflected only one thought — «I’m waiting.» The world was passing by. People were in a hurry, making noise, laughing, complaining about life. And he was just sitting. And waiting.
He was not just a dog. He was a soul locked in a body that had long been tired. A small bundle of devotion that could not be broken by cold, hunger, or pain. And his name was Timosha.
Timosha was picked up by his grandmother — Valentina Alekseyevna. She was already over seventy, her back hurt, her legs ached, but her heart was like a child’s. Huge. Kind. Open. She found the puppy in winter, behind the garbage cans. He was shaking, squeaking, his paw was broken. She picked him up, wrapped him in a shawl and whispered: «That’s it, baby. Now you’re mine.» From then on, they were together. Always.
Every morning Valentina Alekseyevna fed him porridge, stroked his ear and talked to him as if he were a person. And he — he looked at her as if he understood every word. When she cried at night — he quietly lay down next to her, snuggled up and sighed. When she felt sick — he ran after his neighbor. When she fell — he licked her face until she came to.
He was not just a dog. He was her family.
Every day they walked to the bus stop. Valentina Alekseyevna sat on a bench, and Timosha lay down at her feet. Sometimes she went on business — to the clinic, to the pharmacy, to the social security office. And she always said to him: “Wait for me, Timosha. I’ll be there soon.” He lay down. And waited. As long as necessary. Even if the bus was late, even if it was raining, even if it was getting dark.
He didn’t leave.
And every time she came back. She held out her hand and smiled: «Good girl. You waited.» And they walked home together.
But one day she didn’t come back.
Timosha, as usual, lay down at the bus stop. One bus passed. Then another. Then a third. The sun went down. People started looking at him: «Whose dog is this?» But he didn’t react. He looked into the distance. And waited.
He didn’t know that Valentina Alekseyevna had been taken to the hospital with a stroke. That she had become ill right on the bus. That she had only managed to whisper: «I have a dog at home… he’s waiting…» — and lost consciousness.
No one knew who she was. No one knew about Timosha. No one came for him.
He waited a day. Then two. Then a week.
The neighbors saw him lying at the bus stop, they came up to him, tried to call, but he didn’t react. He knew: she said she would return. And if she said, it meant she would come back.
He was starving. He was losing weight. His fur had matted into dirty clumps. His eyes were dull. He trembled at night and still did not leave. Someone brought him food — he did not eat. He waited for them to leave. He ate only at night. Alone.
One day they tried to take him to the shelter.
He struggled. He barked. He looked at them with such pain that the woman from the catcher’s hands began to shake. She let go of the leash. Timosha ran away. And half an hour later he was back at his stop.
A month passed. People had already gotten used to him. They called him «the one waiting.» Some sympathized, some pitied, some got irritated. But no one — no one — could replace the one he was waiting for.
And at that time, Valentina Alekseyevna was lying in the ward. Unconscious. The doctors fought for her. And one day — she woke up. The first thing she whispered to the nurse was: «Timosha…» But she couldn’t get up. She couldn’t walk. She couldn’t even ask someone — she didn’t remember the address.
Her heart was breaking. She cried at night, asking God: «Let him live. Let him wait…»
Timosha waited.
He was losing strength. He was limping. He barely ate. But every day — he came. He lay down. He looked. He knew — she said that she would return. So, he had to wait.
And one day — she returned.
Two months passed. Valentina Alekseyevna was discharged. With a neighbor — in a taxi. She could barely stand, but she begged: «Please… stop at the bus stop. He must be there…»
And he was.
He lay in the same place. With bony sides. With his eyes closed. And at that moment, when she got out of the car and said: «Timosha…» — he raised his head.
Slowly. With difficulty. He looked. As if he didn’t believe.
Then — he jumped up. He ran towards her. He pushed her down on the bench. He licked her face, cried, whined, trembled.
She hugged him. And cried.
The people at the bus stop stood silently. Someone turned away. Someone wiped their eyes.
And no one — no one could pass by.
Now they were together again. Walking slowly, very slowly. But — home. Together.
She whispered: «Sorry for making you wait…»
And he only pressed himself against her leg and sighed.
Because he knew:
If you love, then you wait. As long as necessary.
➕
