A warm May day wrapped the park in golden light.

Lyova and Misha, both wearing identical school trousers and blue shirts, sat on the grass, and nearby, stretched out to his full puppy length, lay Rex — a large, shaggy Alabai dog with a wet nose and kind, almost human eyes.

“Look what he can do!” Lyova proudly exclaimed, holding out his palm. “Rex, give paw!”

The puppy immediately jumped up, happily nudged his nose into the hand, and clumsily placed his massive paw on it.

Misha laughed, and Rex, sensing the fun, rushed to him, rolled him onto his back, and began tickling his face with his affection.

The boys squealed with delight, tangled up in a wild playful heap where it was impossible to tell where the dog ended and the human began.

“You spoil him too much,” Misha said, panting, brushing grass from his hair.

“How else?” Lyova brushed sand off his knee. “He’s my friend. And anyway — the smartest dog in the world.”

Rex, as if agreeing, nudged Misha’s hand with his nose and happily wagged his tail in the grass.

“Too bad I never had a dog,” Misha said quietly, stroking the puppy’s fluffy head.

“But now you have me and Rex,” Lyova slapped his friend on the shoulder. “And tomorrow I’ll bring him treats from home.”

Let him be happy too.

The sun slowly leaned toward sunset. Lyova stood up and carefully dusted off his pants.

“I have to go. Dad worries if I’m late.”

“But you come tomorrow, okay? I’ll definitely be waiting.”

Misha nodded, but inside he felt a strange foreboding.

He watched his friend leave, leading a bouncing Rex.

Being alone on the empty field always felt a bit sad.

Misha headed home, hoping tomorrow would bring something good, but the anxiety in his soul did not let go.

The apartment door creaked. Misha entered carefully, taking off his shoes at the door.

The air smelled of medicine, old wood, and a vague mixture of sadness and hope.

On the couch, covered with a blanket, lay his mother — Marina.

She held a book but her gaze wandered to the window.

“Hi, Mom,” Misha said quietly, trying not to disturb her thoughts.

“Already back? How was your walk?” Marina smiled, tired but with a warm sparkle in her eyes.

“Everything’s cool. Lyova showed me how Rex gives his paw. He’s such a funny puppy.”

“It’s good you have a friend,” Marina gently stroked her son’s hand.

“You know I’m always here.”

Other times surfaced in memory. When Dad brought home ice cream, when the apartment smelled of fried potatoes, when they watched movies and laughed together. It was warm, it was peaceful.

Then everything changed. One day, Mom slipped on the stairs and hurt herself badly.

Hospital, white walls, doctors in masks, anxious conversations.

The home became different: there were medicines, silence, the nighttime rustling of pills in boxes.

Dad was home less and less, then he just packed his things and left, slamming the door.

Marina cried, Misha didn’t know how to hug her to make the pain go away.

Grandma Valentina Nikolaevna came over, scolded her husband, baked pies, but didn’t stay long.

So the family shrank to two — mother and son.

They learned to survive together, holding on to each other.

The next day Lyova came looking different.

His usually lively face was tense, anxiety in his eyes.

“Things are bad at home,” he said quietly as Misha approached.

“Dad’s leaving on a business trip, and Inga is moving in. She’s terrible.

She loves no one but Dad. She scolds me, even Tamara Semyonovna.”

“Maybe she just hasn’t gotten used to it yet?” Misha tried to comfort, though he didn’t believe his own words.

“No,” Lyova shook his head. “She does it on purpose. She can’t even stand Rex.

She says he’s dirt and trouble. But Dad gave him to me for my birthday.

I wanted a dog for so long!”

He fell silent, staring into the distance, then perked up:

“You know, at night Rex quietly climbs into my bed.

We’re like real brothers. But now Inga forbids everything.

She won’t even let me walk him.”

The boys were silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

Lyova left earlier than usual and didn’t come for several days.

Misha wondered what had happened but hoped his friend would return soon.

Misha couldn’t get the thought out of his head: sooner or later Lyova would have to walk Rex.

One day he set an alarm for five in the morning and went to the river.

The park was empty, only birds chirped in the bushes.

He hid behind a bush and waited. Soon a silver car pulled up to the shore.

A tall woman in a bright scarf, with cold eyes and sharp makeup, got out.

Without looking back, she pulled a thick bag from the trunk that wriggled strangely and threw it into the water with effort.

Misha froze. His heart sank. But he didn’t hesitate — he plunged into the icy water, felt for the bag, and pulled it toward himself.

Pulling it ashore, shivering with fear, he untied the knot.

Inside, with its muzzle taped shut, lay Rex — scared but alive.

“Quiet, little one,” Misha carefully removed the sticky tape and pressed the puppy to himself. “It’s okay. I won’t leave you.”

Rex trembled but licked Misha’s cheek. At that moment, the boy made a decision: he wouldn’t give this dog to anyone.

At home, Marina met her son with surprise — before her stood a wet, shivering Misha holding a huge puppy wrapped in a blanket.

“What happened?” Marina asked anxiously, rushing to her son.

“This is Rex… someone tried to drown him!” Misha sobbed, stroking the puppy’s fluffy head.

“I saw a woman throw him into the river. I couldn’t just leave him there…”

Marina knelt, hugged her son, and pressed the trembling dog to herself.

“You did the right thing,” she whispered.

“But now we need to figure everything out.

Who is this woman? Did you remember her?”

“Yes. Tall, in a bright scarf. In a silver car.

We have to tell Lyova. He needs to know.”

Marina sighed, stroked Misha’s hair.

“We’ll keep Rex with us. Until we figure things out, he’ll live with us.”

The next morning Misha headed to Lyova’s house.

He stood for a long time behind the wrought-iron fence, watching the windows.

Soon Lyova came out on the porch with his father — Herman Arkadyevich.

Strict, in a flawless suit, he tried to calm his son.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Maybe Rex just ran away. We’ll definitely find him.”

“No!” Lyova clenched his fists. “It’s Inga! I saw how she was angry at him yesterday. And today he’s gone!”

Herman frowned but shook his head:

“Don’t make things up. Inga wouldn’t do that.”

At that moment Misha couldn’t hold back and ran out of hiding:

“I saw everything!” he shouted. “A woman in a bright scarf, in a silver car.

She threw a bag into the river, and Rex was inside!

I saved him. Now he’s at my house.”

Herman sharply turned to his son:

“Are you sure it was Inga?”

Lyova nodded, wiping away tears.

At that moment a silver car pulled up to the house.

Inga, in her trademark scarf, got out. Seeing them, she froze.

“Inga,” Herman’s voice was icy, “we need to talk. Now. Let’s go inside.”

She tried to say something, but Herman was firm.

“Wait here,” he told the boys and disappeared behind the door.

Fifteen minutes later he returned, pale but determined.

“Where is Rex?” he asked Misha. “Show me.”

At home, Marina greeted them reservedly. Herman suddenly recognized her and unexpectedly smiled:

“Marina? Is that you? We went to school together.

Remember the wooden doghouses in the yard and apples from the neighbor’s garden?”

Marina was slightly embarrassed but smiled too:

“Of course, I remember. You were always the top student.”

While the adults reminisced about school days, the boys with Rex made a real celebration of joy: running, laughing, hugging.

Everyone was grateful to fate that the puppy was alive and the friendship only grew stronger.

In the kitchen, Marina and Herman continued talking.

“Sometimes it seems life will never get better,” Marina said quietly.

“But then suddenly someone appears, and everything begins to change.”

Herman nodded, looking at her closely:

“The main thing is not to give up. You can start over.”

Their eyes met longer than usual — there was more in them than memories.

Herman gave the boys some money:

“Buy something tasty for tea. And come to us. Today we have a celebration!”

Misha and Lyova rushed to the store, returning with chips, ice cream, and candy.

At Herman’s house, Marina helped Tamara Semyonovna cut salad, and the housekeeper baked her famous pies.

At the table, everyone laughed, told stories, and no one even mentioned Inga — her things disappeared as if she had never been there.

The atmosphere was warm, homely, almost magical.

It seemed all troubles were behind them.

Late in the evening, while the adults were still sitting over tea, Misha and Lyova settled in a room.

“Do you think if our parents were together, things would be better for us?” Lyova asked thoughtfully.

“Of course,” Misha smiled. “You’d be my brother, and Rex would be our dog.”

“Let’s test their feelings,” Lyova conspiratorially suggested.

“Let’s write a note: we ran away and will only come back if they agree to get married.”

The boys giggled, wrote the note, and carefully placed it on the kitchen table.

In the morning, Marina couldn’t find her son. The house was in a bustle.

Herman searched every room until he noticed the note.

After reading it, he laughed:

“Those rascals… Looks like we have no choice.”

They went outside, and Herman saw the boys behind the bushes.

“Well,” he smiled, “shall we make a deal?”

Marina nodded shyly, but hope and joy shone in her eyes.

“I agree,” she said quietly.

Tamara Semyonovna laughed and called the kids home:

“Hey, you rascals! Come back!

The adults have already decided everything!”

Misha and Lyova ran to their parents, Rex jumped around barking happily.

Everyone hugged, laughed, and outside the window, as if especially for this moment, the sun shone brightly.

And life became kind again.