And in the living room, a fire was blazing – the flames were greedily devouring half the room, crackling and throwing sparks. The dog was standing nearby, barking at the fire, then looked at me again, as if urging me on: “Faster!”
I grabbed the phone, dialed the fire department with trembling fingers and, without wasting a second, ran out of the apartment with it. Only on the street, when we were already safe and I was trying to catch my breath, did it dawn on me: if it weren’t for him, I would have continued to sleep… and might simply not have woken up.
Later it turned out that in the evening I was ironing clothes and, being mortally tired, I forgot to turn off the iron. It remained lying on the clothes. That’s what caused the fire.
I didn’t remember anything. But my dog – he smelled the smoke before I did and did everything he could to wake me up. If it weren’t for him… I probably wouldn’t be telling this story now.
