Arthur was a large, shaggy dog with dark brown fur, a face like a teddy bear, and big, soft brown eyes that often conveyed a deep sadness.
He lived with Marin and her young son, Tim, in a small suburban house where days were filled with games in the yard, walks in the nearby park, and friendly squabbles over the best spot by the fireplace on cold winter evenings.
Arthur adored Tim. They were inseparable – playmates, nap buddies, and even sleep companions, as Arthur always occupied a part of Tim’s bed, faithfully guarding him from monsters under the bed.
Arthur’s world was simple and happy, revolving around the two people who loved him unconditionally.
But, as often happens, a cloud of sadness slowly appeared on the horizon. Marin, a hardworking and dedicated woman, had started talking about “problems” at work.
The word “restructuring” often flew through her phone conversations, and Arthur, with his keen sensitivity, felt the anxiety in her voice. Tim’s school days grew longer, and Marin had to work more and more, leaving Arthur alone at home for hours.
The happy wagging of his tail when he heard the key in the door was no longer as vigorous; he had learned that entry would often be followed by Marin speaking quietly on the phone and Tim going straight to his room.
Then, the day came when the suitcases appeared. Large, old suitcases that Arthur remembered from rare vacations. This time, they weren’t filled with beach toys or swimsuits. They were filled with clothes, books, and other familiar items from home.
And then, Marin started putting things into boxes. Large cardboard boxes, where each item found its place, moving from shelves and tables. Arthur wandered around their feet, confused, seeking an explanation with his big eyes.
They both petted him and spoke in soft voices, but there was no explanation. Just, “We’re going to another place, Arthur. It will be good.”
The words were meaningless to him. What he understood was change. The smell of the house was changing, the rhythm of life was changing. Tim was less and less at home, and when he did come home, he was quiet, with red eyes. Sometimes, Arthur would jump onto Tim’s bed, licking his face gently, trying to comfort him, but Tim would just hug him tightly and cry silently.
Finally, the big day arrived. The car. A car filled to the brim, with little room for Arthur. He got into the back, resting his head on Tim’s lap. The journey was long, full of stops and interruptions.
When they arrived, it was another house. An empty house, without the familiar scent of the old one. None of his familiar belongings were there. Not his bed, not his bowls, not his toys. Nothing. Just Marin and Tim, tired and sad, sitting on the cold floor.
The first few days were a nightmare. Arthur didn’t eat, didn’t play. He just lay in a corner, listening to the strange voices and watching his two beloved humans move like shadows. The new house was smaller, and the yard was just a concrete patch.
Walks were rare, and the old park was miles away. The absence of the old house, the familiar smell of the yard, and his human and canine friends weighed heavily on him.