When Mum and I Were Walking Home from the Market, I Noticed It for the First TimeIt was a lone, silver-haired sparrow perched on the stall’s awning, watching us with an unnerving, almost human curiosity.

The stray sits on the bench at the bus stop, just as tired or homeless dogs often do, but he perches there like a personcalm, confident, alert. In the pale winter light he squints at the road, occasionally lifting his head to scan the passersby as if looking for someone. He doesnt dart around the shelter, he doesnt bark, he doesnt try to get up to anyonehe simply sits and waits. It feels oddly human.

Mum, look! I tug at my mothers coat. A little dog!

Hes tiny, skinny, bigeared, a bit clumsy and awkward, like a teenager still learning to control his long limbs. What grabs me most are his eyestired but not dull. Theres a depth there that words cant capture, yet anyone can feel it instantly.

Mum gives him a quick onceover, sighs wearily and says, Dont touch him. Hes probably full of fleas, hasnt been vaccinated. We cant take him on the bus. If we walk away, hell just walk away too.

A bus pulls up, then another, and the dog is still there. He shifts from one paw to the other, glances around now and then, but never moves from his spot. Its as if hes waiting for someone among the crowd. When his gaze lands on me, I swear I hear, Youre the one Ive been waiting for, arent you?

Mum, please I cant yet beg like an adult. I just stare, eyes watery, heart thudding. Hell get cold

Mum bites her lip, looks up at the grey sky, then back at the pup and slowly exhales, If nobody takes him by sunset, well bring him home. But remember, thats your responsibility. If Dad gets angry, youll have to explain it yourself.

I nod as if the whole of his life hinges on that. I rush back to the stop, drop my scarf, and fold it around him like a blanket. He doesnt resist. He merely lets out a soft sigh, his nose nudging the coat.

At home he eats in silence, fast, almost greedily, as if each crumb were his last chance. It isnt joyits desperation. Every bite, every morsel feels like a final gasp.

He curls up on my old coat and falls asleep. It seems, for once, that he can rest. No more holding on, no more fleeing, no more hopejust sleep.

How shall we name him? Mum asks while putting away the empty bowl.

I think for a moment, then a thought snaps into place.

Todays the twelfth of April, I say.

And?

Gagarin, I answer.

Mum raises an eyebrow, surprised. In honour of space?

The first honour I give him. Hes my first hero, my own little astronaut.

She smiles, but the name sticks. Gagarin stays Gagarin.

The first days are anything but easy. The cat darts out the front door, circles the wardrobe and makes a nest in the chest of drawers. Grandmother declares that the house now smells of doggy. Dad, whos on a work trip, calls and shouts that hes allergic and that were all going mad. I listen, I nod, and I refuse to give up.

Gagarin behaves almost perfectly. He barely barks, never begs for attention, doesnt chew shoes. He simply stays beside me, constantly, calmly, as if just knowing were there is enough.

He grows. His ears get even bigger, his legs stretch, his frame becomes squareshouldered yet still endearing. When I get home from school, hes always waiting by the doornot leaping, not whining, just looking straight into my eyes as if asking, How was your day?

He reads my mood perfectly. When Im ill, he lies beside me, motionless. When I cry over a broken toy, he brings his ball forward as if to say, Play with me instead of sulking. If I argue with someone, he plops onto my lap and rests his head on my shoulder. He is simply there.

Winter that year is brutal. Huge snowstorms, bitter frosts, the river behind the school freezes solid. Everyone goes skatingchildren, adults, even the old ladies from the community centre. Gagarin and I spend almost every day out on the ice. I toss a snowball at him, he darts after it, skids across the slick surface, and we laugh.

One afternoon Im alone. My friend has a fever, Mum is late coming home from the shop, and thick snow falls in soft, endless flakes. The world is white and quiet; only my boots crunch on the hardened snow.

Gagarin darts ahead, weaving through the bare shrubs. I edge closer to the river. The ice looks smooth, beautiful, with faint cracks that hint at its fragilitybut it seems sturdy.

I step forward. Another step. And then a crack.

Before I can shout, everything beneath my foot gives way. Water surges up, icy and biting. Panic spikes. My hands flail, finding nothing to hold onto. The ice shatters louder, and my breath catches. I cant see an exit, I cant think straight.

A sudden tug yanks me back.

I hear the scrape of my coat against the ice as someone pulls. I turn my headGagarin.

He bites the hem of my coat and hauls with every ounce of strength he has. He slips, slides, slides again, but doesnt let go. He growls low, whines, pulls me onto the brittle surface.

How we get out, I cant recall. I only remember the cold water lapping at my knees, my elbows bruised, my body trembling, and Gagarin pressed against me, drenched, shaking, his whole body wrapped around mine.

He lies on top of me as if terrified of losing me again.

Soon the ambulance arrives, Mum rushes in, the doctors take me to the hospital, and a vets van whisks Gagarin away. Ive suffered a mild frostbite; hes nursing inflammation, wounds, and exhaustion.

Both of us survive.

A week later I return home. Gagarin greets me at the doorway, waddles over, presses his nose against my stomach and curls up beside me. No words are needed. Everything is clear.

Since then he is no longer just a dog. He is my universe. My Gagarin.

A year passes. We move to a new flat, a fresh front door that bears a plaque reading, Beware: Hero Inside.

I never let him near the river againneither in winter nor in summer. Whenever I head out, he stands at the threshold, looks into my eyes, not angry, just firm.

Sometimes he perches on the balcony and watches the sky for ages, as if searching for something.

Counting the stars again, Gagarin? I chuckle.

He doesnt answer. He simply leans his head against my shoulder.

And it feels warm.

Very warm.

Forever.