Goodwin’s Second Chance
“Mama, can I ride my scooter with Vanya in the courtyard?”
Ksenia didn’t look up from her cutting board. “I know exactly how that’ll go. And where am I supposed to find you afterward?”
Just two days ago, Danya and his friend had vanished from the courtyard without a word. She found them racing around the park with some teenage boys. That incident earned Danya a serious scolding and a threat: pull that trick again and you’re going to your father’s—permanently.
“I swear, Mama, I won’t leave the courtyard without asking,” Danya pleaded. His wide, honest eyes looked just like that cat from Shrek—the one nobody could say no to. Ksenia almost smiled, but kept her face stern.
“Fine. Just be careful. Watch for cars and don’t knock anyone over.”
“I promise!” he called, already halfway to the hallway.
“If you leave the courtyard, you’ll be grounded for life, you hear me?” she yelled after him as the door slammed shut.
“To whom am I even talking…” she muttered, shaking her head.
It was summer. School was out. At ten years old, the last thing Danya wanted was to stay indoors. He wanted to roam free on his scooter with friends until the sun dipped low. Summer meant throwing on shorts, a T-shirt, slipping into sneakers, and flying out the door.
From the kitchen window, Ksenia watched him roll outside with his scooter. Vanya met him immediately. The two boys chatted for a moment before zipping around the courtyard. Satisfied, she returned to the stove to add potatoes to the broth. Every few minutes, she peeked out the window—just in case.
He’s not going anywhere, she reassured herself. That last lecture must’ve sunk in. And he knows I’m watching. Tomorrow I won’t be home, though… I shouldn’t worry yet. But in a few years, no amount of promises will stop him. He’ll lie. Sneak off. Then there’ll be girls… And how am I supposed to handle it alone?
The thought of her ex twisted something bitter in her chest. They were supposed to be forever. She’d ignored her mother’s warnings and rushed into marriage. Within a year, he’d cheated—with her best friend. They divorced, and he barely lifted a finger to see their son. The only time he showed up was on Danya’s birthday—with a toy Ksenia had to suggest, or else he’d bring something pitiful. In his mind, child support was enough of a fatherly contribution.
The smell of sautéed onions, carrots, and peppers filled the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
Ksenia froze.
Why is he ringing? Danya has keys… Did he lose them? Or…
She darted to the window. The courtyard had quieted—mothers and toddlers gone for lunch and naps. But where were Danya and Vanya?
A second, more urgent ring snapped her out of it. She opened the door.
There stood Danya, pale, clutching one hand with the other. His eyes were wide, guilty, and scared.
“I knew it! What happened?” she asked sharply.
“I—I fell off the scooter. It’s not bad. Don’t get mad!” he stammered, trying to pull his hand away.
Ksenia looked closer. There were bloody bite marks—on both the palm and the back of his hand.
“A dog bit you?”
“She wasn’t stray. She had a collar. She lives in our courtyard—across the street.”
“Where was her owner?! What if she’s rabid?!” Ksenia panicked, the door still open.
A loud shuffle of feet and wheezing breath interrupted them. A plump woman appeared at the door, catching her breath.
“Sorry… Tried to catch up with him… not easy…” she gasped.
“Some ladies told me Goodwin bit your boy. But your son provoked him—he poked him with a stick. They saw it. The dog’s domestic, all vaccinated. Papers are with the owner. He’s not rabid,” she managed between breaths.
“You’re not the owner? Then why was he out alone? He could’ve bitten a toddler!”
“He’s kind. Gentle. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. But your son shouldn’t poke animals with sticks…” she muttered. “Water? Please?”
Ksenia gave her a glass. As the woman noisily gulped it down, Ksenia paced the hallway, calling for a taxi and muttering about going to the police and putting the dog down before he hurt someone else.
“Good Lord… we need a hospital…” she said aloud, grabbing her phone.
As she turned to head back, she bumped straight into the woman’s soft bulk in the narrow corridor.
“He’s not rabid, got it? It’s you who needs help! Your boy provoked him. Wait for the owner to come back—talk to him. But you won’t touch Goodwin,” the woman said firmly.
“No owner, dog roams free? That’s a stray,” Ksenia snapped.
“He’s mine for now. The owner’s away on a work trip. I’m too old to walk him. I let him out, and he comes back—smart dog. Climbs stairs, scratches the door to be let in. You’re the one who should be leashed.”
“My son was teaching her to fetch, not poking!” Danya piped up.
“You didn’t even see it happen! You’re going off what the old ladies said!” Ksenia barked as she confirmed the taxi to the ER.
“You’re defending a stray that bit a child? Move!” she yelled when the woman blocked the kitchen.
Shuffling aside, the woman left, muttering under her breath.
Ksenia grabbed her bag and Danya’s arm—he yelped in pain.
“Sorry. Let’s go, the taxi’s here.”
At the hospital, the doctor cleaned the wound. Danya, scared of needles, quickly told the truth: the dog wasn’t stray, was vaccinated, and it was kind of his fault. The doctor gave instructions and let them go.
“You’re grounded. No more courtyard. Next time I’ll ship you to your dad!” Ksenia fumed in the car.
Back home, Danya sulked in his room while Ksenia returned to the burned soup. She was washing dishes, angry scrubbing each plate, when a memory pierced through: Danya, six years old, tumbling headfirst off a slide while she’d been distracted on a call. She hadn’t caught him. He’d been fine… but it could’ve ended so much worse.
You can’t protect them from everything.
You can’t always be there.
And soon, he’ll be grown. Girls, friends, parties… Who’s going to catch him then?
Later, she went to Danya’s room. He was reading. She sat beside him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just worry. You’re everything to me.”
“I’m sorry too, Mom,” he said softly.
She stroked his short hair. He didn’t pull away, didn’t groan, “Mooom…” like he used to. He understood.
“Still hurt?”
“A little,” he said.
Two days later, as she cooked dinner, the doorbell rang. Again.
She opened the door. A tall man stood there, leash in hand. At his feet sat a small dog, wagging its tail.
“Good evening. Is your son the one Goodwin bit?”
“Come in,” Ksenia said, surprised.
“Hey, buddy. How’s the hand?” the man asked, peering past her. Danya peeked from his room.
“I’m okay,” he said.
“I’m really sorry this happened,” the man started, but Ksenia interrupted.
“Sorry? What if he’d bitten toddlers on the playground? Why own a dog if you’re always away? He’s practically a stray!”
The man didn’t flinch, just looked at her quietly.
She flushed. There you go again. Overreacting. You hate moms who do this, and now look at you.
“The neighbor said your son poked him with a stick. Goodwin’s just a dog—teeth are his only defense. Your son isn’t a baby. But still… I’m sorry. I’ll pay for any damages.”
“And how much is a child’s health worth to you? Or is your dog more important than a boy?”
“I came to apologize. Calmly. You… overreacted.”
“I’m not overreacting! I’m a mother!” Her voice cracked with emotion.
“I get it. My ex and I never had kids. She got Goodwin to fill the void. Then she left—with a new husband who’s allergic. Wanted to dump the dog. I couldn’t let that happen. Asked the neighbor to watch him. I didn’t realize how hard it was for her. I’m sorry.”
And with that, he turned and left.
Ksenia saw him often after that, walking Goodwin in the courtyard. He always nodded. She always turned away.
Two weeks passed. One quiet Sunday morning, the bell rang again.
Groggy in her robe, she opened the door.
It was him.
“I’m sorry to show up like this,” he said. “I don’t have your number. I’m going away for a few days, and I don’t know who else to ask. Could you watch Goodwin?”
From behind her, Danya squealed, “Goodwin!” The dog leapt toward him, tail spinning like a propeller.
Ksenia blinked. “When did you two become friends?”
“We walk together a lot,” the man smiled.
Danya gave her the eyes again—those irresistible ones.
“What am I going to do with you two…” she muttered, smiling.
He handed her the leash, explained feeding, walking times. “Dan knows everything,” he said, already glancing at the time. “I’ve got a flight to catch.”
As Danya played with the dog, Ksenia watched. Maybe this was good. Vanya was away. Now Danya had a friend. And a responsibility.
The dog was gentle. Kind. Easy to love. Even Ksenia warmed to him.
When the man—his name was Stas—returned a week later, he brought a seashell and chocolates as a thank-you. He was tanned and smiling. “I’m a diving instructor,” he explained. “I found this shell myself.”
Danya was fascinated. Stas stayed for breakfast. And then… he started staying longer. Visiting after trips. Bringing more shells. Until one day, he simply didn’t leave.
The shelf now held a growing collection of coral and ocean treasures. The boy had a dog. And, maybe soon, a new kind of family.
“A good dog never ruined a home,”
wrote Eduard Uspensky.
And sometimes, a good dog brings one together.