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After a long day at work, I drove to pick up my first dog, convinced that I would be the one making the decision. We choose our profession, where we live, the people with whom we share our everyday lives. And then there comes a moment that quietly, without a single word, shows us something entirely different.
That was the case for me when I was sitting on the couch, talking to Kazan’s owners – he was a German Shepherd – wondering whether buying an adult dog was a good decision. Whether I could handle it. Whether I was ready for a responsibility not for two days or a week, but for years. How much I would have to change my habits, my daily routines that I had grown so used to.
As if he sensed my hesitation, Kazan stood up, walked calmly over to me, and rested his muzzle against my leg. Just like that. As if that place had long been chosen.
That was when I understood something very simple:
sometimes the decision does not belong to us at all.
We can be politicians, accountants, teachers, laborers. We can plan, calculate, arrange everything into logical columns. And then someone or something appears and quietly changes the course of our path.
For many years I worked in the world of numbers. There, everything has to add up: the totals, the balance sheet, the final result. I learned that numbers are patient, but they demand order. Animals work differently. With them, you quickly realize that nothing is ever exactly the same and that any day can change everything.
First there was one dog.
Then, for a long time, none.
And later — as life often goes — things began to fall into place in ways no one could have planned. Frida came into our lives, and shortly after, more dogs followed. There were puppies. There was a breeding program that had never been a grand project or a life goal. It was simply a natural consequence of living with dogs.
Check out my book about life lessons with big dogs — maybe you’ll find your own story in it.
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The house developed its own rhythm. Mornings when someone is already waiting by the door. Walks that never look quite the same. Summer days when water from the garden hose turns into a game whose meaning only dogs truly understand.
Along the way, a person learns many things. Sometimes slowly, sometimes unexpectedly. You learn that dogs speak — just not with words. That a single look can mean more than an entire sentence. And that trust does not appear overnight; it grows day by day, much like friendship.
It is like a constant move.
Imagine a large white delivery van and eleven dogs trying to find a bit of space for themselves. Some calm, others alert, still others convinced that this is all taking far too long. One barks, another shifts position, another leans against a human knee, as if checking whether everything is all right.
And when the doors finally open, there is sudden silence. A new place. A new stage.
There are also moments that stay with us forever.
Life’s roads are rarely straight. Sometimes they end abruptly. Sometimes they turn in a direction we never expected. And sometimes one chapter closes so that another can begin.
The stories I have already written, and those I am working on now, are in a way a thank-you for that kind of journey. For all the shared years, for the everyday moments, for the bigger and smaller adventures. I thank my dogs for entering my life and leaving their marks — not only in photographs, certificates, or medals, but simply in memory and in my heart.
Short stories from that world. True stories, sometimes told with a gentle smile or with the distance that only time can bring. They are not always spectacular. More often, they are ordinary. The kind that happen every day wherever a human and a dog learn how to live side by side.
Because before I began talking about dogs, I took the time to truly get to know them. To see how they look at things, how they react, how attentive and patient they can be towards people – towards my ideas. Only then did the real story begin.
I hope that these stories, even if they do not always entertain or surprise you, will allow you to pause for a moment and remember your own encounters with the animals that have appeared in your lives.
And if, after reading, you would like to leave a short review or comment, it would mean a great deal to me. It helps other readers discover a book that might bring them pleasure as well.
Because everything — truly everything — once began with a dog.