Viktor, a retired geologist, had loved the taiga all his life. He was over seventy years old, but every summer he would go to his old wooden cabin by the river, where he once spent his expedition years. The locals were long accustomed to his solitude — the old man lived quietly, fixing the roof, picking mushrooms, brewing tea with St. John’s wort.
But that day, everything went wrong.
The morning was peaceful: a light fog drifted between the pines, and the air smelled of resin and damp earth. Viktor took a basket, a thermos of tea, and headed deep into the forest to the place where the porcini mushrooms always grew. Beside him ran his old yet loyal dog — a Laika named Buran. He was twelve years old, but his eyes still held the same loyalty and strength as in his youth.
They had been walking for a couple of hours when Viktor noticed fresh tracks — huge paw prints in the wet soil.
— “A mother bear,” he muttered. “And probably with cubs…”
Buran grew tense, the fur on his back standing on end. Viktor was about to turn back when, suddenly, from behind the thick bushes came a low, threatening growl.
He barely had time to drop the basket before he bolted toward the nearest tree. The dog barked loudly, trying to distract the bear, but she didn’t back away — two cubs rushed out of the bushes, and now the mother fiercely guarded her young.
Trembling, Viktor climbed up the nearest pine. His hands slipped on the wet bark, his breath came in gasps, but fear gave him strength. He managed to get about six meters off the ground and only then dared to look down.
Below, a massive brown bear stood by the trunk. She snorted, circled around, rose onto her hind legs, and clawed at the bark. The cubs wandered beside her, lifting their little snouts toward the old man in the tree.
— “Go away!” Viktor shouted. “Get lost, you furry devils!”
But the bears did not leave. Minutes dragged on like hours. His arms went numb, every branch trembled under his weight. Somewhere in the distance, jays screeched, and time felt frozen between breaths and fear.
An hour must have passed. The bear showed no sign of leaving. Viktor knew: if he tried to climb down — it would be the end. His voice was hoarse from shouting, his throat dry, and Buran… Buran was nowhere to be seen.
“He must have run away,” flashed a bitter thought. Then, suddenly, he heard barking.
Loud, angry, resolute.
Buran was coming back.
He burst out from behind the trees — dirty, matted with moss, but more determined than ever. At full speed, he positioned himself between the bear and the tree, growling, barking, lunging, drawing the beast’s attention. The bear bared her teeth, took a few steps toward him — and then stopped.
Buran did not back down, not even an inch.
Viktor was shouting from above, his voice breaking from fear and strain:
— “Buran! Back! Don’t go near her!”
But the dog, as if deaf to his cries, continued challenging the predator.
Finally, the bear snorted, dropped back onto all fours, grumbled, turned to her cubs, and slowly walked away. The cubs followed obediently, glancing back from time to time.
When everything turned quiet, Viktor could hardly believe it was over. He slowly climbed down, his knees trembling, heart pounding. Buran stood beside him, breathing heavily, but his tail was still held proudly upright. The old man fell to his knees and hugged him, pressing his forehead against the dog’s fur.
— “You saved me… you old wolf,” he whispered. “You saved me.”
They walked back for a long time. The sun was sinking, shadows growing long, the forest air thick and warm. Viktor walked with his hand resting on Buran’s back — as if afraid the dog might disappear if he let go.
Later, at the house, he sat on the porch for a long time, watching Buran sleep at his feet. Beside him lay his old hat, and on the table — a mug of cold tea.
He thought about how many years he had lived, how much he had seen, and how thin the line between life and death can be.
And only one feeling filled his soul — endless gratitude.
For the one who didn’t run.
Who wasn’t afraid.
Who simply came — and saved him.
And in the morning, as the sun rose over the forest, Viktor said aloud:
— “Now I know for sure, Buran… sometimes angels walk on four legs.”
