Great story! I normally talk to dogs. In English, mind you. Why? Because the first dog I interacted with was Pooch. My friend Pat’s little dog. And he understood only English.
What stayed with me most wasn't the talking dogs, it was how believable the guilt felt long before the story crossed into the surreal. By the time the implausible dogs appeared, they somehow felt emotionally inevitable. That balance between the ordinary and the fantastical is really impressive.
Very relatable for me for two reasons: first, like Arkadii, I once got surrounded by a gang of dogs in an empty yard as a child in Kharkiv, but managed to talk them out of attacking me… second, my dad’s name was Vitaly:) on an unrelated note, I wanted to thank you very much for encouraging me to write a story about the AI intermediary (a week ago in the comments to the previous post). I am not a writer, and every time I get idea for a story I brush it off because I feel guilty writing instead of working. But your encouragement felt like a serious reason, so for the first time in my life I did write a story:) it turned out to not be about the planned topic, or maybe it is unfinished, not sure yet. Would it be tolerable if I texted you about this on substack messaging system?..
Thanks!!! Will do. In fact I will try to finish it and send at some point. It has been fun writing it until now (similar feeling to reading a curious story, oddly enough), but now I reached a point where I feel negative about the current events there so it is a bit annoying now:) But I will get through!
Etgar, you have somehow managed to retain the understanding of a child's complex mind and emotions. This is very unique, and makes your stories so touching because you allow us to reconnect with our own childhood. What a beautiful story.
That is even better! I so appreciate translators, though- skilled translators are so valuable. She knows you and knows your work, your way of seeing the world, is a friend, wow, an editor- but why no toothpick option? I'll have to ponder this.
The brother of Etgar and the boy of the story have been very unlucky, very. Everybody has a dog have tryed let him unleash, everybody. For an hour or a day or two month and after this period say " No doesn t work, the last time, it doesn t obey, it doesn t come back". I ve been just more lucky in this case.
Takeaway point: keep your dog leashed when there’s traffic nearby. True story: my next-door neighbor’s life changed from “quiet professional” to “prison inmate” because his roommate was walking his dog when the dog slipped her leash, ran into traffic, and was killed.
In his grief, neighbor attacked roommate. She brought charges. He is back now after several years in prison and supervised release. We avoid him and call him “Hammerhead” behind his back.
The sand under the fingernails is the whole story for me. Dad sees it, knows exactly what it means, and lets the lie stand anyway. Then a year on it’s the one-eyed AmStaff who pulls the real apology out of him, the one he could never give his father. Forgiveness showing up in the wrong species, which is maybe the only place it could’ve come from. This will stay with me for a long time.
Great story! I normally talk to dogs. In English, mind you. Why? Because the first dog I interacted with was Pooch. My friend Pat’s little dog. And he understood only English.
Another terrific tale from you Etgar. Thanks. Tuesday nights with Alphabet Soup are always a blast. (And Wednesday arvo too, as it is now).
What stayed with me most wasn't the talking dogs, it was how believable the guilt felt long before the story crossed into the surreal. By the time the implausible dogs appeared, they somehow felt emotionally inevitable. That balance between the ordinary and the fantastical is really impressive.
Thank Etgar
Some people never apologize. I'm hopeful he will eventually forgive himself for once being a boy.
Very relatable for me for two reasons: first, like Arkadii, I once got surrounded by a gang of dogs in an empty yard as a child in Kharkiv, but managed to talk them out of attacking me… second, my dad’s name was Vitaly:) on an unrelated note, I wanted to thank you very much for encouraging me to write a story about the AI intermediary (a week ago in the comments to the previous post). I am not a writer, and every time I get idea for a story I brush it off because I feel guilty writing instead of working. But your encouragement felt like a serious reason, so for the first time in my life I did write a story:) it turned out to not be about the planned topic, or maybe it is unfinished, not sure yet. Would it be tolerable if I texted you about this on substack messaging system?..
Of course. I’m bad with messaging system so just in case , you can mail it to Gal (my assistant). So glad you wrote it🦋
ek.assistants@gmail.com
Thanks!!! Will do. In fact I will try to finish it and send at some point. It has been fun writing it until now (similar feeling to reading a curious story, oddly enough), but now I reached a point where I feel negative about the current events there so it is a bit annoying now:) But I will get through!
Etgar, you have somehow managed to retain the understanding of a child's complex mind and emotions. This is very unique, and makes your stories so touching because you allow us to reconnect with our own childhood. What a beautiful story.
Possibly my new favorite of your stories, Etgar. Thank you.
Thank you, Jessica, for your translations.
Jessica is a translator , an editor and a good friend all in one - she’s like a human Swiss Army knife minus the toothpick option.
I recently read Noa Yeldin's excellent Stockholm after noticing that JC had translated it!
That is even better! I so appreciate translators, though- skilled translators are so valuable. She knows you and knows your work, your way of seeing the world, is a friend, wow, an editor- but why no toothpick option? I'll have to ponder this.
The brother of Etgar and the boy of the story have been very unlucky, very. Everybody has a dog have tryed let him unleash, everybody. For an hour or a day or two month and after this period say " No doesn t work, the last time, it doesn t obey, it doesn t come back". I ve been just more lucky in this case.
It’s all about luck.
My brother has a cat now who looks like he&s going to live forever🤞
Takeaway point: keep your dog leashed when there’s traffic nearby. True story: my next-door neighbor’s life changed from “quiet professional” to “prison inmate” because his roommate was walking his dog when the dog slipped her leash, ran into traffic, and was killed.
In his grief, neighbor attacked roommate. She brought charges. He is back now after several years in prison and supervised release. We avoid him and call him “Hammerhead” behind his back.
The magical reality of childhood can haunt us for years in small moments echoing over time.
small moments and emotional memories
Thank you for fresh soup.
The sand under the fingernails is the whole story for me. Dad sees it, knows exactly what it means, and lets the lie stand anyway. Then a year on it’s the one-eyed AmStaff who pulls the real apology out of him, the one he could never give his father. Forgiveness showing up in the wrong species, which is maybe the only place it could’ve come from. This will stay with me for a long time.
Totally. To me it was the moment of realism and humanity around which the story hinged.
I like your interpretation. It's a generous one. I was thinking about Netanyahu... Not sure if/by whome forgiveness will be granted.
That is why I felt in love with literature. Reading it again I see your point. Which only makes the piece bigger and more important.