Chapter II.V

A man looked at him from the mirror, whose resemblance could be described as an adult, who, surprisingly, was at the development level of a twelve-year-old boy. Jo gave this epithet to himself for the simple reason that the clothes that he could find in the closet were small in size, and on his dystrophic, but still mature body, such a wardrobe looked extremely stupid. But feeling that his dog was waiting for the treasured piece of meat, he cast aside the feeling of awkwardness that had begun to overcome him and, slightly tucking his black and white hair protruding from under his cap, went to the butcher’s shop.

By the time mister Thurlow finally got there, the hour hand on his wristwatch already showed six twenty-five. The young guy who was trading was already preparing to close, but Jo, who arrived in time, still managed to contact him. "Give me all sorts of scraps, no matter what" - such was his request, which the seller complied with, noting among other things that the tripe that his last buyer took had already managed to spoil a little. But Jo didn’t care one bit about this, because even back when he lived with his mother, he learned that the dog that guards the house (not the one that runs within its walls), to maintain her energy, she must eat a large amount of raw meat, and it does not matter whether it is fresh or slightly rotten. Never in their entire lives did they feed first Buddy (the Thurlow's first dog, whom Jo first saw during his childhood), and then Buffalo with all sorts of dog food, for the mother believed what was written in some old book on dog breeding, given to her by one former military man, her acquaintance.

Taking the bag of meat in his hands, mister Thurlow noted to himself with pleasure that for once he would please his faithful dog, who had been running around the territory entrusted to him for all these six days without the opportunity to eat anything. And wished good luck to the butcher - more precisely, his son, who sold in this shop - Jo headed back home with a smile on his lips. And imagine his surprise when, passing by his neighbours’ house, he heard his name pronounced in a ringing voice that was already familiar to him... He froze rooted to the spot at some distance near the fence. From the outside he probably looked funny - an adult man, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that was clearly too small for him, was holding a heavy bag of rotten meat scraps in both hands... In fact, it was quite obvious that such a spectacle would inevitably cause laughter from his little neighbour. And so it happened.

Bursting with laughter, Delia sat on the fence, dangling her legs shod in black shoes. Jo didn’t know what to do, so he stood there a little undecided and decided to go to his house, but as soon as he took a couple of steps towards his wicket, he immediately caught her question in the back:

- Have you got a dog, ajussi Jo?

Mister Thurlow was a little surprised that the girl, who was essentially seeing him for only the second time in her life, immediately addressed him in such a familiar tone, but he didn’t even show it, but stopped again and turned to her (don't run away from the child, after all), said:

- Yes, we live here together, I'm at home and Buffalo is out.

- He's protecting you, right?

- Certainly. I can't stand dogs that eat their owners but don't do any good.

For some reason, Jo decided that there would be no shame in complaining to this girl a little.

- My dad thinks so too, - his interlocutor answered. - We never had animals at home, although I asked him...

- Yes, it's sad...

Mister Thurlow thought that this was the end of their conversation, and, making a slight bow in her direction, walked up to the wicket. Delia looked after him for a while, and then suddenly jumped off the fence and managed to run up to Jo just then, when he was already preparing to close the wicket and feed his dog.

- Will you show me your dog?

The girl said this and made a sad grimace. "She press on pity or how?", thought Jo.

- Wait, I'll feed him first, - he began.

- Yes-yes, I heard you promise him this, - Delia interrupted him. - But please let me look at it!

Mister Thurlow thought for a few seconds. He felt that the little neighbour, who, due to her age, was simply bursting with the bursting desire to learn as much as possible about the world, will never leave his humble person behind, and, trying to drive the dog away from the wicket, Jo almost quickly threw out his answer to her:

- If you ask your dad for permission and he doesn't mind, then I'm in!

Without waiting for Delia's response, he slammed the gate and headed towards the bowl where he always put food for Buffalo. The latter was already so exhausted from hunger that he tried to jump on the owner and tear the bag right as he walked, but Jo, who tried to instill in the dumb dog the concept of discipline, angrily shouted at him to be patient. When he finally reached the bowl, Buffalo still managed to tear the bag open with his teeth. Tripe, some chunks, and also some meat juice began to fall out of it, emitting a rather disgusting aroma of rotten meat. Mister Thurlow noted with displeasure that drops of juice fell on his bare legs and, sneeze, immediately rushed to the bathroom.

There, without wasting any time, he took off all his clothes and, contrary to his usual routine, decided not to fill the bath but to stand under the prickly jets of the shower. Thoroughly soaping your feet in order to completely get rid of the annoying smell, he noted to himself that, it turns out, he again made another promise, and it would be nice if this person had known him for a long time... Starting to wash his hair, Jo began to reason that making a promise to a neighbour who lives next to your house is not the same as doing the same to a person who lives God knows where. When he had already finished washing and began to dry himself, mister Thurlow no longer doubted the (in)correctness of his just made decision.