Ellie and the leaders of the world proletariat

This story is one of those that “I wouldn’t believe if I didn’t see it myself,” but, believe me or not, this is the pure truth.

Ellie, unlike most puppies, did not cause any particular problems. She played exclusively with her toys and did not encroach on furniture, shoes or clothes. True, she had one weakness – to a fragment of wallpaper on the wall between the armrest of my ottoman and the window sill. I don’t know why she didn’t like it so much (or, on the contrary, liked it too much) this piece of wallpaper, but she constantly tried to tear it off. The space between the ottoman and the wall itself, into which it could seep, was small, and we decided to close it with some barrier that was insurmountable for the puppy. The role of the latter fell to be played by the old philosophical dictionary, most of which was devoted to the history of the CPSU and which had previously been collecting dust on the mezzanine. Ellie terribly did not like our idea, and the puppy made heroic efforts to pull out the tome. But the weight categories were not equal, and all attempts ended in failure. However, she still invented some way to extract the book. And, perhaps, she decided to take out her anger for her previous unsuccessful attempts on her. Because one day we saw a puppy rushing around the room with some kind of yellowed leaf in its teeth and rubbing this piece of paper with a growl. Having selected the “victim”, I grunted: the dog managed to tear out a page with a photograph of Lenin from the book. Perhaps we would have safely forgotten about this case, if not for its continuation. A few days later, Ellie gutted the dictionary again. Only this time, her victim fell … the image of Stalin. My father summed up this amusing coincidence by saying: “In 37 your dog would have been shot!”