In the summer of 1914, I, the publisher of this story, bought a house from Sergei Petrovich Kruchinin for a dacha above the meandering Karagan River for three hundred thousand rubles. While examining the garage, I found a three-liter jar tightly sealed with a plastic lid. It was filled with finely written sheets of paper, which aroused my curiosity. As I began to read, I realized with great surprise that their dog had written. Many of her observations and comments concerning natural phenomena and the lives of people, their relationships with each other and with domestic animals, seemed to me interesting and worthy of publication.