“Oh, you stupid mutt!” Mother said and looked around anxiously. Father bent down, grabbed a stone, and in one motion hurled it. Having put himself into a trance with his own howling, Arsylang noticed the stone coming his way only at the very last moment, and had just enough time to be startled. As the stone hit him in the side with a dull thud, he cried out and dragged himself away. Staggering clumsily, he let out an unbroken sound like the sobbing of a deeply aggrieved child.

Grandma had just touched Torlaa’s left knee with her palm and was about to do the same with Galkaan’s; she had already sniffed them when they were still on the ground. Now she shook her head and said: “Oh Schynyk, why did you do that? To make the poor creature scream and howl instead of offering him some milk—that’s silly!” Then she touched Brother’s knee, rested her hand on it for a moment, and stepped back. Arsylang was still sobbing as he slinked away. He trotted over to the big rock where we slaughtered the cattle and horses, crouched down in front of it with his tail between his legs, and howled at the sky. His howling quickly became unbearable, and everybody, big or small, was petrifi d and did not know what to do. Finally Grandma shook off her paralysis and told me to fetch the milk pail from the yurt. Behind me, I heard her call after Arsylang. When I returned with the pail, everybody but Father was shouting in unison: “Arsylang, Arsylang, Arsylang, Arsylang, mäh!” Mäh meant: “Come here, have some!” which is how Tuvan dogs have always been, and still are, lured close. But Arsylang would not listen and kept on howling, and so I was told to take him the bowl with some milk. Arsylang squinted at me suspiciously as I got closer, even as he continued howling. I reached him, put the milk in front of him, and squatted down. Arsylang did not move and howled on.

“What’s the matter?” I heard Mother call out impatiently.

“He’s already got the milk!” I shouted back.