“The idea of writing this story was born to me on a winter evening in a southern Black Sea port. Several sailors and I, sitting on the swaying deck of the seiner, talked about this and that, about a burnt bearing, Mexican music and the ship's dogs. The snow settled in light flakes on the dark water. The signal lights on the masts were already beginning their long night dance, nodding lower and lower to the waves rushing in from the sea. And on many ships and small boats that stood in the port, the ship's dogs barked loudly in response to different voices, calling to each other before going to bed, just like in the village. That’s when I decided to write about one of them.”

F. Knorre