About Vendelín and Mário

     Vendelín was approaching thirty. He lived alone in an apartment building in the city. His only companion was a dog named Mário - a sturdy hound, black as coal.
     Every day, from Monday to Friday and sometimes even on Saturdays, Vendelín would get up at five o’clock. He had breakfast and left the house at half past five. At six, he started his shift. He worked at a cheese factory, packing Olomouc curd cheese at the conveyor belt. For eight and a half hours, he would place the cheeses into boxes. After half past two in the afternoon, he would leave the factory gates.
     This had been his routine for ten whole years. But then, his patience ran out, and he said to himself: “Enough! I won’t waste my youth here! Life is too short!”
     On the last day of the month, he collected his paycheck and never showed up at work again. The next day, he set out into the world with Mário. He longed to see foreign lands and customs. He wandered aimlessly, wherever his feet would take him.
     One evening, they arrived at a roadside inn. On the sign above the door, it read “At the Philanthropist.”
     “Nice name,” thought the young man.
     They went inside. Right at the threshold, they were met with an unpleasant welcome.
     “Dogs aren’t allowed in the inn!” barked the innkeeper.
     “My dog is very clean and well-trained. He won’t hurt anyone. He always stays by my side.”
     “As I said. This is a respectable establishment, not some kind of dog shelter,” insisted the man.
      There was nothing to be done. Mário had to stay outside. He lay down under the spreading branches of an old oak and was overcome by sadness. He missed his master.
     Vendelín, too, thought of his faithful companion.
     “One night apart-we’ll survive. Tomorrow we’ll be together again!”
     The young man sat down at a table. Several minutes passed. The bartender was serving beer to the regulars. The unknown traveler seemed invisible.
     “What a fine tavern. They don’t value their customers at all!” Vendelín grumbled.
     Finally, the innkeeper arrived at his table.
     “May I have a menu?” the young man asked.
     “We don’t have such unnecessary things here! We have a fixed menu. Tripe soup and, for the main course, pork goulash with dumplings. We only serve dark beer!”
     Vendelín wasn’t in the mood for such a combination. But hunger is the best cook, so in the end, he agreed.
     The innkeeper disappeared into the kitchen.
     A strange tramp from the next table came over to him. Stubble on his face, greasy long gray hair, a rotten smell from his mouth.
     “Be very careful with your dog! Do you know what people call this place?”
     “I have no idea.”
     “No one calls it anything but ‘At the Dogcatcher’s.’ That’s its reputation!”
     “Why ‘At the Dogcatcher’s’?” Vendelín asked in surprise.
     “Vincek, the owner, has a weakness for certain four-legged animals. After he puts them out of their misery, he roasts them in the oven. Then, together with his wife, they feast. He sells the rendered fat from the roast at the market in town as a miracle cure.”
     “He eats dogs?”
     “If only dogs! Also cats, martens, squirrels, and badgers.”
     When the innkeeper appeared with the food, the strange man hurried back to his table. The innkeeper shot him a murderous look.
     Vendelín started eating. It was nothing special. The soup was too salty, the goulash as spicy as a Turkish saber. And the beer was flat.
     As soon as he finished, the innkeeper asked:
     “Did you enjoy your meal?”
     “Excellent,” the young man replied with effort.
     “I’m glad to hear it. For food and lodging, you’ll give me one Ema Destinnová and we’re even!”
     “That much?”
     “Seems too much to you?! Remember, this isn’t some filthy dive! Running a place costs money.”
     Vendelín had no choice but to pay, though the price was greatly inflated.
     After dinner, Vendelín was overcome by fatigue.
     “I’m exhausted after a whole day of wandering. I’ll go to sleep. It’s late already.”
     “Indeed, there’s nothing like a good night’s sleep,” agreed the bartender.
     “Good night.”
     “Good night, good night…” the owner replied sweetly.
     As soon as Vendelín lay down in bed, he fell asleep at once. He knew nothing of the world around him.
     After midnight, when everyone was asleep, the innkeeper slipped out the back door. The moonlight lit up the countryside. In his hand, he held a large sharp axe. His gaze fell on Mário. He approached him cautiously, treading silently in his plush slippers. But it was no use. A dog’s hearing is so sensitive it can catch even the sound of a falling needle.
     Mário was instantly alert. He recognized the innkeeper and his intent.
     He lay still, breathing calmly, pretending to sleep.
     The innkeeper was just two steps away from the animal! He raised the axe above his head, ready to strike.
     At that moment, Mário sprang up and attacked the man. He bit his throat. The attacker let out a terrible, heart-wrenching scream. He collapsed to the ground. He was dead on the spot.
     People immediately gathered. Among them was Vendelín. They saw the innkeeper lying in a pool of blood. The axe was thrown beside him. Everyone realized what had happened.
     The innkeeper’s wife arrived. When she saw the bloody scene, she screamed at the top of her lungs: “That damned werewolf killed my husband! Kill that bloodthirsty beast at once! It probably wasn’t even vaccinated against rabies!”
     Vendelín objected: “Here’s his vaccination certificate. You can check!”
     “It’s probably fake anyway!” she snapped.
     The woman rushed to the lifeless body.
     “Vincek, Vincek! What am I going to do without you? Such misfortune! Such a tragedy!” the woman wailed.
     “If your husband hadn’t eaten dogs, this wouldn’t have happened!” someone’s voice called out.
      “That’s a vile slander!” the woman protested.
     “No slander! It’s an open secret!”
     “That ruthless dogcatcher killed my dearest friend. Back then, I couldn’t prove it,” said a man.
     And then everyone saw something incredible.
     The dog approached the dead man and bent over him. Tears as big as peas streamed from his eyes, wetting the chest of the deceased.
     “Look at that!” someone shouted, “the animal is crying! It regrets what it did!”
     “I’ve never seen a dog cry before!”
     “Me neither!”
     An even greater surprise followed.
     The innkeeper slowly raised his torso and sat up. He squinted at the unusual gathering.
     “How did so many people suddenly get here?” he said aloud.
     “He’s alive! He’s alive!” the innkeeper’s wife shrieked.
     The man’s gaze fell on the axe. At that moment, he remembered the unfortunate incident. He was deeply ashamed.
     “Woe is me! I wanted to commit another shameful deed!”
     It was clear he was searching his conscience. Then he turned to Vendelín.
     “If you can, forgive me! And you too, whom I’ve ever hurt.”
Vendelín smiled.
     “Forget all about it, sir! What matters is that it all turned out well.”
     The innkeeper vowed: “I swear, by all that is sacred to me. I will never harm any living creature again!”
     And he truly kept his promise.
     Dawn was slowly breaking.
     “Sadly, our time is up and we must move on,” said Vendelín.
     Mário confirmed his words with a wag of his tail.
     “Well then! Pax vobiscum!” said the innkeeper in farewell.
     “If you ever pass by again, be sure to stop in. We’ll be glad to see you.”
     Everyone was moved. The innkeeper’s wife cried with happiness like a little child. She had not expected such a turn of events.
     They shook hands, hugged, and patted the dog on the back.
     Vendelín received a smoked pork leg, a loaf of bread, and Mário a string of sausages for the journey.
     The pair soon disappeared behind the hill.
     That very day, the innkeeper changed the sign above the door. He wrote “The Peacemaker’s Inn” on it. And if no one has stolen it, it still hangs there to this day.
 
 
Translated into English by artificial intelligence.