I woke up at 6:00 a.m. wide awake—so much for a Saturday morning sleep-in. The outdoor air quality looked surprisingly good at that hour, and with the city still quiet, I quietly rolled out of bed, loaded the French press, and sat thinking about where I might go for a walk.
By the time I was halfway through my first cup, my youngest shuffled bleary-eyed into the kitchen.
I asked if he wanted to join me for an early morning walk. I could see the gears turning as he searched for reasons why this was a terrible idea. He disappeared back down the hallway just as quickly as he’d arrived.
Cup number one finished and feeling fully human again, I went to try a second time—this time armed with leverage. I mentioned a stop at Safiya’s on the way home. It’s a new Uzbek bakery and café around the corner from our house that serves excellent desserts. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but eventually agreed.
I poured the rest of my second mug into a travel cup, and we stepped out into the sub-freezing morning.
Most of the snow had melted the day before, but icy patches still lingered in the shade. We passed the park and opera house, headed toward the Russian Orthodox Church, grabbed some water, and then cut up through the Russian cemetery and the old Jewish cemetery.
It was outside the store that we met him.
A friendly dog—full grown, but still very much holding onto his puppy charm—approached us with his hips and tail wagging, head lowered submissively. We stopped to give him some love, and from that moment on, he was ours.
One of the few things I genuinely regret about a life that keeps us moving is that we haven’t had pets. All three kids are full-on animal lovers. The universe seems to meet us halfway by putting animals directly in our path everywhere we go.
As we climbed through the snow and ice toward Victory Park, we decided the dog needed a name.
“Steve,” he said.
I pointed out that we already know a couple of Steves here.
“No,” he replied, without hesitation. “This is Victorian Steve from Victory Park.”
Case closed.
Onward we went—stopping to greet other dogs, rolling around in the snow, and watching the city slowly wake up below us. In the traditional neighborhoods of narrow alleys and single-story homes, wood and coal stoves were already burning, and smoke began collecting low in the air. To the north and east, the air still looked clear.
The sun climbed higher, dragging a bright sundog along with it, threatening a full halo.
We wandered through Victory Park, high above the neighborhoods behind Mehrgon Market, and I assumed Victorian Steve would eventually turn back. He didn’t. Oranges and trail mix didn’t impress him much, but he still seemed more than willing to come home with us.
When we reached the main road at the edge of the park, we flagged down a taxi—deciding it was better not to let him follow us into busy traffic. We’ll see if he wants to hike again soon.
Safiya’s delivered as promised: waffle cake and New York cheesecake. Worth every step.
By the time we got home, it was time to get ready for International Day at QSID—easily my favorite celebration of the school year.
Our student body represents 30 different countries, and this year 23 countries hosted food tables. The result is a truly grand feast and one of the few times our entire community shows up in full force to celebrate the incredible diversity that makes this place special.
After two hours of eating and catching up with parents and students, we waddled home, rested briefly, and then I took the kids across town for art class—our first time back since last June. After returning from Vietnam and China last summer, road construction near our house made driving anywhere a test of patience. That finally seems sorted, and the kids were thrilled to see their art teacher again. I walked another 5 miles through the backstreets of Dushanbe while they were in class.
We arrived back home and I was feeling thoroughly spent from what was a pretty solid Saturday. I messaged my buddy to see if there was any hiking happening on Sunday, and ended up with an invite to the mountains. I gathered up my gaiters, crampons, long johns, gloves, and hat and stuffed them all in my backpack and hit the hay.
Wise Clan in Stanland 
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