Boris Zhitkov short stories about animals. Stories about animals

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Jackdaw

The brother and sister had a pet jackdaw. She ate from her hands, let herself be petted, flew out into the wild and flew back.
Once my sister began to wash herself. She took the ring off her hand, put it on the sink and lathered her face with soap. And when she rinsed the soap, she looked: where is the ring? But there is no ring.
She shouted to her brother:
- Give me the ring, don’t tease me! Why did you take it?
“I didn’t take anything,” the brother answered.
His sister quarreled with him and cried.
Grandma heard.
- What do you have here? - speaks. - Give me glasses, now I’ll find this ring.
We rushed to look for glasses - no glasses.
“I just put them on the table,” the grandmother cries. -Where should they go? How can I thread a needle now?
And she screamed at the boy.

- This is your business! Why are you teasing grandma?
The boy got offended and ran out of the house. He looks, and a jackdaw is flying above the roof, and something glitters under her beak. I took a closer look - yes, these are glasses! The boy hid behind a tree and began to watch. And the jackdaw sat on the roof, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and began pushing the glasses on the roof into the crack with her beak.
The grandmother came out onto the porch and said to the boy:
- Tell me, where are my glasses?
- On the roof! - said the boy.
Grandma was surprised. And the boy climbed onto the roof and pulled out his grandmother’s glasses from the crack. Then he pulled out the ring from there. And then he took out pieces of glass, and then a lot of different pieces of money.
The grandmother was delighted with the glasses, and the sister was delighted with the ring and said to her brother:
- Forgive me, I was thinking about you, and this is a thief jackdaw.
And they made peace with their brother.
Grandma said:
- That's all them, jackdaws and magpies. Whatever glitters, they drag everything away.

Evening

The cow Masha goes to look for her son, the calf Alyosha. Can't see him anywhere. Where did he go? It's time to go home.
And the calf Alyoshka ran around, got tired, and lay down in the grass. The grass is tall - Alyosha is nowhere to be seen.
The cow Masha was afraid that her son Alyoshka had disappeared, and she started mooing with all her strength:
- Moo!
Alyoshka heard his mother’s voice, jumped to his feet and headed home at full speed.
At home, Masha was milked and a whole bucket of fresh milk was milked. They poured it into Alyosha’s bowl:
- Here, drink, Alyoshka.
Alyoshka was delighted - he had been wanting milk for a long time - he drank it all to the bottom and licked the bowl with his tongue.

Alyoshka got drunk and wanted to run around the yard. As soon as he started running, suddenly a puppy jumped out of the booth and started barking at Alyoshka. Alyoshka was scared: that’s right, scary beast, if he barks so loudly. And he started to run.
Alyoshka ran away, and the puppy did not bark anymore. It became quiet all around. Alyoshka looked - no one was there, everyone had gone to bed. And I wanted to sleep myself. He lay down and fell asleep in the yard.
The cow Masha also fell asleep on the soft grass.
The puppy also fell asleep at his kennel - he was tired, he barked all day.
The boy Petya also fell asleep in his crib - he was tired, he had been running around all day.
And the bird has long since fallen asleep.
She fell asleep on a branch and hid her head under her wing to make it warmer to sleep. I'm tired too. I flew all day, catching midges.
Everyone has fallen asleep, everyone is sleeping.
Only the night wind does not sleep.
It rustles in the grass and rustles in the bushes.

About the monkey

I was twelve years old and in school. One day during recess my friend Yukhimenko came up to me and said:
- Do you want me to give you a monkey?
I didn’t believe it - I thought he was going to pull some kind of trick on me, so that sparks would fly out of my eyes, and say: this is the “monkey.” I'm not like that.
“Okay,” I say, “we know.”
“No,” he says, “really.” Live monkey. She is good. Her name is Yashka. And dad is angry.
- On whom?
- Yes, on me and Yashka. Take it away, he says, wherever you want. I think it's best for you.
After classes we went to see him. I still didn't believe it. Did I really think I would have a live monkey? And he kept asking what she was like. And Yukhimenko says:
- You'll see, don't be afraid, she's small.
Indeed, it turned out to be small. If it stands on its paws, it will be no more than half an arshin. The muzzle is wrinkled, like an old woman, and the eyes are lively and shiny. Its fur is red and its paws are black. It’s like human hands in black gloves. She was wearing a blue vest.
Yukhimenko shouted:
- Yashka, Yashka, go, whatever I’ll give you!
And he put his hand in his pocket. The monkey shouted: “Ay! ah!” - and in two leaps she jumped into Yukhimenka’s arms. He immediately put it in his overcoat, in his bosom.
“Let’s go,” he says.
I couldn't believe my eyes. We walk down the street, carrying such a miracle, and no one knows what we have in our bosom.
Dear Yukhimenko told me what to feed.
- He’s eating everything, come on. Loves sweets. Candy is a disaster! If he gets too full, he will definitely overeat. He likes his tea to be liquid and sweet. You're giving her a hard time. Two pieces. Don’t give him a bite: he’ll eat the sugar and won’t drink the tea.
I listened to everything and thought: I won’t spare her even three pieces, she’s so cute, like a toy man. Then I remembered that she didn’t have a tail either.
“You,” I say, “cut off her tail at the very root?”
“She’s a macaque,” ​​says Yukhimenko, “they don’t grow tails.”
We arrived at our home. Mom and the girls were sitting at lunch. Yukhimenka and I walked in straight in our greatcoats.
I speak:
- Who do we have?
Everyone turned around. Yukhimenko opened his overcoat. No one had time to make out anything yet, but Yashka was about to jump from Yukhimenka onto his mother’s head; pushed with his legs - and onto the buffet. I ruined my mother’s entire hairstyle.
Everyone jumped up and shouted:
- Oh, who, who is it?
And Yashka sat down on the sideboard and made faces, slurped, and bared his teeth.
Yukhimenko was afraid that they would scold him now, and quickly went to the door. They didn’t even look at him - everyone looked at the monkey. And suddenly the girls all began to sing in one voice:
- How pretty!
And mom kept fixing her hair.
- Where does it come from?
I looked back. Yukhimenka is no longer there. So, I remained the owner. And I wanted to show that I know how to handle a monkey. I put my hand in my pocket and shouted, as Yukhimenko did earlier:
- Yashka, Yashka! Go, I'll give you what!
Everyone was waiting. But Yashka didn’t even look - he began to itch slightly and often with his black little paw.
Until the evening, Yashka did not go downstairs, but jumped from top to bottom: from the sideboard to the door, from the door to the closet, and from there to the stove.
In the evening my father said:
“You can’t leave her like that overnight, she’ll turn the apartment upside down.”
And I started catching Yashka. I go to the buffet - he goes to the stove. I brushed him out of there - he jumped on the clock. The clock swayed and began to swing. And Yashka is already swinging on the curtains. From there - at the painting - the painting looked sideways - I was afraid that Yashka would throw himself at the hanging lamp.
But then everyone had already gathered and began to chase Yashka. They threw balls, spools, matches at him and finally drove him into a corner.
Yashka pressed himself against the wall, bared his teeth and clicked his tongue - he began to scare. But they covered him with a woolen scarf and wrapped him up, entangling him.
Yashka floundered and screamed, but they soon twisted him around so that only his head was left sticking out. He turned his head, blinked his eyes, and seemed like he was about to cry out of resentment.
You can't swaddle a monkey every night! Father said:
- Tie it down. For the vest and to the leg, to the table.
I brought the rope, felt the button on Yashka’s back, threaded the rope into the loop and tied it tightly. Yashka’s vest on the back was fastened with three buttons. Then I brought Yashka, wrapped up as he was, to the table, tied a rope to his leg, and only then unwound the scarf.
Wow, how he started jumping! But where can he break the rope? He screamed, got angry and sat down sadly on the floor.
I took sugar from the cupboard and gave it to Yashka. He grabbed a piece with his black paw and tucked it behind his cheek. This made his whole face twist.
I asked Yashka for a paw. He handed me his pen.
Then I noticed what pretty black nails she had on. Toy living pen! I began to stroke the paw and thought: just like a child. And tickled his palm. And the baby jerks his paw - once - and hits me on the cheek. I didn’t even have time to blink, and he slapped me in the face and jumped under the table. He sat down and grinned. Here comes the baby!

But then they sent me to bed.
I wanted to tie Yashka to my bed, but they didn’t let me. I kept listening to what Yashka was doing and thought that he definitely needed to make a crib so that he could sleep like people and cover himself with a blanket. I would put my head on a pillow. I thought and thought and fell asleep.
In the morning he jumped up and, without getting dressed, went to see Yashka. There is no Yashka on the rope. There is a rope, a vest is tied to the rope, but there is no monkey. I look, all three buttons on the back are undone. It was he who unbuttoned the vest, left it on the rope, and tore himself. I search around the room. I spank with my bare feet. Nowhere. I was scared. How did you escape? I haven’t spent a day, and here you are! I looked at the cabinets, into the stove - nowhere. He ran away into the street. And it’s frosty outside - you’ll freeze, poor thing! And I myself became cold. I ran to get dressed. Suddenly I see something moving in my bed. The blanket moves. I even shuddered. Here he is! It was he who felt cold on the floor, and he ran away and onto my bed. Huddled under the blanket. But I was asleep and didn’t know. Yashka, half asleep, did not act shy, he gave himself into my hands, and I put the blue vest on him again.
When they sat down to drink tea, Yashka jumped up on the table, looked around, immediately found a sugar bowl, put his paw in and jumped on the door. He jumped so easily that he seemed to be flying without jumping. The monkey's feet had fingers like hands, and Yashka could grab with his feet. He did just that. He sits like a child, with his hands folded in someone’s arms, while he himself pulls something off the table with his foot.
He'll steal the knife and jump around with the knife. This is to be taken away from him, but he will run away. Yashka was given tea in a glass. He hugged the glass like a bucket, drank and smacked. I didn't skimp on the sugar.
When I left for school, I tied Yashka to the door, to the handle. This time I tied a rope around his waist so that he couldn’t fall off. When I came home, I saw from the hallway what Yashka was doing. He was hanging on door handle and rode on the doors like on a carousel. He pushes off from the door frame and goes all the way to the wall. He pushes his foot into the wall and goes back.
When I sat down to prepare my homework, I sat Yashka on the table. He really liked to warm himself near the lamp. He dozed like an old man in the sun, swayed and, squinting, watched as I poked the pen into the ink. Our teacher was strict, and I wrote the page cleanly. I didn't want to get wet so as not to spoil it. Left it to dry. I come and see: Yakov is sitting on a notebook, dipping his finger into the inkwell, grumbling and drawing ink Babylons according to my writing. Oh, you rubbish! I almost cried with grief. He rushed at Yashka. Where! He stained all the curtains with ink. That’s why Yukhimenkin’s dad was angry with him and Yashka...
But once my dad got angry with Yashka. Yashka was picking off the flowers that stood on our windows. He rips off a leaf and teases. Father caught and beat Yashka. And then he tied him as punishment on the stairs that led to the attic. Narrow staircase. And the wide one went down from the apartment.
Here is the father going to work in the morning. He cleaned himself up, put on his hat, and went down the stairs. Clap! The plaster falls. Father stopped and shook off his hat. I looked up - no one. As soon as I started walking, bang, another piece of lime hit my head. What's happened?
And from the side I could see how Yashka was operating. He broke the mortar from the wall, laid it out along the edges of the steps, and lay down, hiding on the stairs, just above his father’s head. As soon as his father went, Yashka quietly pushed the plaster off the step with his foot and tried it on so deftly that it was right on his father’s hat - he was taking revenge on him for the fact that his father had bullied him the day before.
But when real winter began, the wind howled in the chimneys, the windows were covered with snow, Yashka became sad. I kept warming him and holding him close to me. Yashka’s face became sad and saggy, he squealed and huddled closer to me. I tried to put it in my bosom, under my jacket. Yashka immediately settled down there: he grabbed the shirt with all four paws and hung like he was glued to it. He slept there without opening his paws. Another time you will forget that you have a living belly under your jacket and lean on the table. Yashka is now scratching my side with his paw: he’s letting me know to be careful.
One Sunday the girls came to visit. We sat down to have breakfast. Yashka sat quietly in my bosom, and he was not noticeable at all. At the end, sweets were distributed. As soon as I began to unwrap the first one, suddenly a furry hand stretched out from my bosom, right from my stomach, grabbed the candy and went back. The girls squealed in fear. And Yashka heard that they were rustling paper, and guessed that they were eating sweets. And I tell the girls: “This is my third hand; I put candy directly into my stomach with this hand so I don’t have to fuss for a long time.” But everyone already guessed that it was a monkey, and from under the jacket they could hear the crunching of the candy: it was Yashka gnawing and chomping, as if I were chewing with my stomach.

Boris Zhitkov “Jackdaw”

The brother and sister had a pet jackdaw. She ate from her hands, let herself be petted, flew out into the wild and flew back.

Once my sister began to wash herself. She took the ring off her hand, put it on the sink and lathered her face with soap. And when she rinsed the soap, she looked: where is the ring? But there is no ring.

She shouted to her brother:

- Give me the ring, don’t tease me! Why did you take it?

“I didn’t take anything,” the brother answered.

His sister quarreled with him and cried.

Grandma heard.

- What do you have here? - speaks. - Give me glasses, now I’ll find this ring.

We rushed to look for glasses - no glasses.

“I just put them on the table,” the grandmother cries. -Where should they go? How can I thread a needle now?

And she screamed at the boy:

- This is your business! Why are you teasing grandma?

The boy got offended and ran out of the house. He looks, and a jackdaw is flying above the roof, and something glitters under its beak. I took a closer look - yes, these are glasses! The boy hid behind a tree and began to watch. And the jackdaw sat on the roof, looked around to see if anyone was watching, and began pushing the glasses on the roof into the crack with her beak.

The grandmother came out onto the porch and said to the boy:

- Tell me, where are my glasses?

- On the roof! - said the boy.

Grandma was surprised. And the boy climbed onto the roof and pulled out his grandmother’s glasses from the crack. Then he pulled out the ring from there. And then he took out pieces of glass, and then a lot of different pieces of money.

The grandmother was delighted with the glasses, and the sister was delighted with the ring and said to her brother:

- Forgive me, I was thinking about you, but this is a thief jackdaw.

And they made peace with their brother.

Grandma said:

- That's all them, jackdaws and magpies. Whatever glitters, they drag everything away.

Boris Zhitkov “How an elephant saved its owner from a tiger”

The Hindus have tame elephants. One Hindu went with an elephant into the forest to collect firewood.

The forest was deaf and wild. The elephant trampled the owner's path and helped to cut down trees, and the owner loaded them onto the elephant.

Suddenly the elephant stopped obeying its owner, began to look around, shake its ears, and then raised its trunk and roared.

The owner also looked around, but did not notice anything.

He became angry with the elephant and hit its ears with a branch.

And the elephant bent its trunk with a hook to lift its owner onto its back. The owner thought: “I’ll sit on his neck - this way it will be even more convenient for me to rule over him.”

He sat on the elephant and began to whip the elephant on the ears with a branch. And the elephant backed away, trampled and twirled its trunk. Then he froze and became wary.

The owner raised a branch to hit the elephant with all his might, but suddenly a huge tiger jumped out of the bushes. He wanted to attack the elephant from behind and jump on its back.

But he got his paws on the firewood, and the firewood fell down. The tiger wanted to jump another time, but the elephant had already turned, grabbed the tiger across the stomach with its trunk, and squeezed it like a thick rope. The tiger opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue and shook his paws.

And the elephant had already lifted him up, then slammed him to the ground and began to trample him with his feet.

And the elephant's legs are like pillars. And the elephant trampled the tiger into a cake. When the owner recovered from his fear, he said:

- What a fool I was for beating an elephant! And he saved my life.

The owner took the bread he had prepared for himself from his bag and gave it all to the elephant.

Boris Zhitkov “Mongoose”

I really wanted to have a real, live mongoose. Your own. And I decided: when our ship arrives on the island of Ceylon, I will buy myself a mongoose and give all the money, no matter how much they ask.

And here is our ship off the island of Ceylon. I wanted to quickly run to the shore, quickly find where they were selling these animals. And suddenly a black man comes to our ship (the people there are all black), and all his comrades surrounded him, crowding, laughing, making noise. And someone shouted: “Mongooses!” I rushed, pushed everyone aside and saw: a black man had a cage in his hands, and there were gray animals in it. I was so afraid that someone would intercept me that I shouted right in the man’s face:

- How many?

He was even scared at first, so I shouted. Then he understood, showed three fingers and thrust the cage into my hands. That means only three rubles, including the cage, and not one, but two mongooses! I immediately paid and took a breath: I was completely out of breath with joy. I was so happy that I forgot to ask this black man what to feed the mongoose, whether they were tame or wild. What if they bite? I caught myself and ran after the man, but there was already no trace of him.

I decided to find out for myself whether mongooses bite or not. I stuck my finger through the bars of the cage. And I didn’t even have time to stick it in when I heard that it was ready: my finger was grabbed. They grabbed small paws, tenacious, with claws. The mongoose quickly bites my finger. But it doesn’t hurt at all - she’s doing it on purpose, she’s playing like that. And the other one hid in the corner of the cage and looked sideways with a black shiny eye.

I immediately wanted to pick up and stroke this one that bites for a joke. And as soon as I opened the cage, this very mongoose is a brambling! - and then ran around the cabin. She fussed, ran around the floor, sniffed everything and quacked: croak! Crack! - like a crow. I wanted to catch it, I bent down, extended my hand, and in an instant the mongoose flashed past my hand and was already in my sleeve. I raised my hand and it was ready: the mongoose was already in my bosom. She peeked out from her bosom, grunted cheerfully and hid again. And then I hear - she’s already under my arm, sneaking into the other sleeve and jumping out of the other sleeve into freedom. I wanted to stroke it and just raised my hand, when suddenly the mongoose jumped up on all four paws at once, as if there was a spring under each paw. I even pulled my hand back as if from a shot. And the mongoose from below looked at me with cheerful eyes and again: croak! And I look - she’s already climbed onto my lap and then she’s showing her tricks: she’ll curl up, then straighten out in an instant, then her tail like a pipe, then suddenly she’ll stick her head between hind legs. She played with me so affectionately and cheerfully, and then suddenly they knocked on the cabin and called me to work.

It was necessary to load about fifteen huge trunks of some Indian trees onto the deck. They were gnarled, with broken branches, hollow, thick, covered in bark, as if they were from the forest. But from the sawn-off end you could see how beautiful they were inside - pink, red, completely black! We laid them in a heap on the deck and tied them tightly with chains so that they wouldn’t come loose in the sea. I worked and kept thinking: “What are my mongooses? After all, I didn’t leave them anything to eat.” I asked the black loaders, the people there who came from the shore, if they knew what to feed the mongoose, but they did not understand anything and just smiled. And ours said:

“Give me anything, she’ll figure out what she needs.”

I begged the cook for meat, bought bananas, brought bread, and a saucer of milk. I placed all this in the middle of the cabin and opened the cage. He climbed onto the bed and began to look. A wild mongoose jumped out of the cage, and together with the tame one, they immediately rushed to the meat. They tore it with their teeth, quacked and purred, lapped up the milk, then the hand one grabbed the banana and dragged it into the corner. Wild - jump! - and already next to her. I wanted to see what would happen, I jumped out of my bed, but it was too late: the mongooses ran back. They licked their faces, and all that was left of the banana on the floor were skins like rags.

The next morning we were already at sea. I hung my entire cabin with garlands of bananas.

They swung on ropes from the ceiling. This is for the mongoose. I will give a little bit - it will last a long time. I released the tame mongoose, and it now ran all over me, and I lay with my eyes half-closed and motionless.

I looked and the mongoose jumped onto the shelf where the books were. So she climbed onto the frame of the round steamship window. The frame swayed slightly and the steamer rocked.

The mongoose perched itself more securely and looked down at me. I hid. The mongoose pushed the wall with its paw, and the frame moved sideways. And at that very moment, when the frame was against the banana, the mongoose rushed, jumped and grabbed the banana with both paws. She hung for a moment in the air, right near the ceiling. But the banana came off, and the mongoose plopped on the floor. No! The banana flopped. The mongoose jumped on all four legs. I jumped up to look, but the mongoose was already fidgeting under the bed. A minute later she came out with her face covered in grease. She quacked with pleasure.

Hey! I had to move the bananas to the very middle of the cabin: the mongoose was already trying to climb higher on the towel. She climbed like a monkey; her paws are like hands. Tenacious, dexterous, agile. She wasn't afraid of me at all. I let her out on deck for a walk in the sun. She immediately sniffed everything like a proprietor and ran around the deck as if she had never been anywhere else and this was her home.

But on the ship we had our old master on deck. No, not the captain, but the cat. Huge, well-fed, wearing a copper collar. He walked importantly on the deck when it was dry. It was dry that day too. And the sun rose above the mast itself. The cat came out of the kitchen to see if everything was okay. He saw the mongoose and walked quickly, and then began to sneak carefully. He walked along an iron pipe. She stretched across the deck. Just at this pipe a mongoose was scurrying around. It was as if she had never seen the cat. And the cat was completely above her. All he could do was reach out his paw to grab her back with his claws. He waited to get comfortable. I immediately realized what was about to happen. The mongoose doesn’t see, her back is to the cat, she sniffs the deck as if nothing had happened; The cat has already taken aim.

I started running. But I didn't get there. The cat extended his paw. And at the same moment the mongoose stuck its head between its hind legs, opened its mouth, cawed loudly, and put its tail - a huge fluffy tail - up in a column, and it became like a lamp hedgehog that cleans glass. In an instant, she turned into an incomprehensible, unprecedented monster. The cat was thrown back as if hit by a hot iron.

He immediately turned and, raising his tail with a stick, rushed away without looking back. And the mongoose, as if nothing had happened, was again fussing and sniffing for something on the deck. But since then, rarely has anyone seen the handsome cat. There's a mongoose on the deck - you won't even find a cat. His name was both “kiss-kiss” and “Vasenka”. The cook lured him with meat, but the cat could not be found even if the entire ship was searched. But there were now mongooses hanging around the kitchen; they quacked and demanded meat from the cook. Poor Vasenka only sneaked into the cook’s cabin at night, and the cook fed him meat. At night, when the mongooses were in the cage, Vaska's time began.

But one night I woke up from a scream on the deck. People were screaming in alarm and fear. I quickly got dressed and ran out. The fireman Fyodor shouted that he was now coming from his watch, and from these very Indian trees, from this pile, a snake crawled out and immediately hid back. What a snake! - a hand thick, almost two fathoms long. And she even poked her nose at him. No one believed Fedor, but they still looked at the Indian trees with caution. What if it really is a snake? Well, not as thick as your hand, but poisonous? So come here at night! Someone said: “They love warmly, they crawl into people’s beds.” Everyone fell silent. Suddenly everyone turned to me:

- Well, here are the little animals, your mongooses! Well, let them...

I was afraid that a wild one might run away at night. But there was no time to think: someone had already run to my cabin and was already bringing the cage here. I opened it near the pile itself, where the trees ended and the back passages between the trunks were visible. Someone lit the electric chandelier. I saw how the tame one darted into the black passage first. And then the wild one follows. I was afraid that their paws or tail would get pinched among these heavy logs. But it was already too late: both mongooses went there.

- Bring the crowbar! - someone shouted.

And Fyodor was already standing with an ax. Then everyone fell silent and began to listen. But nothing was heard except the creaking of the decks. Suddenly someone shouted:

- Look, look! Tail!

Fyodor swung his ax, the others leaned further away. I grabbed Fedor by the hand. Out of fright, he almost hit his tail with an ax; the tail was not a snake, but a mongoose - it stuck out and then retracted. Then the hind legs appeared. The paws clung to the tree. Apparently, something was pulling the mongoose back.

- Someone help! You see, she can't do it! - Fyodor shouted.

- And what about yourself? What a commander! - answered from the crowd.

No one helped, but everyone backed away, even Fyodor with the ax. Suddenly the mongoose contrived; you could see how she wriggled all over, clinging to the blocks.

She lunged and stretched out her snake tail behind her. The tail swung, he threw the mongoose up and clattered it on the deck.

- Killed, killed! - they shouted all around.

But my mongoose - it was wild - instantly jumped to its paws. She held the snake by the tail, it dug into it with its sharp teeth. The snake contracted and pulled the wild one back into the black passage. But the wild one resisted with all its paws and pulled out the snake more and more. The snake was two fingers thick, and it beat its tail on the deck like a whip, and at the end was a mongoose, and it was thrown from side to side. I wanted to chop off this tail, but Fyodor disappeared somewhere with the ax. They called him, but he did not respond. Everyone waited in fear for the snake's head to appear. Now it’s the end, and the whole snake will burst out. What's this? This is not a snake's head - it's a mongoose! So the tame one jumped onto the deck: it bit into the side of the snake’s neck. The snake wriggled, tore, it knocked the mongooses on the deck, and they held on like leeches.

Suddenly someone shouted:

- Hit! - and hit the snake with a crowbar.

Everyone rushed in and began to thresh with what they did. I was afraid that in the commotion the mongoose would be killed. I tore the wild one from the tail.

She was so angry that she bit my hand; it was torn and scratched. I tore off my hat and wrapped it around her face. My friend tore off my hand. We put them in a cage. They screamed and struggled, grabbing the bars with their teeth. I threw them a piece of meat, but they didn’t pay any attention. I turned off the light in the cabin and went to cauterize my bitten hands with iodine.

And there, on the deck, they were still threshing the snake. Then they threw him overboard.

From then on, everyone began to love my mongooses very much and brought them food, whatever they had. The tame one became acquainted with everyone, and it was difficult to call her in the evening: she was always visiting someone. She quickly climbed the gear. And once in the evening, when the electricity had already been turned on, the mongoose climbed up the mast along the ropes that came from the side. Everyone admired her dexterity and looked with their heads raised. But the rope reached the mast. Next came a bare, slippery tree. But the mongoose twisted with its whole body and grabbed onto the copper pipes. They walked along the mast. They contain electrical wires to the lantern above. The mongoose quickly climbed even higher. Everyone below clapped their hands. Suddenly the electrician shouted:

- There are bare wires! - and ran to put out the electricity.

But the mongoose had already grabbed the bare wires with its paw. She was electrocuted and fell from a height. They picked her up, but she was motionless.

She was still warm. I quickly carried her to the doctor's cabin. But his cabin was locked. I rushed to my room, carefully laid the mongoose on the pillow and ran to look for our doctor. “Maybe he will save my animal?” - I thought. I ran all over the ship, but someone had already told the doctor, and he quickly walked towards me. I wanted it to happen quickly and pulled the doctor’s hand.

They came to me.

- Well, where is she? - said the doctor.

Really, where is it? It wasn't on the pillow. I looked under the bed.

He began to fumble there with his hand. And suddenly: krryk-krryk! - and the mongoose jumped out from under the bed as if nothing had happened - healthy.

The doctor said that electricity, probably only stunned it for a while, but while I was running after the doctor, the mongoose recovered. How happy I was! I kept pressing her to my face and stroking her. And then everyone began to come to me, everyone was happy and stroked the mongoose - they loved it so much.

And then the wild one became completely tamed, and I brought the mongoose to my home.

Boris Zhitkov “About the Monkey”

I was twelve years old and in school. One day during recess my friend Yukhimenko came up to me and said:

- Do you want me to give you a monkey?

I didn’t believe it - I thought he was going to pull some kind of trick on me, so that sparks would fly out of my eyes, and say: this is the “monkey.” I'm not like that.

“Okay,” I say, “we know.”

“No,” he says, “really.” Live monkey. She is good. Her name is Yashka. And dad is angry.

- On whom?

- Yes, on me and Yashka. Take it away, he says, wherever you want. I think it's best for you.

After classes we went to see him. I still didn't believe it. Did I really think I would have a live monkey? And he kept asking what she was like. And Yukhimenko says:

- You'll see, don't be afraid, she's small.

Indeed, it turned out to be small. If it stands on its paws, it will be no more than half an arshin. The muzzle is wrinkled, like an old woman, and the eyes are lively and shiny.

Its fur is red and its paws are black. It’s like human hands in black gloves. She was wearing a blue vest.

Yukhimenko shouted:

- Yashka, Yashka, go, whatever I'll give you!

And he put his hand in his pocket. The monkey shouted: “Ay! ah!” — and in two leaps she jumped into Yukhimenka’s arms. He immediately put it in his overcoat, in his bosom.

“Let’s go,” he says.

I couldn't believe my eyes. We walk down the street, carrying such a miracle, and no one knows what we have in our bosom.

Dear Yukhimenko told me what to feed.

- He’s eating everything, come on. Loves sweets. Candy is a disaster! If he gets too full, he will definitely overeat. He likes his tea to be liquid and sweet. You're giving her a hard time. Two pieces. Don’t give him a bite: he’ll eat the sugar and won’t drink the tea.

I listened to everything and thought: I won’t spare her even three pieces, she’s so cute, like a toy man. Then I remembered that she didn’t have a tail either.

“Did you,” I say, “cut off her tail at the very root?”

“She’s a macaque,” ​​says Yukhimenko, “they don’t grow tails.”

We arrived at our home. Mom and the girls were sitting at lunch. Yukhimenka and I walked in straight in our greatcoats.

I speak:

- Who do we have?

Everyone turned around. Yukhimenko opened his overcoat. No one had time to make out anything yet, but Yashka was about to jump from Yukhimenka onto his mother’s head; pushed with his legs - and onto the buffet. I ruined my mother’s entire hairstyle.

Everyone jumped up and shouted:

- Oh, who, who is it?

And Yashka sat down on the sideboard and made faces, slurped, and bared his teeth.

Yukhimenko was afraid that they would scold him now, and quickly went to the door. They didn’t even look at him - everyone looked at the monkey. And suddenly the girls all began to sing in one voice:

- How pretty!

And mom kept fixing her hair.

- Where does it come from?

I looked back. Yukhimenka is no longer there. So, I remained the owner. And I wanted to show that I know how to handle a monkey. I put my hand in my pocket and shouted, as Yukhimenko did earlier:

- Yashka, Yashka! Go, I'll give you what!

Everyone was waiting. But Yashka didn’t even look - he began to itch slightly and often with his black little paw.

Until the evening, Yashka did not go downstairs, but jumped from top to bottom: from the sideboard to the door, from the door to the closet, and from there to the stove.

In the evening my father said:

“You can’t leave her like that overnight, she’ll turn the apartment upside down.”

And I started catching Yashka. I go to the buffet - he goes to the stove. I brushed him out of there - he jumped on the clock. The clock swayed and began to swing. And Yashka is already swinging on the curtains.

From there - at the painting - the painting looked sideways - I was afraid that Yashka would throw himself at the hanging lamp.

But then everyone had already gathered and began to chase Yashka. They threw balls, spools, matches at him and finally drove him into a corner.

Yashka pressed himself against the wall, bared his teeth and clicked his tongue - he began to scare. But they covered him with a woolen scarf and wrapped him up, entangling him.

Yashka floundered and screamed, but they soon twisted him around so that only his head was left sticking out. He turned his head, blinked his eyes, and seemed like he was about to cry out of resentment.

You can't swaddle a monkey every night! Father said:

- Tie it down. For the vest and to the leg, to the table.

I brought the rope, felt the button on Yashka’s back, threaded the rope into the loop and tied it tightly. Yashka’s vest on the back was fastened with three buttons.

Then I brought Yashka, wrapped up as he was, to the table, tied a rope to his leg, and only then unwound the scarf.

Wow, how he started jumping! But where can he break the rope? He screamed, got angry and sat down sadly on the floor.

I took sugar from the cupboard and gave it to Yashka. He grabbed a piece with his black paw and tucked it behind his cheek. This made his whole face twist.

I asked Yashka for a paw. He handed me his pen.

Then I noticed what pretty black nails she had on. Toy living pen! I began to stroke the paw and thought: just like a child. And tickled his palm. And the child tugs his paw - once - and hits me on the cheek. I didn’t even have time to blink, and he slapped me in the face and jumped under the table. He sat down and grinned.

Here comes the baby!

But then they sent me to bed.

I wanted to tie Yashka to my bed, but they didn’t let me. I kept listening to what Yashka was doing and thought that he definitely needed to make a crib so that he could sleep like people and cover himself with a blanket. I would put my head on a pillow. I thought and thought and fell asleep.

In the morning he jumped up and, without getting dressed, went to see Yashka. There is no Yashka on the rope. There is a rope, a vest is tied to the rope, but there is no monkey. I look, all three buttons on the back are undone. It was he who unbuttoned the vest, left it on the rope, and ran away. I search around the room. I spank with my bare feet. Nowhere. I was scared.

How did you escape? I haven’t spent a day, and here you are! I looked at the cabinets, into the stove - nowhere. He ran away into the street. And it’s frosty outside—you’ll freeze, poor thing! And I myself became cold. I ran to get dressed. Suddenly I see something moving in my bed. The blanket moves. I even shuddered. Here he is! It was he who felt cold on the floor, and he ran away and onto my bed. Huddled under the blanket.

But I was asleep and didn’t know. Yashka, half asleep, did not act shy, he gave himself into my hands, and I put the blue vest on him again.

When they sat down to drink tea, Yashka jumped up on the table, looked around, immediately found a sugar bowl, put his paw in and jumped on the door. He jumped so easily that he seemed to be flying without jumping. The monkey's feet had fingers like hands, and Yashka could grab with his feet. He did just that. He sits like a child, with his hands folded in someone’s arms, while he himself pulls something off the table with his foot.

He'll steal the knife and jump around with the knife. This is to be taken away from him, but he will run away. Yashka was given tea in a glass. He hugged the glass like a bucket, drank and smacked. I didn't skimp on the sugar.

When I left for school, I tied Yashka to the door, to the handle. This time I tied a rope around his waist so that he couldn’t fall off. When I came home, I saw from the hallway what Yashka was doing. He hung on the door handle and rode on the doors like on a carousel. He pushes off from the door frame and goes all the way to the wall.

He pushes his foot into the wall and goes back.

When I sat down to prepare my homework, I sat Yashka on the table. He really liked to warm himself near the lamp. He dozed like an old man in the sun, swayed and, squinting, watched as I poked the pen into the ink. Our teacher was strict, and I wrote the page cleanly. I didn't want to get wet so as not to spoil it.

Left it to dry. I come and see: Yakov is sitting on a notebook, dipping his finger into the inkwell, grumbling and drawing ink Babylons according to my writing. Oh, you rubbish! I almost cried with grief. He rushed at Yashka. Where! He stained all the curtains with ink. That’s why Yukhimenkin’s dad was angry with him and Yashka...

But once my dad got angry with Yashka. Yashka was picking off the flowers that stood on our windows. He rips off a leaf and teases. Father caught and beat Yashka. And then he tied him as punishment on the stairs that led to the attic. Narrow staircase.

And the wide one went down from the apartment.

Here is the father going to work in the morning. He cleaned himself up, put on his hat, and went down the stairs. Clap! The plaster falls. Father stopped and shook off his hat.

I looked up - no one. As soon as I started walking, bang, another piece of lime hit my head. What's happened?

And from the side I could see how Yashka was operating. He broke the mortar from the wall, laid it out along the edges of the steps, and lay down, hiding on the stairs, just above his father’s head. As soon as father went, Yashka quietly pushed the plaster off the step with his foot and tried it on so deftly that it was right on his father’s hat - he was taking revenge on him for the fact that his father had bullied him the day before.

But when real winter began, the wind howled in the chimneys, the windows were covered with snow, Yashka became sad. I kept warming him and holding him close to me. Yashka’s face became sad and saggy, he squealed and huddled closer to me. I tried to put it in my bosom, under my jacket. Yashka immediately settled down there: he grabbed the shirt with all four paws and hung like he was glued to it. He slept there without opening his paws. Another time you will forget that you have a living belly under your jacket and lean on the table. Yashka is now scratching my side with his paw: he’s letting me know to be careful.

One Sunday the girls came to visit. We sat down to have breakfast. Yashka sat quietly in my bosom, and he was not noticeable at all. At the end, sweets were distributed. As soon as I began to unwrap the first one, suddenly a furry hand stretched out from my bosom, right from my stomach, grabbed the candy and went back.

The girls squealed in fear. And Yashka heard that they were rustling paper, and guessed that they were eating sweets. And I tell the girls: “This is my third hand; I put candy directly into my stomach with this hand so I don’t have to fuss for a long time.” But everyone already guessed that it was a monkey, and from under the jacket they could hear the crunching of the candy: it was Yashka gnawing and chomping, as if I were chewing with my stomach.

Yashka was angry with his father for a long time. Yashka reconciled with him because of the sweets. My father had just quit smoking and instead of cigarettes he carried small sweets in his cigarette case. And every time after dinner my father opened the tight lid of his cigarette case thumb, fingernail, and took out candy. Yashka is right there: sitting on his knees and waiting - fidgeting, stretching. So the father once gave the entire cigarette case to Yashka; Yashka took it in his hand, and with the other hand, just like my father, he began to pick at the lid with his thumb. His finger is small, and the lid is tight and dense, and nothing comes of Yashenka. He howled with frustration. And the candies rattle. Then Yashka grabbed his father by the thumb and with his fingernail, like a chisel, he began to pick out the lid. This made my father laugh, he opened the lid and brought the cigarette case to Yashka. Yashka immediately put his paw in, grabbed a full handful, quickly put it in his mouth and ran away. Not every day is such happiness!

We had a doctor friend. He liked to talk - it was a disaster. Especially at lunch.

Everyone has already finished, everything on his plate is cold, then he will just grab it - pick at it, hastily swallow two pieces:

- Thank you, I'm full.

Once he was having lunch with us, he poked his fork into the potatoes and waved this fork - he said. I'm going crazy - I can't stop it. And Yasha, I see, climbs up the back of the chair, quietly crept up and sat down at the doctor’s shoulder. Doctor says:

“And you see, it’s just here...” And he stopped the fork with the potatoes near his ear - for just one moment. Yashenka quietly grabbed the potatoes with his little paw and took them off the fork - carefully, like a thief.

- And imagine... - And poked an empty fork into your mouth. He was embarrassed - he thought, shook off the potatoes as he waved his hands, and looked around. But Yashka is no longer there - he sits in the corner and cannot chew the potatoes, he has stuffed his whole throat.

The doctor himself laughed, but still was offended by Yashka.

Yashka was given a bed in a basket: with a sheet, a blanket, a pillow. But Yashka did not want to sleep like a human being: he wrapped everything around himself in a ball and sat like a stuffed animal all night. They sewed him a little green dress with a cape, and he looked like a short-haired girl from an orphanage.

Now I hear a ringing in the next room. What's happened? I make my way quietly and see: Yashka is standing on the windowsill in a green dress, in one hand he has a lamp glass, and in the other there is a hedgehog, and he is furiously cleaning the glass with the hedgehog. He got into such a rage that he didn’t hear me enter. He saw how the glass was cleaned, and let’s try it ourselves.

Otherwise, if you leave him with a lamp in the evening, he will turn the fire on full flame - the lamp smokes, soot flies around the room, and he sits and growls at the lamp.

Trouble has happened to Yashka, at least put him in a cage! I scolded him and beat him, but for a long time I could not be angry with him. When Yashka wanted to be liked, he became very affectionate, climbed onto his shoulder and began searching his head. This means he already loves you very much.

He needs to beg for something - candy or an apple - now he climbs onto his shoulder and carefully begins to run his paws through his hair: he searches and scratches with his nails. He doesn’t find anything, but pretends to have caught the beast: he bites something off his fingers.

One day a lady came to visit us. She thought she was beautiful.

Discharged. Everything is so silky and rustling. There is not a hairstyle on the head, but a whole arbor of hair twisted - in curls, in ringlets. And on the neck, on a long chain, is a mirror in a silver frame.

Yashka carefully jumped up to her on the floor.

- Oh, what a cute monkey! - says the lady. And let's play with the mirror with Yashka.

Yashka caught the mirror, turned it over, jumped onto the lady’s lap and began to try the mirror on his teeth.

The lady took the mirror away and held it in her hand. And Yashka wants to get a mirror.

The lady casually stroked Yashka with her glove and slowly pushed him off her lap. So Yashka decided to please, to flatter the lady. Jump on her shoulder. He grabbed the lace tightly with his hind paws and took hold of his hair. I dug out all the curls and began to search.

The lady blushed.

- Let's go, let's go! - speaks.

Not so! Yashka tries even harder: he scrapes with his nails and clicks his teeth.

This lady always sat opposite the mirror to admire herself, and when she sees in the mirror that Yashka has disheveled her, she almost cries. I went to the rescue. Where there! Yashka grabbed his hair as hard as he could and looked at me wildly. The lady pulled him by the collar, and Yashka twisted her hair. I looked at myself in the mirror - a stuffed animal. I swung, scared Yashka, and our guest grabbed her head and - through the door.

“It’s a disgrace,” he says, “a disgrace!” “And I didn’t say goodbye to anyone.”

“Well,” I think, “I’ll keep it until spring and give it to someone if Yukhimenko doesn’t take it. I got so much punishment for this monkey!” And now spring has come. It's warmer. Yashka came to life and did even more mischief. He really wanted to go out into the yard and be free. And our yard was huge, about the size of a tithe.

In the middle of the yard there was a mountain of government coal, and around there were warehouses with goods. And the guards kept a whole pack of dogs in the yard to protect against thieves. The dogs are big and angry. And all the dogs were commanded by the red dog Kashtan. Whoever Kashtan growls at, all the dogs rush at him. Whoever Kashtan lets through, the dogs will not touch. And Kashtan was beating someone else's dog with his chest running. He’ll hit her, knock her off her feet, and stand over her, growling, but she’s afraid to move.

I looked out the window and saw that there were no dogs in the yard. Let me think, I’ll go and take Yashenka for a walk for the first time. I put a green dress on him so that he wouldn’t catch a cold, put Yashka on my shoulder and went. As soon as I opened the doors, Yashka jumped to the ground and ran across the yard. And suddenly, out of nowhere, the whole pack of dogs, and Kashtan in front, straight towards Yashka. And he, like a little green doll, stands small. I’ve already decided that Yashka is missing—they’ll tear him apart now. Kashtan leaned towards Yashka, but Yashka turned to him, crouched down, and took aim. Kashtan stood a step away from the monkey, bared his teeth and grumbled, but did not dare to rush at such a miracle. The dogs all bristled and waited for Chestnut.

I wanted to rush to the rescue. But suddenly Yashka jumped and at one moment sat on Kashtan’s neck. And then the wool flew off Chestnut in shreds. Yashka hit him in the face and eyes, so that his paws were not visible. Kashtan howled, and in such a terrible voice that all the dogs scattered. Kashtan started to run headlong, and Yashka sat, grabbed the wool with his feet, held on tightly, and with his hands tore Kashtan by the ears, pinched the wool into shreds. The chestnut has gone crazy: it rushes around the coal mountain with a wild howl. Yashka ran around the yard on horseback three times and jumped onto the coal as he went. I slowly climbed to the very top. There was a wooden booth; he climbed onto the booth, sat down and began scratching his side as if nothing had happened. Here, they say, I don’t care!

And Kashtan is at the gate from a terrible beast.

Since then, I boldly began to let Yashka out into the yard: only Yashka from the porch - all the dogs go into the gate. Yashka was not afraid of anyone.

Carts will arrive in the yard, the whole yard will be clogged, there will be nowhere to go. And Yashka flies from cart to cart. He jumps onto the horse's back - the horse tramples, shakes its mane, snorts, and Yashka slowly jumps over to the other. The cab drivers just laugh and are surprised:

- Look how Satan is jumping. Look! Wow!

And Yashka goes for bags. Looking for cracks. He sticks his paw in and feels what’s there.

He finds where the sunflowers are, sits and immediately clicks on the cart. It happened that Yashka would find the nuts. He hits you on the cheeks and tries to grab them with all four hands.

But then Jacob found an enemy. Yes what! There was a cat in the yard. No one's. He lived at the office, and everyone fed him scraps. He grew fat and became as big as a dog. He was angry and scratchy.

And then one evening Yashka was walking around the yard. I couldn’t call him home. I see the cat came out into the yard and jumped onto the bench that stood under the tree.

When Yashka saw the cat, he went straight to him. He crouches down and walks slowly on all fours. Straight to the bench and never takes his eyes off the cat. The cat picked up its paws, hunched its back, and got ready. And Yashka is crawling closer and closer. The cat widened his eyes and backed away. Yashka on the bench. The cat is still backing to the other edge, towards the tree. My heart sank. And Yakov crawls along the bench towards the cat. The cat had already shrunk into a ball and was all drawn up. And suddenly - he jumped, not on Yashka, but on a tree. He grabbed onto the trunk and looked down at the monkey. And Yashka still makes the same move towards the tree. The cat was scratched higher - he was used to saving himself in trees. And Yashka is up the tree, and still slowly, aiming at the cat with his black eyes. The cat climbed higher, higher, onto the branch and sat down on the very edge. He looks to see what Yashka will do. And Yakov crawls along the same branch, and so confidently, as if he had never done anything else, but only caught cats. The cat is already on the very edge, barely holding on to a thin branch, swaying. And Yakov crawls and crawls, tenaciously moving all four arms.

Suddenly the cat jumped from the very top onto the pavement, shook himself and ran away at full speed without looking back. And Yashka from the tree followed him: “Yau, yau,” in some terrible, animal voice - I’ve never heard that from him.

Now Jacob has become a complete king in the courtyard. At home he didn’t want to eat anything, he just drank tea with sugar. And once I was so full of raisins in the yard that I could barely put them down. Yashka moaned, had tears in his eyes, and looked at everyone capriciously. At first everyone felt very sorry for Yashka, but when he saw that they were messing with him, he began to break down and throw his arms around, throw back his head and howl at different voices. They decided to wrap him up and give him castor oil. Let him know!

And he liked the castor oil so much that he started yelling for more.

He was swaddled and not allowed into the yard for three days.

Yashka soon recovered and began rushing into the yard. I wasn’t afraid for him: no one could catch him, and Yashka jumped around the yard all day long. It became calmer at home, and I had less trouble with Yashka. And when autumn came, everyone in the house unanimously said:

- Wherever you want, put your monkey away or put it in a cage, and so that this Satan doesn’t run around the whole apartment.

They said how pretty she was, but now I think she’s become Satan. And as soon as the training began, I began to look in the class for someone who could fuse Yashka.

He finally found a comrade, called him aside and said:

- Do you want me to give you a monkey? I'm alive.

I don’t know to whom he later sold off Yashka.

But for the first time, after Yashka was no longer in the house, I saw that everyone was a little bored, although they didn’t want to admit it.

Boris Zhitkov “Bear”

In Siberia, in a dense forest, in the taiga, a Tungus hunter lived with his whole family in a leather tent. One day he went out of the house to break some wood and saw the tracks of a moose on the ground. The hunter was delighted, ran home, took his gun and knife and said to his wife:

- Don’t expect to come back soon - I’ll go get the elk.

So he followed the tracks, and suddenly he saw more tracks - bear ones. And where the elk’s tracks lead, the bear’s tracks also lead.

“Hey,” thought the hunter, “I’m not alone following the elk, the bear is chasing the elk ahead of me. I can't catch up with them. The bear will catch me before the elk."

Still, the hunter followed the tracks. He walked for a long time, he already ate all the stock that he took with him from home, but everything goes on and on. The tracks began to climb up the mountain, but the forest did not thin out, it was still just as dense.

The hunter is hungry, exhausted, but he keeps walking and looking at his feet so as not to lose his tracks. And along the way there are pine trees, piled up by a storm, stones overgrown with grass. The hunter is tired, stumbles, can barely drag his feet. And he keeps looking: where is the grass crushed, where is the ground crushed by a deer’s hoof?

“I’ve already climbed high,” the hunter thinks, “where is the end of this mountain.”

Suddenly he hears someone chomping. The hunter hid and crawled quietly. And I forgot that I was tired, where the strength came from. The hunter crawled and crawled and then he saw: there were very few trees, and here was the end of the mountain - it converged at an angle - and there was a cliff on the right, and a cliff on the left. And in the very corner lies a huge bear, gnawing the elk, grumbling, slurping and not smelling the hunter.

“Aha,” thought the hunter, “you drove the elk here, into the very corner, and then you got him. Stop!” The hunter stood up, sat down on his knee and began aiming at the bear.

Then the bear saw him, got scared, wanted to run, ran to the edge, and there was a cliff. The bear roared. Then the hunter fired a gun at him and killed him.

The hunter skinned the bear, cut the meat and hung it on a tree so that the wolves wouldn’t get it. The hunter ate bear meat and quickly went home.

I folded the tent and went with the whole family to where I left the bear meat.

“Here,” the hunter said to his wife, “eat, and I’ll rest.”

Boris Zhitkov “Hunter and Dogs”

Early in the morning the hunter got up, took a gun, cartridges, a bag, called his two dogs and went to shoot hares.

It was bitterly cold, but there was no wind at all. The hunter was skiing and warmed up from walking. He felt warm.

The dogs ran ahead and chased the hares at the hunter. The hunter shot deftly and scored five pieces. Then he noticed that he had gone far.

“It’s time to go home,” thought the hunter. “The tracks of my skis are visible, and before it gets dark, I’ll follow the tracks home.” I’ll cross the ravine, and it’s not far there.”

He went down and saw that the ravine was black and black with jackdaws. They were sitting right in the snow. The hunter realized that something was wrong.

And it’s true: he had just left the ravine when the wind blew, snow began to fall, and a blizzard began. Nothing was visible ahead; the tracks were covered with snow.

The hunter whistled for the dogs.

“If the dogs don’t lead me onto the road,” he thought, “I’m lost. I don’t know where to go, I’ll get lost, I’ll be covered in snow and I’ll freeze.”

He let the dogs go ahead, but the dogs ran away five steps - and the hunter could not see where to follow them. Then he took off his belt, untied all the straps and ropes that were on it, tied the dogs by the collar and let them go forward. The dogs dragged him, and he came to his village on skis, like on a sleigh.

He gave each dog a whole hare, then took off his shoes and lay down on the stove. And I kept thinking:

“If it weren’t for the dogs, I would be lost today.”

When Pyotr Terentyev left the village to go to war, his little son Styopa did not know what to give his father as a farewell gift, and finally gave him an old rhinoceros beetle. He caught him in the garden and put him in a matchbox. The rhinoceros was angry, knocking, demanding to be released. But Styopa did not let him out, but slipped blades of grass into his box so that the beetle would not die of hunger. The rhinoceros gnawed blades of grass, but still continued to knock and scold.

Styopa cut a small window in the box for inflow fresh air. The beetle stuck its furry paw out of the window and tried to grab Styopa's finger - it must have wanted to scratch it out of anger. But Styopa didn’t give a finger. Then the beetle began to buzz so much in annoyance that Styopa Akulina’s mother shouted:

- Let him out, damn it! He's been buzzing and buzzing all day, his head is swollen!

Pyotr Terentyev grinned at Styopa’s gift, stroked Styopa’s head with a rough hand and hid the box with the beetle in his gas mask bag.

“Just don’t lose him, take care of him,” said Styopa.

“It’s okay to lose such gifts,” answered Peter. - I’ll save it somehow.

Either the beetle liked the smell of rubber, or Peter smelled pleasantly of an overcoat and black bread, but the beetle calmed down and rode with Peter all the way to the front.

At the front, the soldiers were surprised by the beetle, touched its strong horn with their fingers, listened to Peter’s story about his son’s gift, and said:

- What did the boy come up with! And the beetle, apparently, is a fighting one. Just a corporal, not a beetle.

The fighters were interested in how long the beetle would last and how things were going with its food supply - what Peter would feed and water it with. Even though it is a beetle, it cannot live without water.

Peter smiled embarrassedly and replied that if you give a beetle a spikelet, it will feed for a week. How much does he need?

One night, Peter dozed off in a trench and dropped the box with the beetle from his bag. The beetle tossed and turned for a long time, opened a crack in the box, crawled out, moved its antennae, and listened. In the distance the earth thundered and yellow lightning flashed.

The beetle climbed onto an elderberry bush at the edge of the trench to get a better look around. He had never seen such a thunderstorm before. There was too much lightning. The stars did not hang motionless in the sky, like a beetle in their homeland, in Petrova Village, but took off from the earth, illuminated everything around with a bright light, smoked and went out. Thunder roared continuously.

Some beetles whizzed past. One of them hit the elderberry bush so hard that red berries fell from it. The old rhinoceros fell, pretended to be dead and was afraid to move for a long time. He realized that it was better not to mess with such beetles - there were too many of them whistling around.

So he lay there until the morning, until the sun rose. The beetle opened one eye and looked at the sky. It was blue, warm, there was no such sky in his village. Huge birds howled and fell from this sky like kites. The beetle quickly turned over, stood on its feet, crawled under the burdock - it was afraid that the kites would peck it to death.

In the morning, Peter missed the beetle and began to rummage around on the ground.

- What are you doing? - asked a neighboring fighter with such a tanned face that he could be mistaken for a black man.

“The beetle is gone,” Peter answered sadly. - What a problem!

“I found something to grieve about,” said the tanned fighter. - A beetle is a beetle, an insect. It was never of any use to the soldier.

“It’s not a matter of benefit,” Peter objected, “it’s a matter of memory.” My son gave it to me as a last gift. Here, brother, it’s not the insect that’s precious, it’s the memory that’s precious.

- That's for sure! — the tanned fighter agreed. - This, of course, is a matter of a different order. Just finding it is like a crumb of shag in the ocean-sea. That means the beetle is gone.

Since then, Peter stopped putting the beetle in boxes, but carried it right in his gas mask bag, and the soldiers were even more surprised: “You see, the beetle has become completely tame!”

Sometimes in free time Peter released the beetle, and the beetle crawled around, looked for some roots, chewed leaves. They were no longer the same as in the village. Instead of birch leaves, there were many elm and poplar leaves. And Peter, reasoning with the soldiers, said:

— My beetle switched to trophy food.

One evening, a fresh air blew into the gas mask bag, the smell of big water, and the beetle crawled out of the bag to see where it had ended up.

Peter stood with the soldiers on the ferry. The ferry sailed across a wide, bright river. The golden sun was setting behind it, willow trees stood along the banks, and storks with red paws flew above them.

- Vistula! - the soldiers said, scooped up water with their fingernails, drank, and some washed their dusty faces in cool water. - So we drank water from the Don, Dnieper and Bug, and now we’ll drink from the Vistula. The water in the Vistula is painfully sweet.

The beetle breathed in the coolness of the river, moved its antennae, climbed into its bag, and fell asleep.

He woke up from strong shaking. The bag was shaking and bouncing. The beetle quickly got out and looked around. Peter ran through a wheat field, and soldiers ran nearby, shouting “Hurray.” It was getting a little light. Dew glistened on the soldiers' helmets.

At first the beetle clung to the bag with all its might, then realized that it still couldn’t hold on, it opened its wings, took off, flew next to Peter and hummed, as if encouraging Peter.

Some man in a dirty green uniform took aim at Peter with a rifle, but a beetle struck this man in the eye. The man staggered, dropped his rifle and ran.

The beetle flew after Peter, clung to his shoulders and climbed into the bag only when Peter fell to the ground and shouted to someone: “What bad luck! It hit me in the leg!” At this time, people in dirty green uniforms were already running, looking back, and a thunderous “hurray” was rolling on their heels.

Peter spent a month in the infirmary, and the beetle was given to a Polish boy for safekeeping. This boy lived in the same yard where the infirmary was located.

From the infirmary, Peter again went to the front - his wound was light. He caught up with some of his already in Germany. The smoke from the heavy fighting was as if the earth itself was burning and was throwing out huge black clouds from every hollow. The sun was fading in the sky. The beetle must have gone deaf from the thunder of the guns and sat quietly in the bag, without moving.

But one morning he moved and got out. A warm wind blew and carried the last streaks of smoke far to the south. The pure high sun sparkled in the blue depths of the sky. It was so quiet that the beetle could hear the rustling of a leaf on the tree above him. All the leaves hung motionless, and only one trembled and made noise, as if he was happy about something and wanted to tell all the other leaves about it.

Peter sat on the ground, drinking water from a flask. Drops flowed down his unshaven chin and played in the sun. Having drunk, Peter laughed and said:

- Victory!

- Victory! - responded the soldiers sitting nearby.

— Eternal Glory! Our native land yearns for our hands. Now we will make a garden out of it and live, brothers, free and happy.

Soon after this, Peter returned home. Akulina screamed and cried with joy, and Styopa also cried and asked:

— Is the beetle alive?

“He’s alive, my comrade.” The bullet did not touch him; he returned to his native place with the victors. And we will let him out with you, Styopa,” answered Peter.

Peter took the beetle out of the bag and put it on his palm.

The beetle sat for a long time, looked around, moved its mustache, then rose on its hind legs, opened its wings, folded them again, thought and suddenly took off with a loud buzzing - it recognized its native place. He made a circle over the well, over the dill bed in the garden and flew across the river into the forest, where the guys were calling around, picking mushrooms and wild raspberries. Styopa ran after him for a long time, waving his cap.

“Well,” said Peter when Styopa returned, “now this bug will tell his people about the war and about his heroic behavior.” He will gather all the beetles under the juniper, bow in all directions and tell.

Styopa laughed, and Akulina said:

- Waking up the boy to tell fairy tales. He will actually believe it.

“And let him believe,” answered Peter. - Not only the guys, but even the fighters enjoy the fairy tale.

- Well, is that so! - Akulina agreed and threw pine cones into the samovar.

The samovar hummed like an old rhinoceros beetle. Blue smoke streamed from the samovar pipe, flew into the evening sky, where the young moon was already standing, reflected in the lakes, in the river, looking down on our quiet land.

Konstantin Paustovsky “Cat Thief”

We were in despair. We didn't know how to catch this red cat. He stole from us every night. He hid so cleverly that none of us really saw him. Only a week later it was finally possible to establish that the cat’s ear was torn and a piece of his dirty tail was cut off.

It was a cat who had lost all conscience, a cat - a tramp and a bandit. Behind his back they called him Thief.

He stole everything: fish, meat, sour cream and bread. One day he even dug up a tin can of worms in the closet. He didn’t eat them, but the chickens came running to the opened jar and pecked our entire supply of worms.

The overfed chickens lay in the sun and moaned. We walked around them and argued, but fishing it was still torn down.

We spent almost a month tracking down the ginger cat.

The village boys helped us with this. One day they rushed over and, out of breath, said that at dawn a cat had rushed, crouching, through the gardens and dragged a kukan with perches in its teeth.

We rushed to the cellar and discovered that the kukan was missing; on it were ten fat perches caught on Prorva.

This was no longer theft, but robbery in broad daylight. We vowed to catch the cat and beat him up for gangster tricks.

The cat was caught that same evening. He stole a piece of liverwurst from the table and climbed up a birch tree with it.

We started shaking the birch tree. The cat dropped the sausage and it fell on Reuben's head. The cat looked at us from above with wild eyes and howled menacingly.

But there was no salvation, and the cat decided on a desperate act. With a terrifying howl, he fell from the birch tree, fell to the ground, jumped up like soccer ball, and rushed off under the house.

The house was small. He stood in a remote, abandoned garden. Every night we were awakened by the sound of wild apples falling from the branches onto his plank roof.

The house was littered with fishing rods, shot, apples and dry leaves. We only spent the night in it. We spent all our days, from dawn to dark, on the banks of countless streams and lakes. There we fished and made fires in the coastal thickets.

To get to the shores of the lakes, one had to trample down narrow paths in the fragrant tall grasses. Their corollas swayed above their heads and showered their shoulders with yellow flower dust.

We returned in the evening, scratched by rose hips, tired, burned by the sun, with bundles of silvery fish, and each time we were greeted with stories about new tramp antics of the red cat.

But finally the cat was caught. He crawled under the house into the only narrow hole. There was no way out.

We blocked the hole with an old fishing net and began to wait. But the cat didn't come out. He howled disgustingly, like an underground spirit, howled continuously and without any fatigue.

An hour passed, two, three... It was time to go to bed, but the cat howled and cursed under the house, and it got on our nerves.

Then Lyonka, the son of the village shoemaker, was called. Lenka was famous for his fearlessness and agility. He was tasked with getting a cat out from under the house.

Lyonka took a silk fishing line, tied a fish caught during the day to it by the tail and threw it through the hole into the underground.

The howling stopped. We heard a crunch and a predatory click as the cat grabbed the fish’s head with its teeth. He held on with a death grip. Lyonka pulled the fishing line, the cat desperately resisted, but Lyonka was stronger, and, besides, the cat did not want to let go of the tasty fish.

A minute later, the cat’s head with flesh clamped in its teeth appeared in the hole of the manhole.

Lenka grabbed the cat by the collar and lifted him above the ground. We took a good look at it for the first time.

The cat closed his eyes and laid back his ears. He tucked his tail under himself just in case. It turned out to be a skinny, despite the constant theft, fiery red stray cat with white markings on his stomach.

Having examined the cat, Reuben thoughtfully asked:

- What should we do with him?

- Rip it out! - I said.

“It won’t help,” said Lyonka. “He’s had this kind of character since childhood.” Try to feed him properly.

The cat waited, closing his eyes.

We followed this advice, dragged the cat into the closet and gave him a wonderful dinner: fried pork, perch aspic, cottage cheese and sour cream. The cat ate for more than an hour. He came out of the closet staggering, sat down on the threshold and washed himself, looking at us and at the low stars with green, impudent eyes.

After washing, he snorted for a long time and rubbed his head on the floor. This was obviously supposed to signify fun. We were afraid that he would rub the fur on the back of his head.

Then the cat rolled over onto his back, caught his tail, chewed it, spat it out, stretched out by the stove and snored peacefully.

From that day on, he settled in with us and stopped stealing.

The next morning he even performed a noble and unexpected act.

The chickens climbed onto the table in the garden and, pushing each other and quarreling, began to peck buckwheat porridge from the plates.

The cat, trembling with indignation, crept up to the chickens and jumped onto the table with a short cry of victory.

The chickens took off with a desperate cry. They overturned the jug of milk and rushed, losing their feathers, to run away from the garden.

A long-legged fool rooster, nicknamed “The Gorlach,” rushed ahead, hiccupping.

The cat rushed after him on three legs, and with the fourth, front paw, hit the rooster on the back. Dust and fluff flew from the rooster. Inside him, with each blow, something thumped and hummed, as if a cat was hitting a rubber ball.

After this, the rooster lay in a fit for several minutes, his eyes rolled back, and moaned quietly. They poured cold water on him and he walked away.

Since then, chickens have been afraid to steal. Seeing the cat, they hid under the house, squeaking and jostling.

The cat walked around the house and garden like a master and watchman. He rubbed his head against our legs. He demanded gratitude, leaving tufts of red fur on our trousers.

We renamed him from Thief to Policeman. Although Reuben claimed that this was not entirely convenient, we were sure that the police would not be offended by us for this.

Konstantin Paustovsky “Tenants of the old house”

The troubles began at the end of summer, when the bow-legged dachshund Funtik appeared in the old village house. Funtik was brought from Moscow.

One day the black cat Stepan was sitting, as always, on the porch and, slowly, washed himself. He licked the splayed hand, then, closing his eyes, rubbed his slobbery paw as hard as he could behind his ear. Suddenly Styopa felt someone’s gaze. He looked around and froze with his paw tucked behind his ear. Stepan's eyes turned white with anger. A small red dog stood nearby. One of his ears curled up. Trembling with curiosity, the dog stretched wet nose to Stepan - I wanted to sniff this mysterious beast.

- Oh, that's how it is!

Stepan contrived and hit Funtik on the inverted ear.

War was declared, and since then life for Stepan has lost all its charm. There was nothing to think about lazily rubbing his muzzle against the jambs of cracked doors or lying in the sun near the well. I had to walk cautiously, on tiptoe, look around more often and always choose some tree or fence ahead in order to escape from Funtik in time.

Stepan, like all cats, had strong habits. He loved to walk around the garden overgrown with celandine in the mornings, chase Sparrows from old apple trees, catch yellow cabbage butterflies and sharpen his claws on a rotten bench. But now he had to walk around the garden not on the ground, but along a high fence, for some unknown reason, covered with rusty barbed wire and, moreover, so narrow that at times Stepan thought for a long time where to put his paw.

In general, there were various troubles in Stepan’s life. One day he stole and ate a piece of flesh along with a fishing hook stuck in the gills - and everything went well, Stepan didn’t even get sick. But never before had he had to humiliate himself because of a bow-legged dog that looked like a rat. Stepan's mustache twitched with indignation.

Only once during the whole summer, Stepan, sitting on the roof, grinned.

In the yard, among the curly goose grass, there was a wooden bowl with muddy water— they threw crusts of black bread at her for the chickens. Funtik went to the bowl and carefully pulled out a large soggy crust from the water.

The grumpy, long-legged rooster, nicknamed “The Gorlach,” looked intently at Funtik with one eye. Then he turned his head and looked with the other eye. The rooster could not believe that here, nearby, in broad daylight, a robbery was taking place.

Having thought, the rooster raised his paw, his eyes became bloodshot, something began to bubble inside him, as if distant thunder was thundering inside the rooster. Stepan knew what this meant - the rooster was furious.

Swiftly and fearfully, stamping its calloused paws, the rooster rushed towards Funtik and pecked him in the back. There was a short and strong knock. Funtik let go of the bread, laid back his ears and, with a desperate cry, rushed into the hole under the house.

The rooster flapped his wings victoriously, raised thick dust, pecked at the soggy crust and threw it aside in disgust - the crust must have smelled like dog.

Funtik sat under the house for several hours and only in the evening he crawled out and, sidestepping the rooster, made his way into the rooms. His muzzle was covered in dusty cobwebs, and dried spiders were stuck to his mustache.

But much more terrible than the rooster was the thin black hen. She had a shawl of colorful fluff thrown around her neck, and she looked like a gypsy fortune teller. We bought this chicken in vain. No wonder the old women in the village said that chickens turn black from anger.

This chicken flew like a crow, fought and could stand on the roof for several hours and cluck without interruption. There was no way to knock her off the roof, even with a brick. When we returned from the meadows or from the forest, this chicken was already visible from afar - it stood on the chimney and seemed to be carved out of tin.

We were reminded of medieval taverns - we read about them in the novels of Walter Scott. On the roofs of these taverns, tin roosters or chickens stuck out on poles, replacing a sign.

Just like in a medieval tavern, we were greeted at home by dark log walls caulked with yellow moss, flaming logs in the stove and the smell of caraway. For some reason an old house smelled of cumin and wood dust.

We read Walter Scott's novels on cloudy days, when the warm rain was peacefully rustling on the roofs and in the garden. The blows of small raindrops shook the wet leaves on the trees, water flowed in a thin and transparent stream from the drainpipe, and under the pipe a small green frog sat in a puddle. Water poured directly onto her head, but the frog did not move and only blinked.

When there was no rain, the frog sat in a puddle under the washstand. Once a minute it dripped onto her head from the washstand. cold water. From the same novels of Walter Scott, we knew that in the Middle Ages the most terrible torture there was such a slow dripping of ice water on the head, and they were surprised at the frog.

Sometimes in the evenings a frog came into the house. She jumped over the threshold and could sit and watch the fire of a kerosene lamp for hours.

It was difficult to understand why this fire attracted the frog so much. But then we realized that the frog came to look at the bright fire in the same way as children gather around an untidy tea table to listen to a bedtime story.

The fire flared up and then weakened from the green midges burning in the lamp glass. It must have seemed to the frog like a big diamond, where, if you peer for a long time, you can see entire countries with golden waterfalls and rainbow stars in each face.

The frog was so carried away by this fairy tale that he had to be tickled with a stick so that he would wake up and go to his place, under the rotting porch - dandelions managed to bloom on its steps.

When it rained, the roof leaked here and there. We placed copper basins on the floor. At night, the water dripped into them especially loudly and steadily, and often this ringing coincided with the loud ticking of the walkers.

The walkers were very cheerful - painted with lush roses and shamrocks. Every time he passed by them, Funtik grumbled quietly - probably so that the walkers knew that there was a dog in the house, were on guard and did not allow themselves any liberties - did not run ahead three hours a day or did not stop without any reason. causes.

There were a lot of old things in the house. Once upon a time, these things were needed by the inhabitants of the house, but now they were collecting dust and drying out in the attic and mice were swarming in them.

Occasionally we made excavations in the attic and among the broken window frames and curtains made of shaggy cobwebs we found either a box of oil paints covered with multi-colored fossilized drops, or a broken mother-of-pearl fan, or a copper coffee mill from the time of the Sevastopol defense, or a huge heavy book with engravings from ancient history. , then, finally, a pack of decals.

We translated them. From under the sodden paper film appeared bright and sticky views of Vesuvius, Italian donkeys decorated with garlands of roses, girls in straw hats with blue satin ribbons playing serso, and frigates surrounded by plump balls of gunpowder smoke.

Once in the attic we found a black wooden box. On the lid there was an English inscription in copper letters: “Edinburgh. Scotland. Made by Master Galveston.”

The box was brought into the room, the dust was carefully wiped off and the lid was opened. Inside were copper rollers with thin steel spikes. Near each roller sat a copper dragonfly, butterfly or beetle on a bronze lever.

It was a music box. We turned it on, but it didn't play. In vain we pressed the backs of beetles, flies and dragonflies - the box was damaged.

Over evening tea we started talking about mysterious master Galveston. Everyone agreed that he was a cheerful elderly Scotsman in a checkered vest and leather apron. As he worked, grinding copper rollers in a vice, he probably whistled a song about a postman whose horn sings in the misty valleys, and a girl collecting brushwood in the mountains. Like all good craftsmen, he talked to the things he did and predicted them future life. But, of course, he could never have guessed that this black box would fall from under the pale Scottish sky into the deserted forests beyond the Oka, into a village where only roosters crow, like in Scotland, and everything else is not at all like this distant northern country.

Since then, Master Galveston has become, as it were, one of the invisible inhabitants of the old village house. At times it even seemed to us that we heard his hoarse cough when he accidentally choked on smoke from his pipe. And when we were putting together something - a table in the gazebo or a new birdhouse - and arguing about how to hold the jointer or fit two boards together, we often referred to the master Galveston, as if he was standing nearby and, squinting gray eye, looked mockingly at our fuss. And we all sang Galveston's latest favorite song:

Farewell, star over the lovely mountains!

Goodbye forever, my warm father's home...

The box was placed on the table, next to a geranium flower, and in the end they forgot about it.

But one day in the fall, late autumn, in the old and echoing house there was a glass shimmering ringing, as if someone was striking bells with small hammers, and from this wonderful ringing a melody arose and poured out:

To the lovely mountains

you will come back...

It was suddenly woken up after many years of sleep and the box began to play. At first we were scared, and even Funtik listened, carefully raising one ear or the other. Apparently some kind of spring had slipped off in the box.

The box played for a long time, then stopping, then again filling the house with a mysterious ringing, and even the walkers fell silent in amazement.

The box played all its songs, fell silent, and no matter how hard we fought, we couldn’t get it to play again.

Now, in late autumn, when I live in Moscow, the box stands there alone in empty, unheated rooms, and, perhaps, on impenetrable and quiet nights it wakes up again and plays, but there is no one to listen to it except timid mice.

We then whistled a melody about sweet abandoned mountains for a long time, until one day an elderly starling whistled it to us - he lived in a birdhouse near the gate. Until then, he sang hoarse and strange songs, but we listened to them with admiration. We guessed that he learned these songs in the winter in Africa, eavesdropping on the games of black children. And for some reason we were glad that next winter, somewhere terribly far away, in the dense forests on the banks of the Niger, a starling would sing a song under the African sky about the old abandoned mountains of Europe.

Every morning we poured crumbs and cereal onto the plank table in the garden. Dozens of nimble tits flew onto the table and pecked at the crumbs. The tits had white fluffy cheeks, and when the tits pecked all at once, it looked as if dozens of white hammers were hastily hitting the table.

The tits quarreled, chattered, and this crackling, reminiscent fast strikes fingernail on the glass, blending into a cheerful melody. It seemed as if a living, chirping music box was playing on an old table in the garden.

Among the residents of the old house, in addition to Funtik, the cat Stepan, a rooster, walkers, a music box, Master Galveston and a starling, there was also a tamed wild duck, a hedgehog who suffered from insomnia, a bell with the inscription “Gift of Valdai” and a barometer that always showed “the great dryness” . We’ll have to talk about them another time—it’s too late now.

But if after that little story you will dream of the nightly cheerful playing of a music box, the ringing of raindrops falling into a copper basin, the grumbling of Funtik, dissatisfied with the walkers, and the cough of good-natured Galveston - I will think that I told you all this not in vain.

Konstantin Paustovsky "Hare's Paws"

Vanya Malyavin came to the veterinarian in our village from Lake Urzhenskoe and brought a small warm hare wrapped in a torn cotton jacket. The hare was crying and blinking his eyes red from tears often...

-Are you crazy? - the veterinarian shouted. “Soon you’ll be bringing mice to me, you bastard!”

“Don’t bark, this is a special hare,” Vanya said in a hoarse whisper. - His grandfather sent him and ordered him to be treated.

- What to treat for?

— His paws are burned.

The veterinarian turned Vanya to face the door, pushed him in the back and shouted after him:

- Go ahead, go ahead! I don't know how to treat them. Fry it with onions and grandpa will have a snack.

Vanya didn’t answer. He went out into the hallway, blinked his eyes, sniffed and buried himself in the log wall. Tears flowed down the wall. The hare quietly trembled under his greasy jacket.

- What are you doing, little one? - the compassionate grandmother Anisya asked Vanya; she took her only goat to the vet. “Why are you two shedding tears, dear ones?” Oh what happened?

“He’s burned, grandpa’s hare,” Vanya said quietly. “He burned his paws in a forest fire, he can’t run.” Look, he's about to die.

“Don’t die, darling,” Anisya muttered. - Tell your grandfather, if he really wants the hare to go out, let him take it to the city to Karl Petrovich.

Vanya wiped his tears and walked home through the forests, to Lake Urzhenskoe. He did not walk, but ran barefoot along the hot sandy road. A recent forest fire went north near the lake. It smelled of burning and dry cloves. She large islands grew up in the meadows. The hare moaned. Vanya found fluffy leaves covered with soft silver hair along the way, tore them out, put them under a pine tree and turned the hare around. The hare looked at the leaves, buried his head in them and fell silent.

-What are you doing, gray? - Vanya asked quietly. - You should eat.

The hare was silent.

The hare moved his ragged ear and closed his eyes.

Vanya took him in his arms and ran straight through the forest - he had to quickly let the hare drink from the lake.

There was unheard-of heat over the forests that summer. In the morning, strings of white clouds floated in. At noon, the clouds quickly rushed upward, towards the zenith, and before our eyes they were carried away and disappeared somewhere beyond the boundaries of the sky. The hot hurricane had been blowing for two weeks without a break. The resin flowing down the pine trunks turned into amber stone.

The next morning the grandfather put on clean boots1 and new bast shoes, took a staff and a piece of bread and wandered into the city. Vanya carried the hare from behind. The hare became completely silent, only occasionally shuddering with his whole body and sighing convulsively.

The dry wind blew up a cloud of dust over the city, soft as flour. Chicken fluff, dry leaves and straw were flying in it. From a distance it seemed as if a quiet fire was smoking over the city.

The market square was very empty and hot; The carriage horses were dozing near the water shed, and they had straw hats on their heads. Grandfather crossed himself.

- Either a horse or a bride - the jester will sort them out! - he said and spat.

They asked passersby for a long time about Karl Petrovich, but no one really answered anything. We went to the pharmacy. Thick an old man wearing pince-nez and a short white robe, he shrugged his shoulders angrily and said:

- I like it! Quite a strange question! Karl Petrovich Korsh, a specialist in childhood diseases, has stopped accepting patients for three years now. Why do you need it?

The grandfather, stuttering from respect for the pharmacist and from timidity, told about the hare.

- I like it! - said the pharmacist. — There are some interesting patients in our city. I like this great!

He nervously took off his pince-nez, wiped it, put it back on his nose and stared at his grandfather. Grandfather was silent and stood still. The pharmacist was also silent. The silence became painful.

- Poshtovaya street, three! — the pharmacist suddenly shouted in anger and slammed some disheveled thick book shut. - Three!

Grandfather and Vanya reached Pochtovaya Street just in time - a high thunderstorm was setting in from behind the Oka River. Lazy thunder stretched beyond the horizon, like a sleepy strongman straightening his shoulders, and reluctantly shaking the earth. Gray ripples went down the river. Silent lightning surreptitiously, but swiftly and strongly struck the meadows; Far beyond the clearings, a haystack that they had lit was already burning. Large drops of rain fell on the dusty road, and soon it became like the surface of the moon: each drop left a small crater in the dust.

Karl Petrovich was playing something sad and melodic on the piano when his grandfather’s disheveled beard appeared in the window. A minute later Karl Petrovich was already angry.

“I’m not a veterinarian,” he said and slammed the lid of the piano.

Immediately thunder roared in the meadows.

“All my life I’ve been treating children, not hares.”

“A child, a hare, it’s all the same,” muttered the grandfather stubbornly. - It’s all the same! Heal, show mercy! Our veterinarian has no jurisdiction over such matters. He horse-rided for us. This hare, one might say, is my savior: I owe him my life, I must show gratitude, but you say - quit!

A minute later, Karl Petrovich, an old man with gray ruffled eyebrows, worriedly listened to his grandfather’s stumbling story.

Karl Petrovich eventually agreed to treat the hare. The next morning, the grandfather went to the lake, and left Vanya with Karl Petrovich to go after the hare.

A day later, the entire Pochtovaya Street, overgrown goose grass, already knew that Karl Petrovich was treating a hare that was burned in a terrible forest fire and saved some old man. Two days later everyone already knew about it Small town, and on the third day a tall young man in a felt hat came to Karl Petrovich, introduced himself as an employee of a Moscow newspaper and asked for a conversation about the hare.

The hare was cured. Vanya wrapped him in a cotton rag and took him home. Soon the story about the hare was forgotten, and only some Moscow professor spent a long time trying to get his grandfather to sell him the hare. He even sent letters with stamps in response. But the grandfather did not give up. Under his dictation, Vanya wrote a letter to the professor: “The hare is not corrupt, he is a living soul, let him live in freedom. With this I remain Larion Malyavin.”

This fall I spent the night with Grandfather Larion on Lake Urzhenskoye. Constellations, cold as grains of ice, floated in the water. The dry reeds rustled. The ducks shivered in the thickets and quacked pitifully all night.

Grandfather couldn't sleep. He sat by the stove and mended a torn fishing net. Then he put on a samovar - it immediately fogged up the windows in the hut and the stars turned from fiery points into cloudy balls. Murzik was barking in the yard. He jumped into the darkness, clattered his teeth and bounced away - he fought with the impenetrable October night. The hare slept in the hallway and occasionally, in his sleep, loudly tapped his hind paw on the rotten floorboard.

We drank tea at night, waiting for the distant and hesitant dawn, and over tea my grandfather finally told me the story about the hare.

In August, my grandfather went hunting on the northern shore of the lake. The forests were as dry as gunpowder. Grandfather came across a little hare with a torn left ear. The grandfather shot at him with an old gun tied with wire, but missed. The hare ran away.

The grandfather realized that a forest fire had started and the fire was coming straight towards him. The wind turned into a hurricane. The fire raced across the ground at an unheard of speed. According to the grandfather, even a train could not escape such a fire. Grandfather was right: during the hurricane, the fire moved at a speed of thirty kilometers per hour.

Grandfather ran over the bumps, stumbled, fell, the smoke ate his eyes, and behind him a wide roar and crackle of flames could already be heard.

Death overtook the grandfather, grabbed him by the shoulders, and at that time a hare jumped out from under the grandfather’s feet. He ran slowly and dragged hind legs. Then only the grandfather noticed that the hare’s hair was burnt.

The grandfather was delighted with the hare, as if it were his own. As an old forest dweller, grandfather knew that animals are much more better than man they sense where the fire is coming from and always escape. They die only in those rare cases when fire surrounds them.

Grandfather ran after the hare. He ran, cried with fear and shouted: “Wait, honey, don’t run so fast!”

The hare brought the grandfather out of the fire. When they ran out of the forest to the lake, the hare and grandfather both fell from fatigue. Grandfather picked up the hare and took it home. The hare's hind legs and stomach were singed. Then his grandfather cured him and kept him with him.

“Yes,” said the grandfather, looking at the samovar so angrily, as if the samovar was to blame for everything, “yes, but before that hare, it turns out that I was very guilty, dear man.”

- What have you done wrong?

- And you go out, look at the hare, at my savior, then you will know. Take a flashlight!

I took the lantern from the table and went out into the hallway. The hare was sleeping. I bent over him with a flashlight and noticed that left ear the hare's is torn. Then I understood everything.

Vitaly Bianchi “Who sings with what?”

Do you hear the music booming in the forest?

Listening to it, you might think that all animals, birds and insects were born singers and musicians.

Maybe this is so: after all, everyone loves music, and everyone wants to sing. But not everyone has a voice.

The frogs on the lake started early in the night.

They blew bubbles behind their ears, stuck their heads out of the water, opened their mouths...

“Kwa-a-a-a-a!..” - the air came out of them in one breath.

The Stork from the village heard them. I was happy:

- A whole choir! There will be something for me to profit from!

And he flew to the lake for breakfast.

He flew in and sat down on the shore. He sat down and thought:

“Am I really worse than a frog? They sing without a voice. Let me try.”

He raised his long beak, knocked, and rattled one half of it against the other - now quieter, now louder, now less often, now more often: the rattle is a wooden rattle, and that’s all! I was so excited that I forgot about my breakfast.

And Bittern stood in the reeds on one leg, listened and thought:

And she came up with the idea: “Let me play on the water!”

She stuck her beak into the lake and picked up full of water Yes, how it blows into the beak! A loud roar echoed across the lake:

“Prumb-bu-bu-bumm!..” - like a bull roared.

“That's the song! - thought the Woodpecker, hearing the bittern from the forest. “I have an instrument: why is a tree not a drum, and why is my nose not a stick?”

He rested his tail, leaned back, swung his head - it was like hitting a branch with his nose!

Exactly - drum roll.

A beetle with a very long mustache crawled out from under the bark.

He twisted it, twisted his head, his stiff neck creaked - a thin, thin squeak was heard.

The barbel squeaks, but it’s all in vain: no one hears its squeak. He strained his neck, but he was pleased with his song.

And below, under the tree, a Bumblebee crawled out of its nest and flew to the meadow to sing.

It circles around the flower in the meadow, buzzing with its veiny, hard wings, like a string humming.

The bumblebee song woke up the green Locust in the grass.

Locust began to tune the violins. She has violins on her wings, and instead of bows there are long hind legs with her knees back. There are notches on the wings, and hooks on the legs.

The Locust rubs itself on the sides with its legs, touches the hooks with its notches - it chirps.

There are a lot of locusts in the meadow: a whole string orchestra.

“Oh,” thinks long-nosed Snipe under a hummock, “I need to sing too!” Just what? My throat is no good, my nose is no good, my neck is no good, my wings are no good, my paws are no good... Eh! I wasn’t, I’ll fly, I won’t keep silent, I’ll scream something!”

He jumped out from under a hummock, soared, and flew right under the clouds. The tail spread like a fan, straightened its wings, turned over with its nose to the ground and rushed down, turning from side to side, like a plank thrown from a height. Its head cuts through the air, and in its tail the thin, narrow feathers are blown about by the wind.

And you could hear it from the ground: as if in the heights a lamb began to sing and bleat.

And this is Bekas.

Guess what he sings with? Tail!

Vitaly Bianki "Red Hill"

Chick was a young red-headed sparrow. When he was one year old, he married Chirika and decided to live in his own house.

“Chick,” said Chirika in the sparrow language, “Chick, where will we build a nest for ourselves, because all the hollows in our garden are already occupied.”

- What a thing! - Chick answered, also, of course, in a sparrow-like manner. - Well, let's kick the neighbors out of the house and occupy their hollow.

He loved to fight and was delighted at this opportunity to show Chirika his prowess. And, before the timid Chirika had time to stop him, he fell from the branch and rushed to a large rowan tree with a hollow. His neighbor lived there - a young sparrow like Chick.

The owner was not around the house.

“I’ll climb into the hollow,” Chick decided, “and when the owner arrives, I’ll scream that he wants to take my house away from me. The old people will flock together - and then we’ll ask the neighbor!”

He had completely forgotten that the neighbor was married and his wife had been making a nest in the hollow for the fifth day.

Only Chick stuck his head through the hole - right! — someone hit him painfully on the nose. Chick squeaked and jumped away from the hollow. And his neighbor was already rushing towards him from behind. With a scream, they collided in the air, fell to the ground, grappled and rolled into the ditch. Chick fought brilliantly, and his neighbor was already having a bad time. But at the sound of the fight, old sparrows flocked from all over the garden. They immediately sorted out who was right and who was wrong, and gave Chick such a beating that he did not remember how he escaped from them.

Chick came to his senses in some bushes, where he had never been before. All his bones ached.

A frightened Chirika sat next to him.

- Chick! - she said so sadly that he would probably have burst into tears, if only sparrows could cry. - Chick, now we will never return to our native garden again! Where will we take the children now?

Chick himself understood that he should no longer be seen by the old sparrows: they would beat him to death. Still, he didn’t want to show Chirika that he was a coward. He straightened his disheveled feathers with his beak, caught his breath a little and said nonchalantly:

- What a thing! Let's find another place, even better.

And they went wherever they looked - to look for a new place to live.

As soon as they flew out of the bushes, they found themselves on the bank of a cheerful blue river. Rising beyond the river high-high mountain made of red clay and sand. At the very top of the cliff, many holes and holes were visible. Jackdaws and red falcons-kestrels sat in pairs near the large holes; Fast shore swallows flew out of small holes every now and then. A whole flock of them floated over the cliff in a light cloud.

- Look how fun they are! - Chirika said. - Come on, we’ll make a nest for ourselves on Krasnaya Gorka.

Chick looked warily at the hawks and jackdaws. He thought: “It’s good for the shorebirds: they dig their own holes in the sand. Should I take someone else’s nest?” And again all his bones began to ache at once.

“No,” he said, “I don’t like it here: there’s such noise, you could go deaf.”

Chick and Chirika landed on the roof of the barn. Chick immediately noticed that there were no sparrows or swallows.

- This is where to live! - he said joyfully to Chirika. - Look how much grain and crumbs are scattered around the yard. We will be alone here and will not let anyone in.

- Shh! - Chirika shushed. - Look at the monster there, on the porch.

And it’s true: the fat Red Cat was sleeping on the porch.

- What a thing! - Chick said bravely. - What will he do to us? Look, this is how I like it now!..

He flew off the roof and rushed towards the Cat so quickly that Chirika even screamed.

But Chick deftly snatched the bread crumb from under the Cat’s nose and - once again! - was already on the roof again.

The cat didn’t even move, he just opened one eye and looked keenly at the bully.

- Did you see it? - Chick boasted. - And you are afraid!

Chirika did not argue with him, and both began to look for a convenient place for the nest.

We chose a wide gap under the roof of the barn. Here they began to carry first straw, then horsehair, down and feathers.

Less than a week had passed since Chirika laid her first egg in the nest - small, all covered in pinkish-brown speckles. Chick was so happy about him that he even composed a song in honor of his wife and himself:

Chirp, Chick-chick,

Chirp, Chick-chick,

Chick-chick-chick-chick,

Chicky, Chicky, Tweety!

This song meant absolutely nothing, but it was so convenient to sing while jumping on the fence.

When there were six eggs in the nest, Chirika sat down to hatch them.

Chick flew off to collect worms and flies for her, because now she had to be fed tender food. He hesitated a little, and Chirika wanted to see where he was.

As soon as she stuck her nose out of the crack, a red paw with outstretched claws reached out after her from the roof. Chirika rushed and left a whole bunch of feathers in the Cat’s claws. A little more and her song would have been sung.

The cat followed her with his eyes, stuck his paw into the crack and dragged out the entire nest at once - a whole lump of straw, feathers and fluff. In vain did Chirika scream, in vain did Chick, who arrived in time, boldly rush at the Cat - no one came to their aid. The red-haired robber calmly ate all six of their Precious Testicles. The wind picked up the empty light nest and threw it from the roof to the ground.

That same day, the sparrows left the barn forever and moved to the grove, away from the Red Cat.

In the grove they were soon lucky enough to find a free hollow. They again began to carry straw and worked for a whole week, building a nest. Their neighbors were the thick-billed Chaffinch and the Chaffinch, the motley Flycatcher and the Flycatcher, and the dapper Goldfinch and the Goldfinch. Each couple had their own house, there was enough food for everyone, but Chick had already managed to fight with his neighbors - just to show them how brave and strong he was.

Only Chaffinch turned out to be stronger than him and gave the bully a good beating. Then Chick became more careful. He no longer got into a fight, but only puffed up his feathers and chirped cockily when one of the neighbors flew past. The neighbors were not angry with him for this: they themselves loved to brag to others about their strength and prowess.

They lived peacefully until suddenly disaster struck.

- Hurry, hurry! - Chick shouted to Chirika. - Do you hear: The finch stammered - danger!

And it’s true: someone scary was approaching them. After the Chaffinch, the Goldfinch screamed, and there was the motley Flycatcher. Flycatcher lived only four trees away from the sparrows. If he saw the enemy, it means that the enemy was very close.

Chirika flew out of the hollow and sat on a branch next to Chick. Their neighbors warned them of the danger, and they prepared to face it.

Fluffy red fur flashed in the bushes, and their fierce enemy - the Cat - came out open place. He saw that his neighbors had already given him away to the sparrows and now he would not be able to catch Chiriku in the nest. He was angry.

Suddenly the tip of his tail moved in the grass, his eyes squinted: the cat saw a hollow. Well, half a dozen sparrow eggs are a good breakfast. And the Cat licked his lips. He climbed up the tree and stuck his paw into the hollow.

Chick and Chirika raised a cry throughout the grove. But even here no one came to their aid. The neighbors sat in their places and screamed loudly in fear. Each couple feared for their home.

The cat hooked its claws into the nest and pulled it out of the hollow.

But this time he came too early: there were no eggs in the nest, no matter how hard he looked.

Then he threw the nest and went down to the ground himself. The sparrows saw him off with a cry.

Right at the bushes, the Cat stopped and turned to them with such an expression, as if he wanted to say: “Wait, darlings, wait! You can't get away from me! Build yourself a new nest wherever you want, hatch the chicks, and I will come and eat them, and you too.”

And he snorted so menacingly that Chirika shuddered in fear. The cat left, and Chick and Chirika were left to grieve at the ruined nest. Finally Chirika said:

- Chick, in a few days I will certainly have a new testicle. Let's fly quickly and find a place somewhere across the river. The Cat won't get us there.

She didn’t even know that there was a bridge across the river and that the Cat often walked along this bridge. Chick didn't know that either.

“We’re flying,” he agreed.

And they flew.

They soon found themselves under the Red Hill itself.

- Fly to us, fly to us! - the shorebirds shouted to them in their own swallow language. — Our life on Krasnaya Gorka is friendly and cheerful.

“Yes,” Chick shouted to them, “but you will fight yourself!”

- Why do we need to fight? - answered the shorebirds. - We have enough midges for everyone above the river, we have a lot of empty holes on Krasnaya Gorka - choose any one.

- And the kestrels? What about jackdaws? - Chick did not let up.

—Kestrels catch grasshoppers and mice in their fields. They don't bother us. We are all friends.

And Chirika said:

“You and I flew, Chick, we flew, but we never saw a more beautiful place than this.” Let's live here.

“Well,” Chick gave in, “since they have free minks and no one will fight, we can try.”

They flew up to the mountain, and it’s true: neither the kestrels nor the jackdaws touched them. They began to choose a hole to suit their taste: so that it was not very deep, and the entrance was wider. There were two of them nearby.

In one they built a nest and Chiri sat down to hatch, in the other Chik spent the night. The shorebirds, the jackdaws, the falcons - all of them have hatched chicks long ago. Chirika alone sat patiently in her dark hole. Chick carried food there for her from morning to night. Two weeks passed. The Red Cat did not show up. The sparrows had already forgotten about him.

Chick was looking forward to the chicks. Every time he brought a worm or a fly to Chirique, he asked her:

- Are they pinging?

- No, not yet, they don’t honk.

- Will they be soon?

“Soon, soon,” Chirika answered patiently.

One morning Chirika called him from her hole:

- Fly quickly: one knocked!

Chick immediately rushed to the nest. Then he heard a chick in one egg barely audibly tapping the shell with its weak beak. Chirika carefully helped him: she broke the shell in different places.

A few minutes passed, and the chick emerged from the egg - tiny, naked, blind. A large bare head dangled on a thin, thin neck.

- He's so funny! - Chick was surprised.

- Not funny at all! — Chirika was offended. - Very pretty little bird. But you have nothing to do here, take the shells and throw them somewhere away from the nest.

While Chick was carrying the shells, the second chick hatched and began to tap the third.

This is where the alarm began on Krasnaya Gorka. From their hole, the sparrows heard the swallows suddenly scream shrilly.

Chick jumped out and immediately returned with the news that the Red Cat was climbing the cliff.

- He saw me! - Chick shouted. “He will be here now and will pull us out along with the chicks.” Hurry, hurry, let's fly away from here!

“No,” Chirika answered sadly. “I won’t fly anywhere from my little chicks.” Let it be what will be.

And no matter how much Chick called, she didn’t move.

Then Chick flew out of the hole and began to rush at the Cat like crazy. And the Cat climbed and climbed along the cliff. Swallows hovered over him in a cloud, and jackdaws and kestrels flew screaming to their rescue. The cat quickly climbed up and grabbed the edge of the hole with his paw. Now all he had to do was stick his other paw behind the nest and pull it out along with Chirika, the chicks and the eggs.

But at that moment one kestrel pecked him on the tail, another on the head, and two jackdaws hit him in the back.

The cat hissed in pain, turned and wanted to grab the birds with his front paws. But the birds dodged, and he rolled down head over heels. He had nothing to cling to: the sand fell with him, and the farther, the faster, the further, the faster...

The birds could no longer see where the Cat was: only a cloud of red dust rushed from the cliff. Plop! - and the cloud stopped over the water. When it cleared, the birds saw a wet cat's head in the middle of the river, and Chick kept up behind him and pecked the Cat in the back of the head.

The cat swam across the river and got to the shore. Chick did not lag behind him here either. The cat was so scared that he did not dare to grab him, lifted his wet tail and galloped home.

Since then, the Red Cat has never been seen on Krasnaya Gorka.

Chirika calmly brought out six chicks, and a little later six more, and they all remained to live in the free swallow nests.

And Chick stopped bullying his neighbors and became close friends with the swallows.

Vitaly Bianchi “Whose legs are these?”

The Lark flew high above the ground, under the very clouds. He looks down - he can see far from above - and sings:

- I'm running under the clouds,

Over the fields and meadows,

I see everyone below me

Everyone under the sun and moon.

I got tired of singing, went down and sat down on a mound to rest. Medyanka crawled out from under the tree and said to him:

“You see everything from above, it’s true.” But you won’t recognize anyone from below.

- How can it be? - Lark was surprised. - I’ll definitely find out.

- But come and lie down next to me. I’ll show you everyone from below, and you guess who’s coming.

- Look what! - says Lark. “I’ll come up to you, and you’ll sting me.” I'm afraid of snakes.

“It’s clear that you don’t know anything earthly,” said Medyanka. - First, I’m not a snake, but just a lizard; and secondly, snakes do not sting, but bite. I’m also afraid of snakes, their teeth are so long, and there’s poison in their teeth. And look, I have tiny teeth. Not only can I fight off a snake with them, but I can’t fight you off either.

- Where are your legs if you are a lizard?

- Why do I need legs if I crawl on the ground no worse than a snake?

“Well, if you really are a legless lizard,” said the Lark, “then I have nothing to fear.”

He jumped off the hummock, tucked his paws under himself and lay down next to Medyanka. Here they are lying side by side. The copperhead asks:

- Come on, you, superlative, find out who is coming and why did he come here?

The Lark looked in front of him and froze: his tall legs were walking on the ground, walking over large hummocks as if through small lumps of earth, pressing a footprint into the ground with his fingers.

They stepped over the Lark and disappeared: never to be seen again.

The copperhead looked at the Lark and smiled from ear to ear. She licked her dry lips with a thin tongue and said:

- Well, friend, apparently you haven’t figured out my snack. If you knew who stepped through us, you wouldn’t be so scared. I’m lying there and realizing: two tall legs, three big toes on each, one small. And I already know: the bird is big, tall, loves to walk on the ground - stilts are good for walking. So it is: the Crane got through it.

Here the Lark perked up with joy: the Crane was familiar to him. A calm, kind bird - it won’t offend you.

- Lie down, don’t dance! - Medyanka hissed at him. —- Look: the legs are moving again.

And that’s right: bare legs are hobbling along the ground, no one knows whose. The fingers look like they are covered with flaps of oilcloth.

- Guess! - says Medyanka.

The lark thought and thought - he couldn’t remember having seen such legs before.

- Oh you! - Medyanka laughed. - But it’s quite easy to guess. You see: the toes are wide, the legs are flat, they walk on the ground and stumble. It’s comfortable with them in the water; if you turn your foot sideways, it cuts the water like a knife; spread your fingers and the paddle is ready. This is a Great Grebe - a water bird - that came out of the lake.

Suddenly a black ball of fur fell from a tree, rose from the ground and crawled on its elbows.

The Lark took a closer look, and these were not elbows at all, but folded wings.

The lump turned sideways - behind it were tenacious animal paws and a tail, and the skin was stretched between the tail and paws.

- These are miracles! - said the Lark. “It seems like a winged creature, just like me, but I can’t recognize it on earth.”

- Yeah! - Medyanka was happy. - You can’t find out. He boasted that he knew everyone under the sun, but he didn’t even recognize the Bat.

Here Bat climbed onto a hummock, spread her wings and flew away to her tree. And other legs are crawling out of the ground. Terrible paws: short, hairy, blunt claws on the fingers, hard palms different sides inside out. The Lark trembled, and the Medyanka said:

“I lie there, look and realize: the paws are covered in fur, which means they are from an animal.” They are short, like stumps, and their palms are apart, and the thick fingers have healthy claws. It is difficult to walk on the ground on such legs. But living underground, digging the earth with your paws and throwing it back behind you, is very convenient. This is what I came up with: an underground beast. It's called a mole. Look, look, otherwise he’ll go underground again.

The Mole buried himself in the ground - and again there was no one. Before the Lark had time to come to his senses, he saw hands running along the ground.

- What kind of acrobat is this? - Lark was surprised. - Why does he need four arms?

“And jump on branches in the forest,” said Medyanka. - After all, this is Belka-Veksha.

“Well,” says the Lark, “you took it: I didn’t recognize anyone on earth.” Now let me tell you a riddle.

“Make a wish,” says Medyanka.

- You see in the sky dark point?

“I see,” says Medyanka.

- Guess what kind of legs she has?

- You're kidding! - says Medyanka. - Where can I see my legs so high?

- What kind of jokes are there! - Lark got angry. - Get away with your tail as quickly as possible, before these clawed paws grab you.

He nodded goodbye to Medyanka, jumped up on his paws and flew away.

Vitaly Bianchi “Whose nose is better?”

Mukholov-Ton Konos sat on a branch and looked around. As soon as a fly or butterfly flies past, he will immediately chase it, catch it and swallow it. Then he sits on a branch again and again waits and looks out. I saw a grosbeak nearby and began to complain to him about my bitter life.

“It’s very tiring for me,” he says, “to get food for myself.” You work and work all day, you know neither rest nor peace, but you live from hand to mouth. Think for yourself: how many midges you need to catch in order to be full. But I can’t peck the grains: my nose is too thin.

- Yes, your nose is no good! - said Grosbeak. - It’s my business! I bite through the cherry pit like a shell. You sit still and peck berries. I wish you had a nose like that.

Klest the Crusader heard him and said:

“You, Grosbeak, have a very simple nose, like a Sparrow, only thicker.” Look how intricate my nose is! I tell them all year round I husk the seeds from the cones. Like this.

The crossbill deftly picked up the scales with its crooked nose fir cone and took out a seed.

“That’s right,” said Mukholov, “your nose is more cunning!”

“You don’t understand anything about noses!” - Snipe Weevil wheezed from the swamp. “A good nose should be straight and long, so that it’s easy for them to get boogers out of the mud.” Look at my nose!

The birds looked down, and there a nose sticking out of the reeds, long, like a pencil, and thin, like a match.

“Oh,” said Mukholov, “I wish I had a nose like that!”

Mukholov looked and saw two wonderful noses in front of him: one looked up, the other looked down, and both were thin as a needle.

“My nose looks up,” said Shilonos, “so that it can snag any small living creatures in the water.”

“And that’s why my nose looks down,” said Curlew the Serponos, “so that they can drag worms and bugs out of the grass.”

“Well,” said Mukholov, “you couldn’t imagine anything better than your noses!”

- Yes, apparently you haven’t even seen real noses! - Shirokonos grunted from the puddle. - Look what real noses there are: wow!

All the birds burst out laughing, right in Broadnose’s nose: “What a shovel!”

- But it’s so convenient for them to lye water! - Shirokonos said annoyedly and quickly tumbled his head into the puddle again.

- Pay attention to my nose! - whispered from the tree the modest gray Nightjar. “Mine is tiny, but it serves me as both a net and a throat.” Midges, mosquitoes, butterflies in droves fall into my mesh throat when I fly above the ground at night.

- How is this possible? - Mukholov was surprised.

- That's how! - said the Net-billed Nightjar, and when his mouth opened, all the birds shied away from him.

- What a lucky guy! - said Mukholov. “I grab one midge at a time, and he catches hundreds of them at once!”

“Yes,” the birds agreed, “you won’t get lost with such a mouth!”

- Hey you, small fry! - Pelican-Bag-Bag shouted to them from the lake. - We caught a midge - and we’re glad. And there is no one to put something aside for himself. I’ll catch a fish and put it in my bag, catch it again and put it away again.

The fat Pelican raised his nose, and under his nose there was a bag full of fish.

- That's the nose! - exclaimed Mukholov. - A whole pantry! It couldn't be more convenient!

“You probably haven’t seen my nose yet,” said the Woodpecker. - Look, admire it!

- Why admire him? - said Mukholov. — The most ordinary nose: straight, not very long, without a mesh and without a bag. It takes a long time to get food for lunch with this nose, and don’t even think about supplies.

“You can’t just think about food,” said the Woodpecker. — We, forest workers, need to have tools with us for carpentry and carpentry work. We not only get food for ourselves, but also hollow out trees: we create a home for ourselves and for other birds. What a chisel I have!

- Miracles! - said Mukholov. “I saw so many noses today, but I can’t decide which one is better.” Here's what, brothers: you all stand next to each other. I will look at you and choose the best nose.

Lined up in front of the Thin-nosed Flycatcher were Grosbeak, Crusader, Weevil, Shilonos, Broad-nosed, Net-nosed, Sack-nosed and Dolbonos.

But then a gray Hook-Hawk fell from above, grabbed Mukholov and took him away for lunch. And the rest of the birds scattered in different directions in fright.

© Ill., Semenyuk I.I., 2014

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2014

All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet or corporate networks, for private or public use without the written permission of the copyright owner.

© The electronic version of the book was prepared by liters company (www.litres.ru)

Petya lived with his mother and sisters on the top floor, and the teacher lived on the bottom floor. One day mom went swimming with the girls. And Petya was left alone to guard the apartment.

When everyone left, Petya began to try his homemade cannon. It was made of an iron tube. Petya filled the middle with gunpowder, and at the back there was a hole to light the gunpowder. But no matter how hard Petya tried, he could not set fire to anything. Petya was very angry. He went into the kitchen. He put wood chips on the stove, poured kerosene on them, put a cannon on top and lit it: “Now it will probably fire!”

The fire flared up, began to hum in the stove - and suddenly there was a shot! Yes, such that all the fire was thrown out of the stove.

Petya got scared and ran out of the house. No one was home, no one heard anything. Petya ran away. He thought that maybe everything would go out on its own. But nothing went out. And it flared up even more.

The teacher was walking home and saw smoke coming from the upper windows. He ran to the post where the button was made behind the glass. This is a call to the fire department.

The teacher broke the glass and pressed the button.

The fire department's bell rang. They quickly rushed to their fire trucks and ran at full speed. They drove up to the post, and there the teacher showed them where it was burning. The firefighters had a pump on their vehicle. The pump began pumping water, and firefighters began pouring water from rubber pipes onto the fire. Firefighters placed ladders against the windows and climbed into the house to see if there were any people left in the house. There was no one in the house. The firefighters began to take things out.

Petya’s mother came running when the whole apartment was already on fire. The policeman did not let anyone get close, so as not to disturb the firefighters. The most necessary things did not have time to burn, and the firefighters brought them to Petya’s mother.

And Petya’s mother kept crying and saying that Petya must have burned out, because he was nowhere to be seen.

But Petya was ashamed, and he was afraid to approach his mother. The boys saw him and brought him in by force.

The firefighters did such a good job of extinguishing the fire that nothing burned downstairs. The firefighters got into their cars and drove away. And the teacher allowed Petya’s mother to live with him until the house was repaired.

On an ice floe

In winter the sea froze. The fishermen of the entire collective farm gathered on the ice to fish. We took the nets and rode on a sleigh across the ice. The fisherman Andrei also went, and with him his son Volodya. We went far, far away. And wherever you look, everything is ice and ice: the sea is so frozen. Andrey and his comrades drove the farthest. They made holes in the ice and began to throw nets through them. The day was sunny and everyone was having fun. Volodya helped unravel fish from the nets and was very happy that they caught a lot.

Already big piles frozen fish lay on ice. Volodin's dad said:

- That's enough, it's time to go home.

But everyone began to ask to stay overnight and fish again in the morning. In the evening we ate, wrapped ourselves tightly in sheepskin coats and went to bed in the sleigh. Volodya snuggled up to his father to keep him warm and fell fast asleep.

Suddenly at night the father jumped up and shouted:

- Comrades, get up! Look how windy it is! There would be no trouble!

Everyone jumped up and ran around.

- Why are we shaking? - Volodya shouted.

And the father shouted:

- Trouble! We were torn off and carried on an ice floe into the sea.

All the fishermen ran along the ice floe and shouted:

- It’s torn off, it’s torn off!

And someone shouted:

- Gone!

Volodya began to cry. During the day, the wind became even stronger, the waves splashed onto the ice floe, and all around was only the sea. Volodin's dad tied a mast from two poles, tied a red shirt at the end and set it up like a flag. Everyone was looking to see if there was a steamer somewhere. Out of fear, no one wanted to eat or drink. And Volodya lay in the sleigh and looked at the sky: would the sun shine. And suddenly, in a clearing between the clouds, Volodya saw a plane and shouted:

- Airplane! Airplane!

Everyone started shouting and waving their hats. A bag fell from a plane. It contained food and a note: “Hold on! Help is coming! An hour later the steamer arrived and loaded people, sleighs, horses and fish. It was the port master who learned that eight fishermen had been carried away on the ice floe. He sent a ship and a plane to help them. The pilot found the fishermen and radioed the ship's captain where to go.

The girl Valya was eating fish and suddenly choked on a bone. Mom screamed:

- Eat the crust quickly!

But nothing helped. Valya had tears flowing from her eyes. She could not speak, but only wheezed and waved her arms.

Mom got scared and ran to call the doctor. And the doctor lived forty kilometers away. Mom told him on the phone to come quickly.

The doctor immediately collected his tweezers, got into the car and drove to Valya. The road went along the shore. On one side there was the sea, and on the other side there were steep cliffs. The car was racing at full speed.

The doctor was very afraid for Valya.

Suddenly, ahead, one rock crumbled into stones and covered the road. It became impossible to travel. It was still far away. But the doctor still wanted to walk.

Suddenly a horn sounded from behind. The driver looked back and said:

- Wait, doctor, help is coming!

And it was a truck in a hurry. He drove up to the rubble. People jumped out of the truck. They removed the pump machine and rubber pipes from the truck and ran the pipe into the sea.

The pump started working. He sucked water from the sea through a pipe, and then drove it into another pipe. Water flew out of this pipe with terrible force. It flew out with such force that people could not hold the end of the pipe: it was shaking and beating. It was screwed to an iron stand and directed water directly towards the collapse. It turned out as if they were shooting water from a cannon. The water hit the landslide so hard that it dislodged clay and stones and carried them into the sea.

The entire collapse was washed away by water from the road.

- Hurry, let's go! - the doctor shouted to the driver.

The driver started the car. The doctor came to Valya, took out his tweezers and removed the bone from her throat.

And then he sat down and told Valya how the road was blocked and how the hydraulic ram pump washed away the landslide.

How one boy drowned

One boy went fishing. He was eight years old. He saw logs on the water and thought that it was a raft: so they lay tightly one to the other. “I’ll sit on the raft,” thought the boy, “and from the raft I can cast a fishing rod far!”

The postman walked by and saw the boy going to the water.

The boy took two steps along the logs, the logs parted, and the boy could not resist and fell into the water between the logs. And the logs came together again and closed over him like a ceiling.

The postman grabbed his bag and ran as fast as he could to the shore.

He kept looking at the place where the boy fell so that he knew where to look.

I saw the postman running headlong, and I remembered that a boy was walking, and I saw that he was gone.

I immediately ran towards where the postman was running. The postman stood near the water and pointed his finger in one place.

We lived at sea, and my dad had a nice boat with sails. I knew how to navigate it perfectly - both oars and sails. And yet, my dad never let me into the sea alone. And I was twelve years old.

One day, my sister Nina and I found out that my father was leaving home for two days, and we decided to go on a boat to the other side; and on the other side of the bay stood a very pretty house: white, with a red roof. And a grove grew around the house. We had never been there and thought it was very good. Probably a kind old man and an old woman live. And Nina says that they certainly have a dog and a kind one too. And the old people probably eat yogurt and will be happy and give us yogurt.

I

I lived on the seashore and fished. I had a boat, nets and various fishing rods. There was a booth in front of the house, and on a chain huge dog. Shaggy, covered in black spots, Ryabka. He guarded the house. I fed him fish. I was working with a boy, and there was no one around for three miles. Ryabka was so used to talking to him, and he understood very simple things. You ask him: “Ryabka, where is Volodya?” The hazel grouse wags its tail and turns its face where Volodka went. The air is drawn through the nose, and it’s always true. It used to be that you would come from the sea with nothing, and Ryabka was waiting for fish. He stretches out on a chain and squeals.

You turn to him and say angrily:

Our affairs are bad, Ryabka! Here's how...

He will sigh, lie down and put his head on his paws. He doesn’t even ask, he understands.

When I went to sea for a long time, I always patted Ryabka on the back and persuaded him to guard him well.

One old man walked through the ice at night. And he was just approaching the shore, when suddenly the ice broke and the old man fell into the water. And there was a steamer near the shore, and an iron chain ran from the steamer into the water to the anchor.

The old man reached the chain and began to climb along it. He got out a little, got tired and started shouting: “Save me!”

The sailor on the ship heard it, looked, and someone was clinging to the anchor chain and screaming.

Three brothers were walking along the road in the mountains. They were going down. It was evening, and below they already saw how the window in their house lit up.

Suddenly clouds gathered, it immediately became dark, thunder struck, and rain poured down. The rain was so heavy that water flowed down the road like a river. The elder said:

Wait, there is a rock here, it will cover us a little from the rain.

All three sat down under a rock and waited.

The youngest, Akhmet, got tired of sitting, he said:

The cow Masha goes to look for her son, the calf Alyosha. Can't see him anywhere. Where did he go? It's time to go home.

And the calf Alyoshka ran around, got tired, and lay down in the grass. The grass is tall - Alyosha is nowhere to be seen.

The cow Masha was afraid that her son Alyoshka had disappeared, and she started mooing with all her strength:

One collective farmer woke up early in the morning, looked out the window at the yard, and there was a wolf in his yard. The wolf stood near the stable and scratched the door with its paw. And there were sheep in the barn.

The collective farmer grabbed a shovel and headed into the yard. He wanted to hit the wolf on the head from behind. But the wolf instantly turned and caught the handle of the shovel with his teeth.

The collective farmer began to snatch the shovel from the wolf. Not so! The wolf grabbed it with his teeth so tightly that he couldn’t pull it out.

The collective farmer began to call for help, but at home they were sleeping and did not hear.

“Well,” the collective farmer thinks, “the wolf won’t hold the shovel forever; but when he lets go, I’ll break his head with the shovel.”

The brother and sister had a pet jackdaw. She ate from her hands, let herself be petted, flew out into the wild and flew back.

Once my sister began to wash herself. She took the ring off her hand, put it on the sink and lathered her face with soap. And when she rinsed the soap, she looked: where is the ring? But there is no ring.

She shouted to her brother:

Give me the ring, don't tease me! Why did you take it?

“I didn’t take anything,” the brother answered.

One guy had an accordion. He played it very well, and I came to listen. He hid it and didn’t give it to anyone. The accordion was very good, and he was afraid that it would be broken. And I really wanted to try it.

One time I came when my uncle was having lunch. He finished eating, and I began to ask him to play. And he said:

What game! I want to sleep.

I began to beg and even cried. Then the uncle said:

Okay, maybe a little.

The girl Katya wanted to fly away. There are no wings of their own. What if there is such a bird in the world - big as a horse, wings like a roof. If you sit on such a bird, you can fly across the seas to warm countries.

You just need to appease the bird first and feed the bird something good, cherries, for example.

Over dinner, Katya asked her dad:

Nobody believes this. And the firefighters say:

Smoke is worse than fire. A person runs away from the fire, but is not afraid of the smoke and climbs into it. And there he suffocates. And yet, you can’t see anything in the smoke. You can’t see where to run, where the doors are, where the windows are. Smoke eats your eyes, bites your throat, stings your nose.

And the firefighters put masks on their faces, and air flows into the mask through a tube. In such a mask you can be in the smoke for a long time, but you still can’t see anything.

And once the firemen were extinguishing a house. Residents ran out into the street. The senior fireman shouted:

Well, count, is that all?

One tenant was missing.

And the man shouted:

Our Petka stayed in the room!

Works are divided into pages

Stories by Boris Zhitkov

Children's literature should always contain inspiration and talent at its core. Boris Stepanovich Zhitkov First of all, I proceeded from the conviction that it should in no way appear as an addition to adult literature. After all, most of the books that children will definitely read are a textbook of life. The invaluable experience that children gain by reading books has exactly the same value as real life experience. A child always strives to copy the characters of a literary work or openly does not like them - in any case, literary works allow you to directly and very naturally join in real life, take the side of good and fight evil. That is why Zhitkov stories about animals wrote in such wonderful language.

He very clearly understood that any book that was read by a child would remain in his memory for the rest of his life. It is thanks to this stories by Boris Zhitkov quickly give children a clear idea of ​​the interconnectedness of generations, the valor of enthusiasts and workers.

All Zhitkov's stories are presented in prose format, but the poetry of his narratives is clearly felt in every line. The writer was convinced that without the memory of his childhood, there was little point in creating literature for children. Zhitkov clearly and vividly teaches children to determine where good and bad are. He shares his invaluable experience with the reader, strives to convey all his thoughts as accurately as possible, and tries to attract the child to active interaction.

Writer Boris Zhitkov stories about animals created in such a way that they vividly reflect his entire rich and sincere inner world, his principles and moral ideals. For example, in the wonderful story “About the Elephant,” Zhitkov talks about respect for the work of others, and his story “Mongoose” clearly conveys the energy, strength and accuracy of the Russian language. On our website we tried to collect as many of his works as possible, so read Zhitkov's stories, as well as view their entire list, you can absolutely free.

All the work of the beloved writer is inextricably linked with thoughts about children and concern for their upbringing. Throughout his short life he communicated with them, and, like a professional researcher, studied how he fairy tales and stories influence sensitive and kind children's souls.

The book by one of the founders of Russian children's literature contains such simple and understandable Stories as “On the Ice Floe”, “The Stray Cat”, “Mail”, “Mongoose”, “Dzharylgach”, “Jackdaw”, “How I Caught Little People” and many other. They are imbued with love for the whole world. To be kind, to help the weak and defenseless, to take care of them - this is what the author sees as the purpose of man on Earth.

Artist: Chernoglazov V.

Boris Stepanovich Zhitkov
Stories

ON THE ICE

In winter the sea froze. The fishermen of the entire collective farm gathered on the ice to fish. We took the nets and rode on a sleigh across the ice. The fisherman Andrei also went, and with him his son Volodya. We went far, far away.

And wherever you look, everything is ice and ice: the sea is so frozen. Andrey and his comrades drove the farthest. They made holes in the ice and began to throw nets through them. The day was sunny and everyone was having fun. Volodya helped unravel fish from the nets and was very happy that they caught a lot. Large piles of frozen fish were already lying on the ice. Volodin's dad said:

Enough, time to go home.

But everyone began to ask to stay overnight and fish again in the morning. In the evening we ate, wrapped ourselves tightly in sheepskin coats and went to bed in the sleigh. Volodya snuggled up to his father to keep him warm and fell fast asleep.

Suddenly at night the father jumped up and shouted:

Comrades, get up! Look how windy it is! There would be no trouble!

Everyone jumped up and ran around.

Why are we shaking? - Volodya shouted.

And the father shouted:

Trouble! We were torn off and carried on an ice floe into the sea.

All the fishermen ran along the ice floe and shouted:

It's torn off, it's torn off!

And someone shouted:

Gone!

Volodya began to cry. During the day, the wind became even stronger, the waves ran onto the ice floe, and all around was only the sea. Volodin's dad tied a mast from two poles, tied a red shirt at the end and set it up like a flag. Everyone was looking to see if there was a steamer somewhere. Out of fear, no one wanted to eat or drink. And Volodya lay in the sleigh and looked at the sky: would the sun shine. And suddenly, in a clearing between the clouds, Volodya saw a plane and shouted:

Airplane! Airplane!

Everyone started shouting and waving their hats. A bag fell from a plane. It contained food and a note: “Hold on! Help is coming!”

An hour later the steamer arrived and loaded people, sleighs, horses and fish. It was the port master who learned that eight fishermen had been carried away on the ice floe. He sent a ship and a plane to help them. The pilot found the fishermen and radioed the ship's captain where to go.

MAIL

In the North, where the Nenets live, even in the spring, when the snow has melted everywhere, there are still frosts and there are strong snowstorms.

Once in the spring, a Nenets postman had to carry mail from one Nenets village to another. Not far - only thirty kilometers.

The Nenets have very light sleds - sledges. They harness reindeer to them. The deer rush like a whirlwind, faster than any horses.

The postman went out in the morning, looked at the sky, crushed the snow with his hand and thought:

“There will be a snowstorm starting at noon. I’ll harness it now and have time to get through before the snowstorm.”

He harnessed four best his reindeer, put on a malitsa - a fur robe with a hood, fur boots and took a long stick. With this stick he will drive the deer so that they run faster.

The postman tied the mail tightly to the sledge, jumped onto the sleigh, sat sideways and let the reindeer go at full speed.

He was already leaving the village, when suddenly his sister came towards him. She waved her hands and shouted:

The postman got angry, but still stopped. The sister began to ask the postman to take her daughter with him to her grandmother.

The postman shouted:

Hurry! Otherwise there will be a snowstorm.

But the sister fussed for a long time while she fed and collected the girl. The postman sat the girl in front of him, and the deer rushed off. And the postman was still urging them on to get through before the snowstorm.

Halfway up the wind began to blow - straight towards it. It was sunny and the snow was glistening, and then suddenly it got dark, the snow began to swirl and the front deer were no longer visible.

The deer began to get stuck in the snow and stopped.

The postman unharnessed the reindeer, stood the sleigh upright, tied his long stick to it, and tied the girl’s pioneer tie to the end of the stick. And he trampled down a place near the sleigh, put the mail there, laid out the reindeer, lay down and snuggled up to them with the girl. They were soon covered with snow, and the postman dug out a cave under the snow, and it turned out to be a snow house. It was quiet and warm there.

And in the village where the postman was going, they saw that there was a snowstorm, but he was not there, and they asked on the phone if he had left. And everyone realized that the postman was captured by a snowstorm. We waited for the snowstorm to pass.

The next day the snowstorm did not subside, but the snow was flying lower. It was impossible to ride on reindeer to look for the postman; only snowmobiles could travel. They are like a house on runners, and they run forward because they have a motor. The motor turns a propeller, like that of an airplane.

A doctor, a driver and two men with shovels got into the snowmobile. And the snowmobile ran along the road where the postman was driving.