Georgy Skrebitsky read stories. Stories about native nature

Fluff

There was a hedgehog living in our house; he was tame. When they stroked him, he pressed the thorns to his back and became completely soft. For this we nicknamed him Fluff.

If Fluffy was hungry, he would chase me like a dog. At the same time, the hedgehog puffed, snorted and bit my legs, demanding food.

In the summer I took Pushka for a walk in the garden. He ran along the paths, caught frogs, beetles, snails and ate them with appetite.

When winter came, I stopped taking Fluffy for walks and kept him at home. We now fed Cannon with milk, soup, and soaked bread. Sometimes a hedgehog would eat enough, climb behind the stove, curl up in a ball and sleep. And in the evening he will get out and start running around the rooms. He runs around all night, stomps his paws, and disturbs everyone's sleep. So he lived in our house for more than half the winter and never went outside.

But one day I was getting ready to sled down the mountain, but there were no comrades in the yard. I decided to take Cannon with me. He took out a box, laid it with hay and put the hedgehog in it, and to make it warmer, he also covered it with hay on top.

He put the box in the sled and ran to the pond where we always slid down the mountain.

I ran at full speed, imagining myself as a horse, and was carrying Pushka in a sled.

It was very good: the sun was shining, the frost stung my ears and nose. But the wind had completely died down, so that the smoke from the village chimneys did not billow, but rose into the sky in straight columns.

I looked at these pillars, and it seemed to me that this was not smoke at all, but thick blue ropes were coming down from the sky and small toy houses were tied to them by pipes below.

I rode my fill from the mountain and took the sled with the hedgehog home. As I was driving, suddenly I met some guys: they were running to the village to look at the dead wolf. The hunters had just brought him there.

I quickly put the sled in the barn and also rushed to the village after the guys. We stayed there until the evening. They watched how the skin was removed from the wolf and how it was straightened out on a wooden spear.

I only remembered about Pushka the next day. I was very scared that he had run away somewhere. He immediately rushed into the barn, to the sled. I look - my Fluff lies curled up in a box and does not move. No matter how much I shook or shook him, he didn’t even move. During the night, apparently, he completely froze and died.

I ran to the guys and told them about my misfortune. We all grieved together, but there was nothing to do, and decided to bury Pushka in the garden, burying him in the snow in the very box in which he died.

For a whole week we all grieved for poor Fluffy. And then they gave me a live owl - he was caught in our barn. He was wild. We began to tame him and forgot about Cannon.

But spring has come, and how warm it is! One morning I went to the garden: it’s especially nice there in the spring - the finches are singing, the sun is shining, there are huge puddles all around, like lakes. I make my way carefully along the path so as not to scoop mud into my galoshes. Suddenly, ahead, in a pile of last year’s leaves, something moved. I stopped. Who is this animal? Which? A familiar face appeared from under the dark leaves, and black eyes looked straight at me.

Without remembering myself, I rushed to the animal. A second later I was already holding Fluffy in my hands, and he sniffed my fingers, snorted and poked my palm with his cold nose, demanding food.

Right there on the ground lay a thawed box of hay, in which Fluff had happily slept all winter. I picked up the box, put the hedgehog in it and brought it home in triumph.

Cat Ivanovich

There lived in our house a huge fat cat - Ivanovich: lazy, clumsy. He ate or slept all day long. Sometimes he would climb onto a warm bed, curl up in a ball and fall asleep. In a dream, it will spread its paws, stretch itself out, and hang its tail down. Because of this tail, Ivanovich often got it from our yard puppy Bobka.

He was a very mischievous puppy. As soon as the door to the house is opened, he will rush into the rooms straight to Ivanovich. He will grab him by the tail with his teeth, drag him to the floor and carry him like a sack. The floor is smooth, slippery, Ivanovich will roll on it as if on ice. If you're awake, you won't be able to figure out what's going on right away. Then he will come to his senses, jump up, hit Bobka in the face with his paw, and go back to sleep on the bed.

Ivanovich loved to lie down so that he was both warm and soft. Either he will lie down on his mother’s pillow, or he will climb under the blanket. And one day I did this.

Mom kneaded the dough in a tub and put it on the stove. To make it rise better, I covered it with a still warm scarf. Two hours passed. Mom went to see if the dough was rising well. He looks, and in the tub, curled up like on a feather bed, Ivanovich is sleeping. I crushed all the dough and got all dirty myself. So we were left without pies. And Ivanovich had to be washed.

Mom poured warm water into a basin, put the cat in it and began to wash it. Mom washes, but he doesn’t get angry - he purrs and sings songs. They washed him, dried him and put him back to sleep on the stove.

In general, Ivanovich was a very lazy cat; he didn’t even catch mice. Sometimes a mouse scratches somewhere nearby, but he doesn’t pay attention to it.

One day my mother calls me into the kitchen:

- Look what your cat is doing!

I look - Ivanovich is stretched out on the floor and basking in the sun, and next to him a whole brood of mice is walking: very tiny ones, running around the floor, collecting bread crumbs, and Ivanovich seems to be grazing them - looking and squinting his eyes from the sun. Mom even threw up her hands:

- What is this being done?

And I say:

- Like what? Can't you see? Ivanovich is guarding the mice. Probably, the mother mouse asked to look after the children, otherwise you never know what could happen without her.

But sometimes Ivanovich liked to hunt for fun. Across the yard from our house there was a grain barn; there were a lot of rats in it. Ivanovich found out about this and went hunting one afternoon.

We were sitting by the window, and suddenly we saw Ivanovich running across the yard with a huge rat in his mouth. He jumped out the window - straight into his mother's room. He lay down in the middle of the floor, released the rat, and looked at his mother: “Here, they say, what kind of hunter I am!” Mom screamed, jumped up on a chair, the rat scurried under the closet, and Ivanovich sat and sat and went to sleep.

Since then, Ivanovich has had no life. In the morning he will get up, wash his face with his paw, have breakfast and go to the barn to hunt. Not a minute will pass, and he is in a hurry home, dragging the rat. He will bring you into the room and let you out. Then we got along so well: when he goes hunting, now we lock all the doors and windows.

Ivanovich scolds the rat around the yard and lets it go, and it runs back into the barn. Or, it happened, he would strangle a rat and let him play with it: he would throw it up, catch it with his paws, or he would put it in front of him and admire it.

One day he was playing like this - suddenly, out of nowhere, two crows appeared.

They sat down nearby and began jumping and dancing around Ivanovich. They want to take the rat away from him - and it’s scary. They galloped and galloped, then one of them grabbed Ivanovich’s tail from behind with her beak! He turned head over heels and followed the crow, and the second one picked up the rat - and goodbye! So Ivanovich was left with nothing.

However, although Ivanovich sometimes caught rats, he never ate them. But he really loved to eat fresh fish. When I come back from fishing in the summer, I just put the bucket on the bench, and he’s right there. He will sit next to you, put his paw in the bucket, straight into the water, and fumble around there. He will hook a fish with his paw, throw it on the bench and eat it. Ivanovich even got into the habit of stealing fish from the aquarium.

Once I put the aquarium on the floor to change the water, and I went to the kitchen to get water. I come back, I look and can’t believe my eyes: at the aquarium Ivanovich is on hind legs he stood up, threw the front one into the water and caught fish as if from a bucket. I was then missing three fish.

From that day on, Ivanovich was simply in trouble: he never left the aquarium.

I had to cover the top with glass. And if you forget, now he’ll pull out two or three fish. We didn’t know how to wean him off this.

But, fortunately for us, Ivanovich himself weaned himself very soon.

One day I brought crayfish from the river instead of fish in a bucket and put it on the bench, as always. Ivanovich immediately came running and pawed right into the bucket. Yes, suddenly it will pull you back! We look - the cancer grabbed the paw with its claws, and after it - a second, and after the second - a third... Everyone from the bucket is dragging behind the paw, moving their mustaches, clicking their claws. Here Ivanovich’s eyes widened in fear, his fur stood on end: “What kind of fish is this?” He shook his paw, so all the crayfish fell to the floor, and Ivanovich himself tailed like a pipe - and marched out the window. After that, he didn’t even come close to the bucket and stopped climbing into the aquarium. That's how scared I was!

In addition to fish, we had a lot of different living creatures in our house: birds, Guinea pigs, hedgehog, bunnies... But Ivanovich never touched anyone. He was a very kind cat and was friends with all animals. Only at first Ivanovich could not get along with the hedgehog.

I brought this hedgehog from the forest and put it on the floor in the room. The hedgehog first lay curled up in a ball, and then turned around and ran around the room.

Ivanovich became very interested in the animal. He approached him in a friendly manner and wanted to sniff him. But the hedgehog, apparently, did not understand Ivanovich’s good intentions - he spread his thorns, jumped up and stabbed Ivanovich very painfully in the nose.

After this, Ivanovich began to stubbornly avoid the hedgehog. As soon as he crawled out from under the closet, Ivanovich hurriedly jumped onto a chair or onto the window and did not want to go down.

But one day after dinner, mom poured soup into a saucer for Ivanovich and put him on the rug. The cat sat down more comfortably near the saucer and began to lap.

Suddenly we see a hedgehog crawling out from under the closet. He got out, pulled his nose, and went straight to the saucer. He came over and also started eating. But Ivanovich doesn’t run away - apparently he’s hungry, he glances sideways at the hedgehog, but he’s in a hurry, drinking.

So the two of them lapped up the entire saucer.

From that day on, mom began to feed them together every time. And how well they adapted to it! All mother has to do is hit the ladle against the saucer, and they are already running. They sit next to each other and eat. The hedgehog will stretch out its muzzle, add some thorns, and look so smooth. Ivanovich stopped being afraid of him completely. That's how we became friends.

We all loved him very much for Ivanovich’s good disposition. It seemed to us that in his character and intelligence he was more like a dog than a cat. He ran after us like a dog: we go to the garden - and he follows us, mother goes to the store - and he runs after her. And when we return in the evening from the river or from the city garden, Ivanovich is already sitting on a bench near the house, as if waiting for us.

As soon as he sees me or Seryozha, he will immediately run up, start purring, rub himself against our legs, and after us he will quickly hurry home.

The house where we lived stood on the very edge of the town. We lived in it for several years, and then moved to another one, on the same street.

When we moved, we were very afraid that Ivanovich would not get along in new apartment and will run away to the old place. But our fears turned out to be completely unfounded.

Finding himself in an unfamiliar room, Ivanovich began to examine and sniff everything, until he finally reached his mother’s bed. At this point, apparently, he immediately felt that everything was in order, jumped onto the bed and lay down. And when there was a clatter of knives and forks in the next room, Ivanovich immediately rushed to the table and sat down, as usual, next to his mother. On the same day he examined new yard and a garden, I even sat on a bench in front of the house. But he never left for the old apartment.

This means that it is not always true when they say that a dog is faithful to people, and a cat to its home. For Ivanovich it turned out quite the opposite.

Thief

One day we were given a young squirrel. She very soon became completely tame, ran around all the rooms, climbed on cabinets, shelves, and so deftly - she would never drop or break anything.

In my father’s office, huge deer antlers were nailed above the sofa.

The squirrel often climbed on them: it used to climb onto the horn and sit on it, like on a tree branch.

She knew us guys well. As soon as you enter the room, a squirrel jumps from somewhere from the closet right onto your shoulder. This means she asks for sugar or candy. She loved sweets very much. There were sweets and sugar in our dining room, in the buffet. They were never locked up because we children didn’t take anything without asking.

But then one day my mother calls us all into the dining room and shows us an empty vase:

- Who took the candy from here?

We look at each other and are silent - we don’t know which of us did this.

Mom shook her head and said nothing. And the next day the sugar disappeared from the cupboard and again no one admitted that they had taken it. At this point my father got angry and said that now he would lock everything up and wouldn’t give us any sweets all week.

And the squirrel, along with us, was left without sweets.

He used to jump up on his shoulder, rub his muzzle against his cheek, pull his ear with his teeth, and ask for sugar. Where can I get it?

One afternoon I sat quietly on the sofa in the dining room and read.

Suddenly I see: a squirrel jumped onto the table, grabbed a crust of bread in its teeth - and onto the floor, and from there onto the cabinet. A minute later, I look, she climbed onto the table again, grabbed the second crust - and again onto the cabinet.

“Wait,” I think, “where does she take all the bread?” I put up a chair and looked into the closet. I see my mother’s old hat lying there. I lifted it up - here you go! There’s just something under there: sugar, candy, bread, and various bones...

I go straight to my father and show him: “That’s who our thief is!” And the father laughed and said:

How could I not have guessed this before! After all, it is our squirrel who makes supplies for the winter. Now it’s autumn, all the squirrels in the wild are stocking up on food, and ours is not lagging behind, it’s also stocking up.

After this incident, they stopped keeping sweets away from us, they just attached a hook to the sideboard so that the squirrel couldn’t get into it. But the squirrel did not calm down and continued to prepare supplies for the winter. If he finds a crust of bread, a nut or a seed, he will immediately grab it, run away and hide it somewhere.

We once went into the forest to pick mushrooms. We arrived late in the evening, tired, ate, and quickly went to bed. They left a bag of mushrooms on the window: it’s cool there, they won’t spoil until the morning.

We get up in the morning and the whole basket is empty. Where did the mushrooms go? Suddenly my father shouts from the office and calls us. We ran to him and saw that all the deer antlers above the sofa were covered with mushrooms. There are mushrooms everywhere on the towel hook, behind the mirror, and behind the painting. The squirrel did this early in the morning: he hung mushrooms for himself to dry for the winter.

In the forest, squirrels always dry mushrooms on branches in the fall. So ours hurried. Apparently she sensed winter.

Soon the cold really set in. The squirrel kept trying to get into some corner where it would be warmer, and one day she completely disappeared.

They looked and looked for her, but she was nowhere to be found. She probably ran into the garden, and from there into the forest.

We felt sorry for the squirrels, but there was nothing we could do.

We got ready to light the stove, closed the vent, piled on some wood, and set it on fire.

Suddenly something moves in the stove and rustles! We quickly opened the vent, and from there the squirrel jumped out like a bullet - straight onto the closet.

And the smoke from the stove just pours into the room, it doesn’t go down the chimney. What's happened? The brother made a hook out of thick wire and stuck it through the vent into the pipe to see if there was anything there.

We look - he is dragging a tie from the pipe, his mother’s glove, he even found his grandmother’s holiday scarf there.

Our squirrel dragged all this into the chimney for its nest. That's what it is!

Even though he lives in the house, he doesn’t abandon his forest habits. Such is, apparently, their squirrel nature.

Badger

One day my mother called me:

- Yura, come quickly and look at what a mess I brought!

I rushed headlong towards the house. Mom was standing on the porch, she was holding a purse woven from twigs. I looked inside. There, on a bed of grass and leaves, a plump person in silver fur was fussing about.

- Who is this, puppy? - I asked.

“No, some kind of animal,” my mother answered, “but I don’t know what kind.” I just bought it from the kids. They say they brought it from the forest.

We entered the room, walked up to the leather Sofa and carefully tilted the wallet to one side.

- Well, get out, baby, don’t be afraid! — the mother suggested to the animal.

He didn't have to wait long. From the wallet appeared an oblong muzzle with a black nose, shiny eyes and very small erect ears. The animal's muzzle was very funny: its upper and lower parts were gray, and in the middle there were wide black stripes stretching from the nose to the ears.

It looked like the animal was wearing a black mask.

Looking around, the baby slowly and waddled out of the bag.

How entertaining he was! Very plump, a real bully.

The fur is light, silver, and the legs are dark, as if he was dressed in black boots and black mittens.

— Does he have his tail between his legs or no tail at all? - I became interested.

“No, you see, there is a short ponytail,” my mother answered.

We looked at the unfamiliar animal with curiosity. And he probably looked at us and everything that surrounded him with no less curiosity.

Then the baby slowly walked on his short legs along the sofa.

He walked around, sniffed everything around and even tried to scratch the fold of skin between the seat and the back of the sofa with his front paw. “No, this is not land, we won’t be able to dig anything here.” The animal sat down like a puppy in the corner of the sofa and looked at me trustingly, not at all hostilely. It seemed like he wanted to ask: “What will happen next?” Mom took a bottle with a pacifier from the cupboard and poured milk into it. Last year we fed a little bunny who lived in our house from this same bottle.

“Come on, try it,” said the mother, bringing milk to the animal.

The baby immediately realized what was going on and took the entire pacifier into his mouth. He sat down more comfortably, leaned against the back of the sofa and even closed his eyes in pleasure. Having eaten, the animal immediately curled up on the sofa and fell asleep.

Mom went about her business, and I took a thick book with pictures, where various animals were drawn, began to look at them, looking for what this animal looked like. I looked and looked and couldn't find anything similar. I waited forcibly until my dad came home from work.

He looked at the animal and immediately recognized it.

“This is a little badger,” he said cheerfully, “a good animal!” He gets used to people quickly. If you look after him, feed him, he will start running after you like a little dog.

I really liked it, I decided to take care of the animal myself and not give it to anyone. And he also came up with a nickname for him. I named him “Barsik”.

I remember that I was very worried how the old-timers of our house would somehow accept Barsik: the cat Ivanovich and my father’s hunting dog Jack.

The acquaintance took place on the same day. While Barsik was sleeping, curled up on the sofa, Ivanovich came home from a walk.

Out of habit, the cat immediately went to the sofa, jumped on it, wanted to lie down and suddenly noticed a sleeping animal.

"Who it?" Ivanovich opened his eyes wide, spread his mustache and carefully stepped towards the stranger. He stepped again, again. He came close and cautiously began to sniff him. At that moment Barsik woke up. But, apparently, Ivanovich did not appear to him a terrible beast. The little badger reached out to him and suddenly licked Ivanovich right on the nose. The cat snorted and shook his head, but accepted the friendly greeting with approval. He purred, arched his back, walked around the sofa, then went back to the little badger and lay down next to him, humming his usual leisurely song.

“So we met,” my mother said, entering the room.

So everything turned out well when the little badger met Ivanovich.

But Barsik’s warm, friendly relationship with Jack did not improve immediately.

I took the badger off the sofa, and he went to walk around the floor, examining and sniffing all corners.

Suddenly the door opened and Jack ran into the room... He was big and noisy. From running quickly, Jack was out of breath, breathing heavily, opening his toothy mouth, as if preparing to tear someone apart. Barsik looked at the dog and shook with fear: “Now he’ll eat it!” Jack looked at the animal in amazement, stopped in the middle of the room, tilted his head to one side, then to the other, then wagged his tail and went to get acquainted.

But then Barsik suddenly fluffed up all over and became completely round, like a silver ball. He began jumping up and down in one place, angrily snorting and grumbling.

Jack's good-natured old face expressed obvious bewilderment: “Why is he jumping like that?” The dog stopped wagging his tail, stepped aside and lay down in the sun, not paying any attention to the unfamiliar bully. He stretched out on the floor and dozed off.

But now Barsik is interested in the big, good-natured Jack.

How the little badger wanted to come up and sniff him. I’m both eager and afraid. He walked and walked around Jack, and once even dared to approach his hind leg.

At this time, the dog moved a little in his sleep.

The badger bounced off him like a ball and fluffed up all over again. So that day the little badger did not dare to approach Jack. And he didn’t pay any more attention to him: “Is it worth it to deal with such small fry!” For my long life Jack was already accustomed to the fact that out of the blue a little hare, hedgehog or little fox would suddenly appear in our house, live for a while, and then disappear: he would return to his native forest. These appearances and disappearances have long ceased to interest the elderly, respectable dog.

For the first two days, Barsik kept looking closely at Jack, but apparently was afraid to approach him. The final acquaintance took place only on the third day and completely unexpectedly.

At breakfast, mom poured milk into Ivanovich’s bowl. The cat refused the treat.

“Then you, Jack, sing for him,” said Mom.

Jack walked up to the bowl and began to lap it carefully.

Suddenly, a striped muzzle appeared from behind the door.

The little badger sniffed, smelled the milk and slowly, sideways, also headed towards the bowl.

Noticing the uninvited neighbor, Jack stepped aside. Then Barsik stuck his snout into the milk and started poking his nose into the bottom of the bowl. Jack was completely driven away from food. But he somehow adjusted himself and began to lap. He laps at it, pokes the bowl with his muzzle, and drags it along the floor. He drove and drove until he knocked over and spilled the milk. Here Jack has already licked everything, and at the same time licked the little badger’s face. But the animal no longer ran wild, did not snort and did not jump like a ball.

After that, Barsik completely stopped being afraid of Jack, on the contrary, he began to run after him: where Jack goes, the badger goes. He probably decided that the big fat dog was akin to badgers.

Dad was not mistaken: Barsik really very soon became tame, as if he had been living with us since birth. It used to be that he would see me, my mother or my father, and immediately run towards me, stick his muzzle in my hands, and ask to be treated to something. His nose is cold, wet, it’s very pleasant when he pokes it into your palm. He sniffs our hand, but he himself either purrs or grunts. So funny!

At first, the little badger lived in our empty pantry. But soon my dad and I arranged a very comfortable home for him. They took a plywood box, cut a round hole in one wall - an entrance, and put more fresh hay inside the box.

I placed Barsik's house in the corner of my room. There the animal could not bother anyone, and no one would disturb it. But will Barsik himself like our construction? After all, in the forest he lived in a deep hole from birth. Dad and I decided not to force the animal into a box, but to see how he himself would react to such a shelter.

I brought the little badger into the room. Barsik quickly ran across the floor. As usual, he began to crawl into all corners and sniff everything. So he got to the box. Barsik walked around, examined it from all sides and stopped indecisively in front of the entrance: “Should I climb in or not?” The animal stomped around, stuck its muzzle into the hole, sniffed the litter and, finally deciding, quickly darted inside the house.

Dad and I sat quietly, listening to the little badger stirring in the box, apparently getting comfortable. Finally everything became quiet. I tiptoed to the box and opened the lid. The little badger was not visible.

He was completely buried in the hay. And yet the animal did not like my visit.

Barsik growled angrily and began scratching the wall of the box with his claws, apparently trying to bury himself even deeper.

I hurried to close the lid and step away.

The little badger just liked the new home. He began to spend whole days there and became very angry when anyone bothered him there.

Since then, a plywood box filled with hay has successfully replaced the badger with its native hole in the forest.

When Barsik was not sleeping in his house, he ran after me everywhere. I go into the yard, and he goes there too, I go into the garden, and Barsik doesn’t lag behind, hurries, rolls from side to side, like a fat, clumsy puppy.

At first, he could not adapt to going down the steps from the porch. As soon as he bends down, he wants to reach the next lower step with his front paws, and his fat butt overhangs him, he somersaults over his head once, twice... and plops right on the ground. But the little badger was not offended, he shook himself and, as if nothing had happened, stamped his paws and scattered them along the path.

He just didn’t like to run on the smooth sandy path. He gets to the first lawn - and immediately into the grass. He runs through the grass, rummages through it, always looking for something. And then he starts digging the ground with his paws. He digs up a root, puts it in his mouth, just like a piglet, and starts munching.

I was very interested to know what Barsik finds in the grass?

And then I look one time - some kind of bug is crawling along the stem. A little badger noticed him, grabbed him and ate him. Then he caught a grasshopper and ate it too. So that's who he's hunting for in the grass! And he not only dug up roots from the ground. Somehow, before my eyes, he dug up a white larva chafer, dealt with it in an instant.

We returned home from a walk. I told my father how nicely Barsik is having a snack in the garden. But dad was not at all surprised.

“Badgers,” he says, “are omnivorous animals.” They eat both plant and animal food.

And Barsik himself very soon proved that he really is an omnivorous animal.

Here's how it happened.

Dad and I got ready to fish. I dug up a whole can of worms and put it in the corner next to the fishing rods, so as not to forget.

Dad came home from work and had lunch. Well, it's time to go fishing. We took fishing rods.

Where are the worms? The can is lying on its side, the earth is scattered on the floor, and not a single worm. Who was in charge here? And the culprit is right there.

We see Barsik crawling out from under the table. The whole face is in the ground. He ran out and straight to the bank. He moves his paws, looks inside - is there still a worm left in there?

So that day we were left without fishing. I was very sad about this, but nothing can be done!

Something incomprehensible began to happen in our house. It all started when a floor rag suddenly disappeared from the kitchen. They searched all the rooms but couldn't find it. Mom was angry and said that I probably dragged him somewhere and threw him away.

A few days later a second loss was discovered. I woke up in the morning and wanted to put on socks, but they weren’t there. Where did they go? I remember well that I put it directly on my slippers. The slippers are still there, but the socks are missing.

Then my mother’s stocking disappeared. One is lying on the floor near the bed, but the other is not. Miracles, and that’s all!

Listening to our stories about mysterious disappearances, dad chuckled:

“You’ll soon lose your hat!”

And his prediction came true. A day later, a soft hat disappeared from the front room, only not ours, but my father’s.

Here the father was surprised:

“Yesterday I put my stick in the corner and put my hat on it.” And now the stick is lying on the floor, but the hat is not there at all.

What kind of rogue-prankster is there in our house?

I finally caught this swindler. Or rather, he himself was caught at the crime scene.

One day in the morning, at dawn, I wake up and feel that the sheet is slipping off me. I wanted to pull it, but it crawled even further. What's happened?

I stood up and looked - Barsik was at the bedside. He grabbed the very end of the sheet with his teeth and pulled it. I didn't interfere. I'm watching what happens next. Meanwhile, Barsik pulled the sheet onto the floor and dragged it into his house. He climbed into it and began to drag the sheet there. I pulled half of it in, but the other didn’t go in and stayed on the floor.

After this incident, we opened the lid on Barsik's house, gutted his entire nest and found all the missing things there. Apparently he didn’t like the hay bedding and wanted to make a better bed. So he began to pick up various soft things in the rooms at night and hide them in his house.

He immediately taught us all not to throw anything out of our clothes and not to put anything soft on the floor. And if you missed it, blame yourself. The badger will quickly find it and drag it to his house on the bedding.

We were sitting in the dining room one day. Suddenly we see Barsik entering the room from the balcony, barely walking.

As we looked at him, we gasped: who bit him and wounded him like that?! The whole face, chest and front paws are covered in blood.

Dad jumped out from the table and ran to his office for a bandage and cotton wool, and mom hurried into the kitchen to get warm water.

We took the little badger in our arms. And he, such a smart girl, doesn’t resist, he understands that no harm will be done to him, he just moans quietly.

Mom sat him on her lap, stroked his back, and calmed him down. Dad dipped cotton wool into warm water, began to carefully wash the blood from the fur. He ran it over the breast and looked at the cotton wool. There is something thick and red on her, but it doesn’t look like blood.

Mom also looked at the cotton wool and saw how it would jump up. The badger fell to the floor like a sack and only grunted.

And mom ran to the balcony. We hear him shouting from there:

- Oh, you scoundrel, you spilled all the jam.

It was only then that we remembered that my mother had made jam in the morning and put it on the balcony to cool. So Barsik feasted on it, but apparently he overdid it, he even became completely swollen and couldn’t walk, he groaned and groaned, the poor thing.

For a long time afterwards, my mother could not forget this incident. She kept getting angry that both her work and her jam were in vain.

And Barsik, too, apparently remembered the incident with the jam. I often looked out onto the balcony afterwards. He probably thought: wouldn’t there be another bowl of equally delicious food there?

In the summer we constantly went to the dacha, taking Jack and Barsik there with us. I took the little badger straight to the dacha in a box.

I remember once I went into the forest to pick mushrooms. And Jack went with me. We walked a little away from the house, and I saw Jack turn around and wag his tail. I also turned around and what do I see? Following us along the path, Barsik runs, hurries, stumbles, so funny and clumsy. I probably didn’t close the gate tightly, so he jumped out. How to be? Should I take it home or take it with me to the forest? Well, will he get lost in the forest or run away from me?

I’m standing there, I don’t know what to do. And Barsik had already run up to Jack and followed him straight into the bushes. I see he doesn't run far from Jack. Well, come what may.

I'll take it with me.

In the forest, Barsik did not run away from us, he kept climbing through the bushes. So it uses its muzzle to stir up last year’s foliage, rummage through it, and pull out something.

And I saw a mushroom, but not just any mushroom, but a boletus mushroom. I immediately started looking nearby - another one was peeking out from the grass. And again, and again... I found six of them in one clearing. I got busy with mushrooms and completely forgot about Barsik. Then I remembered - where is he? Jack is running nearby, but Barsik is nowhere to be seen.

He probably completely ran away.

I started climbing through the bushes, calling him: “Barsik, Barsik,” but no, he doesn’t come.

I look, behind the bushes there is a ravine, deep, deaf, all overgrown with weeds. Jack climbed into the ravine, and I followed him. I see someone’s hole on the slope, it must be a fox’s. Only, apparently, it is old, there is no freshly dug earth near the entrance. And there are no animal tracks to be seen. Probably no one has lived in this hole for a long time.

But Jack, as soon as he ran up, immediately stuck his nose in there and wagged his tail. Maybe he smelled someone?

But I have no time for a hole, no time for wild animals, I’m looking for my Barsik. I’m standing on the slope of a ravine, and I’m still shouting:

- Barsik, Barsik!

And suddenly I see a familiar face peeking out of the hole. Right toe to toe with Jack. She sniffed her friend and disappeared underground again. So that’s where my Barsik went, he crawled into an old hole. How can we get him out of there?

I’ve been calling and calling and getting tired of calling. No, apparently I won’t call you. He liked it in the hole more than in our box. It was in vain that Dad and I worked - we built a house for him.

I remember that I suddenly felt so offended that I didn’t even want to pick mushrooms anymore. I called Jack and went home.

Already out of the forest. Suddenly I hear someone stomping behind me. I look - Barsik is catching up with us. I was completely out of breath and had a hard time catching up.

- Oh, you fat thing!

He picked him up in his arms, he was heavy, and barely carried him home.

At home he gave him raw meat and milk with a bun and sugar. He has a sweet tooth, he loved sweets very much.

Barsik had eaten enough and climbed into his box to rest.

After this walk, I took him with me to the forest every time. And every time he would certainly look into old holes. He will sit in them and get out. I didn't worry about that.

One day we walked with Jack and Barsik through the forest. I picked mushrooms, Jack hunted for birds, and Barsik looked for various beetles and worms under the fallen leaves. We wandered around for a long time and finally came out into a clearing. The most a good place sit, relax.

I sat down under a bush and wanted to sort through the mushrooms in the basket. Jack lay down next to me in the cold, but Barsik was nowhere to be seen, maybe he found some hole again and climbed into it. No, there he is rustling in the bushes. He got out from under the branches, ran up to us and suddenly began to move his nose: he smelled something.

He ran from us straight to the hollow stump. Put your muzzle into the hollow and let’s rake up the dust with your paws.

I didn’t understand what it was. I just hear someone buzzing and humming. I look: from the hollow there was a wasp, another, a third... a whole swarm. Everyone is circling and buzzing over Barsik, but he doesn’t care. It means he noticed a wasp’s nest, broke it open, and ate all the larvae. Wasps are not afraid of him - his fur is thick, try stinging him. He took a bite and, as if nothing had happened, came straight to me. And the wasps are behind him.

I threw the basket of mushrooms and ran. Jack also started to run away.

And yet they didn’t escape. One wasp stung me on the neck, and another stung Jack right on the lip. One Barsik was not injured. He feasted on the larvae, and Jack and I had to pay for his delicacy.

I still won’t forget how scared I was once. This happened at the end of summer. Barsik and I were returning from the forest. I walked along the path, and Barsik, as always, was running right there in the bushes.

Suddenly I see a viper crawling across the path. I knew well that the viper is a poisonous snake, it has poison in its teeth. It will bite and release a drop of poison into the wound. This will make you sick for a long time, and you may even die. It is better not to touch the viper. You will see and step aside. She will never rush at you first.

So I stopped so that the snake could crawl across the path without interference.

She would have moved, but out of nowhere - Barsik. Jumped out onto the path. I shout to him: “Barsik, come to me!” But he doesn’t even want to listen, he rushed straight to the snake.

The viper hissed, paused, and raised its head.

Barsik jumped up and grabbed her across the body with his teeth. And she dodged and hit him right in the face! He even shook his head, but did not release the snake. He began to knead it with his paws. Completely hushed up, strangled.

I couldn't do anything with him. I wanted to take the snake away, but where could I go?

The badger growled at me and ran off into the bushes with the prey in his teeth. And then he took it and ate it.

He ran out of the bushes. I see a drop of blood on the muzzle, probably from a snake bite. What is there - a bite when he ate the whole snake along with the poison.

I think he will get sick and die.

I’m going home, and I keep looking around: is Barsik running after me, maybe he’s feeling bad? No, I see him running as if nothing had happened to him.

And so we returned home. And at home he was as if nothing had happened.

I'm going straight to dad.

“Trouble,” I say, “our Barsik has poisoned himself.”

— What did you poison yourself with?

- Poison. He ate a poisonous snake.

“Well, I ate it,” dad answers, “and good health.” Badgers and hedgehogs often eat snakes. Snake venom is not dangerous for them.

However, I didn't quite believe it. I watched Barsik all day. Will he get sick? But Barsik was quite healthy. I probably wouldn’t refuse to hunt a viper just as successfully once again.

Summer was ending. Autumn has come. We were already getting ready to leave the dacha for the city. But I got a little sick, and the doctors said that I should stay in the fresh air as much as possible.

The weather was very good, just like in summer, and I spent whole days in the forest.

There, the leaves from the trees have already begun to wither and fall off, and many new mushrooms have appeared—autumn honey fungus.

Whole families of them grew up near old, rotten stumps, and even on the stumps themselves. I collected the honey mushrooms in a bag and took them home in triumph.

Mom marinated them for the winter in large clay jars.

Jack and Barsik went everywhere with me. Over the summer, Barsik had become so overfed and fat that he looked more like a fat pig. It became difficult for him to run; he trotted slowly, waddling. Now Barsik more and more often ran away from Jack and me into an overgrown ravine. He climbed into a hole and scooped out whole heaps of earth. And then he began to rake up fallen leaves and moss and drag it all into the hole. One would think that he was preparing a cozy, warm shelter for himself for the winter.

Once Barsik even stayed overnight in the hole. No matter how much I called him, he didn’t want to come out that day.

I was very upset then: “Is life really bad for Barsik with us?” But the next day, when Jack and I came to a forest ravine, Barsik immediately crawled out of his hole and returned home with us.

It was warm all the time, and then suddenly it got cold. The north wind blew, the sky became cloudy, and the first snowflakes began to fall to the ground.

I didn’t want to sit at home, it was boring. I dressed in a warm jacket and went into the forest. But even there it turned out to be no more fun. The wind shook the treetops, and the last leaves fell from the branches to the ground.

The badger immediately ran away from me, of course, climbed into the hole again and again that day did not come to spend the night.

And the next morning I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes: the whole earth was covered with white, freshly fallen snow.

It was cold in the house, the stove was lit. Mom said it was time to leave for the city.

- What about Barsik?

“Yes, very simple,” my mother answered. - Your Barsik has probably already fallen asleep in his hole for the whole winter. There he will sleep until spring. And in the spring we will come here again to the dacha, by then he will wake up and come running to meet you.

The next day we left for the city.

But since then I have never seen Barsik. Probably, over the winter he completely lost the habit of people, went wild and remained living in the forest, in his deep hole.

Pathfinders

On Sunday morning, Misha and Volodya went hunting in the forest.

True, the guys did not have guns, but their friends consoled themselves with the fact that it is not at all important for a hunter-pathfinder to shoot game. The main thing is to be able to track an animal or bird - this is the beauty of hunting for a real tracker.

Sliding on skis over the crunchy ice crust, the guys got out of the outskirts and ran across a smooth field covered with snow. A forest was visible in the blue frosty haze ahead.

The boys turned onto the first path they came across and followed it.

- How many aspen trees have been gnawed! - said Volodya. - The hares ate all this at night. And now they’ve buried themselves somewhere in the snow and are sleeping.

“Let’s follow the trail,” Misha suggested, “maybe we’ll track it down.”

- Let's try.

And the guys, having found a fresh hare trail, set off along it.

“And look how funny it is for the hare,” said Volodya, “there are two large prints from the hind paws in front, and, on the contrary, from the front paws in the back.” Do you know why that is?

“Of course, I know,” Misha answered. — When a hare jumps, it brings its hind legs forward, while its front legs remain between them and slightly behind them.

The traces were brought into shallow mixed forest. Then the scythe ran along the edge of the forest, went down into a forest ravine, and crossed to the opposite side. There the animal began to make intricate loops between the bushes and trees.

“He’s confusing his tracks,” Volodya said quietly. “He’ll probably go to bed soon.”

At least half an hour passed until the guys with great difficulty I finally managed to figure out the complex maze of rabbit loops. Then the trail went smoothly again, crossed a forest clearing and again meandered into the undergrowth.

“Let’s not sort out all this confusion,” Misha suggested, “we’d ​​better make a wide circle through the forest - maybe we’ll immediately stumble upon the exit trail.”

We tried it and came across it.

- Well done, clever idea! — Volodya praised.

But Misha, smiling, admitted: this was not his invention. He had heard that this is what hunters do.

The friends again walked very carefully so as not to frighten away the animal sleeping somewhere nearby.

And suddenly the trail was completely broken. What does this mean? Where did he go?

“And look, Volodya, the trail we were following just now is so wonderful: you can’t tell where the front legs are and where the hind legs are,” Misha was surprised. - I don’t understand where it leads? Some traces seem to be forward, while others seem to be in reverse side.

Both boys began to carefully examine the prints of the hare's paws in the snow.

- Oh, we are dumb! - Volodya suddenly slapped himself on the forehead. - This is a bunny trick! And we forgot.

-What trick?

But you yourself say: some tracks lead forward, while others lead back. This means that the hare first ran forward, and then turned and followed its own trail back...

- Where to look for him now? - Misha was confused.

“We’ll have to go back and see where he jumped from his trail to the side.” The hunters say: he made his mark.

The guys followed the trail in the opposite direction. We walked about two hundred meters away and then noticed that the double trail had ended. We looked around. There, under the bush, the snow is slightly crushed in one place. We came closer. There are hare paw prints in the snow.

- Look where he jumped! - Misha was surprised.

About two meters later there are more prints - a second jump, followed by a third. And then the trail went on continuously.

Following the trail, the guys reached new loops and a new estimate. And again they untangled the trail.

- Well, I made a mistake! — Volodya shook his head. - Must be old, experienced. You need to walk more quietly - he’s probably set up a bed somewhere nearby: he dug a hole in the snow, dozes in it, and listens to see if anyone is sneaking towards him...

Volodya did not finish speaking and, stumbling in mid-sentence, began to peer carefully into the thicket of bushes.

Who's there? - Misha whispered, also looking closely.

Ahead in the snow, where the hare’s trail went, something living was scurrying around, but what exactly the guys couldn’t see through the branches. Stealthily, the boys began to come closer and looked out from behind the bushes.

Noticing them, the incomprehensible creature immediately perked up and rushed around in one place.

The guys rushed as fast as they could to their prey. It was a white hare. He rushed in different directions, but for some reason did not run away from the bushes.

- Confused! - Volodya shouted, running up to the animal and grabbing it.

The hare thrashed desperately and screamed pitifully. But Volodya already held it in his hands.

- So we tracked it down! Hooray! - he shouted triumphantly.

- Yes, he got caught on some wire! - Misha said in surprise.

He picked up the thin wire that had entangled the animal. Its other end was tightly tied to a young birch tree.

“It’s a noose,” Misha guessed. - Look, it’s placed right on the hare’s path. He fell into it.

Misha carefully released the animal from the wire loop.

- What luck! - Volodya was happy. - Let's run home, let's say we caught it ourselves.

- So how did you get caught? - Misha didn’t understand.

- Yes, even in the bushes. He, they say, got stuck among the branches, and we immediately - scratch-scratch, and we're done!

- Will they believe it?

- Of course they will believe it. Where could we get it from?

“And you know, friend,” Volodya exclaimed passionately, “you don’t get a pat on the head for catching like that!” Do you remember what Ivan Mikhailovich said: “Catching hares and any game with a snare is strictly prohibited with us.”

“Wait,” Misha interrupted him, “what happens then?” So, it turns out that we took part in this matter, and we ourselves are stealing the thief’s loot. Is this what hunters do?

Volodya immediately became quiet.

- Should we really release it? - he said hesitantly. - It’s such a pity.

“I feel sorry for myself,” Misha admitted. - Do you know what? Let's take him to our school, show him to the kids, and then let him out.

“Then you shouldn’t wear it,” Volodya objected with annoyance. - What should I show? We have the same one in our living area, everyone has seen it. Just torment in vain.

“That’s true,” Misha agreed. “And they’ll think: they caught you with a noose just to show off.”

Volodya even flushed at these words.

- Who dares to think that? - he exclaimed passionately. - There’s nothing to carry around in vain, I’m letting it out.

He quickly bent down and unclenched his hands.

- Wait, wait! - Misha shouted, trying to intercept the animal, but it was too late: the hare darted to the side and disappeared into the bushes in two leaps.

- What have you done! - Misha gasped. - Released! Now no one will believe us that we took him out of the snare.

“No, they will believe you,” Volodya answered confidently. “But about the fact that we caught him in the bushes with our hands, we probably wouldn’t have believed it.”

The next morning at school, Volodya and Misha told their teacher about everything and showed them the noose they had taken from the birch tree.

“Well done,” Ivan Mikhailovich praised the guys, “that’s what real trackers should do.”

Unexpected Helper

I traveled around the Caucasus, got acquainted with its nature, with its diverse world plants and animals.

From the small Kojah railway station I walked up the valley of the Belaya River into the depths of the mountain spurs Caucasian ridge and reached the village of Guzeripl.

On the very bank of a fast river at the foot of the mountains there are several beautiful houses is the management of the northern part of the Caucasus Nature Reserve.

Here I decided to live for a week or two to wander around the protected forests. These forests are home to many interesting and valuable animals.

In the reserve they find reliable shelter and human protection.

But how can you see them among the dense thickets, especially now, when the forest has not yet shed its leaves? Who will help me find a cautious marten or scare away a rare bird - the mountain grouse - from an impassable thicket?

Several times I went to wander through the surrounding mountain forests, getting acquainted with their wonderful vegetation, but, alas, I was unable to see almost anyone from the animal world. Only noisy jays caught the eye everywhere, and occasionally the loud knocking of a busy woodpecker was heard in the forest.

“Will I really never be able to observe the inhabitants of these protected places? — I thought with involuntary annoyance, returning home from the forest. “Do you really have to write about the animals and birds of the Caucasus without even seeing them, but only after listening to the stories of eyewitnesses?” Writing from other people's words was very offensive, and I made more and more new, but equally unsuccessful attempts.

One morning, after a difficult journey through the reserve, I woke up quite early in the morning. The sun had not yet risen from behind the mountains, and blue wisps of fog floated beneath them, clinging to the tops of the forest. But the sky was clear, cloudless, promising a fine day.

Near the porch, in the front garden, many flowers were blooming. There were several hives right there in the clearing. I watched as the first bees crawled out of them. They spread their wings after the night and then quickly flew somewhere into the distance. And some flew up to the nearest flowers and climbed into their cups, still wet from the night Dew.

Everything around me was breathing warmth. The trees near the house were just beginning to turn slightly yellow, as if in July from the intense heat. But as soon as I looked at the mountains in the distance, it immediately became clear that this was not summer, but autumn.

Below, at the foot of the mountains, the forest was also lush green, but the higher you went, the more yellow and red spots appeared in it, and finally at the very top it was completely bright yellow and orange. Some pines and firs darkened with a thick green brush. And floating wisps of fog clung to them.

I stared at these mountains so much that I even shuddered when someone lightly pushed me in the side. I turned around. Sitting next to me on the porch was a dog that looked like a cross between a cop and a mongrel. She guiltily looked me straight in the eyes, squatted slightly on her front paws and often, often tapped the stump of her tail on the boards of the porch. I stroked her, and she, trembling all over with joy, fell towards me and licked my hand with her wet pink tongue.

“Look, he’s bored without his owner,” said the old worker, stopping at the porch.

-Where is her owner?

— I paid and went home to Khamyshki. And she, apparently, fell behind. So he doesn’t know where to lay his head.

- What's her name?

“Name’s Alma,” answered the old man, heading towards the barn.

I brought out some bread and fed Alma. She was apparently very hungry, but she took the bread carefully and, taking a piece, ran into the nearest lilac bush.

He will eat it and come back again. And she looks into her eyes, as if she wants to say: “Feed me, I’m really hungry.”

Finally she had her fill and happily lay down in the sun at my feet. From that day on, Alma and I began strong friendship. The poor thing obviously recognized me as a new master and never left my side.

“A smart dog, a scientist,” Alma was praised in the village. - It can work on animals and birds. The owner-hunter taught her everything.

One day, the reserve observer, Albert, and I decided to climb the mountains. Alma, seeing that we were getting ready somewhere, fidgeted under our feet excitedly.

- Should I take it or not? - I asked.

“Of course we’ll take it,” Albert replied. “She’s more likely to find us, one of the animals or birds.”

Our preparations were short-lived. We took binoculars and some food with us and hit the road.

Alma ran merrily ahead, but did not go far into the forest.

Immediately after the village the ascent began. Knowing that I was not at all an expert at climbing mountains, Albert walked barely, and yet it seemed to me that he was running.

Finally, apparently not being able to trudge along as I did, my companion sat down on a rock.

“You go ahead,” he said, “and I’ll smoke and catch up with you.”

This is how our ascent proceeded in a peculiar way. I barely trudged up, and Albert smoked, sitting on a stone or on a stump. When I walked a hundred or two hundred meters away from him, he got up and caught up with me in a few minutes. He’ll catch up and sit down again to smoke. When we climbed the first pass, Albert showed me an empty cigarette box.

“You see,” he said, smiling, “I smoked a whole pack because of you.”

Finally we entered a solid fir forest. It was quiet and gloomy here, only tits were squeaking somewhere in the tops.

Suddenly a loud bark made me pause.

“Alma found someone,” said Albert, “let’s go see.”

We walked about twenty meters and saw a dog. She stood under a tall fir tree and barked, looking up.

“The squirrel, the squirrel is sitting on that twig,” Albert pointed out.

Indeed, on the lowest branch, about five meters from the ground, sat a gray fluffy animal and, nervously shaking its tail, angrily clicked at the dog: “Tsok-tsok-tsok!”

Albert walked up to the tree and lightly tapped it with his hand. In an instant, the squirrel flew up the trunk like an arrow and disappeared into the dense crown of branches.

But I had already managed to get a good look at her through binoculars: her skin was completely gray, and not reddish, like our squirrels near Moscow. I'm with great interest looked at the animal. After all, previously only the Caucasian squirrel was found in the Caucasus - smaller than our squirrel, with a very nasty reddish-gray skin. Local hunters did not hunt the Caucasian squirrel for fur. But in last years Altai squirrels with beautiful smoky-gray fur were brought and released to the Caucasus and Tiberda. These animals multiplied amazingly quickly in new places and settled throughout the Caucasian forests far beyond the borders of Tiberda. Now there are as many of them not only in the northern part of the Caucasian forests, but also in the southern part. And local hunters can already start squirrel hunting.

Having called Alma away from the tree, we went further. Less than half an hour had passed before she soldered the second, and then the third, fourth squirrel. However, we did not have to leave the trail to recall the dog. It was enough to whistle a few times for her to return.

But then Alma started barking loudly in the forest again.

We whistled - no, it doesn’t fit. Albert listened.

“Something is barking too excitedly,” he said. - It doesn't look like a squirrel; maybe you found a marten?

Nothing to do. We had to turn off the path again and make our way through dense thickets of rhododendron. Finally we got out into the clearing. In the middle stood a hundred-year-old fir. Alma rushed about under the tree, bristling all over, choking with anger.

We approached the tree itself and began to examine the branches and twigs. Almost at the very top, in a fork between two thick branches, I noticed something grayish-brown: either a nest or some kind of growth on a tree. The ends of the branches leaned down and made it difficult to see what it was. I took the binoculars out of my bag, looked up, and hurriedly handed the binoculars to Albert.

He also pointed it at a dark object visible at the top of the tree, but immediately gave me the binoculars back, looked around and took the carbine off his shoulder. Through binoculars one could easily see a small bear cub hiding between the branches. He sat with his front paws wrapped around a tree trunk and looked intently down at the dog.

“We’d better get out of here,” said Albert, catching Alma and taking her on a leash, “otherwise she won’t show up.”

“Won’t this help us?” — I pointed to the carbine.

“In a pinch, of course, it will help,” replied Albert, “but in the reserve you are not supposed to kill the animal.” And this baby, who will he be left with then? Still a small child, look how he’s settled down.

“Don’t shout, just be patient, he’ll show up soon,” Albert smiled.

And indeed, in the distance one could already hear the alarming grumbling and crunching of dead wood under the feet of a heavy beast.

We hastened to leave so as not to interfere with this touching, but unpleasant for outsiders, meeting.

The higher we climbed the slope, the more often we came across patches of high-mountain maple trees in the clearings and hollows among the fir trees. Finally we got out into the subalpine - to the border of the forest and alpine meadows. Here, firs and maples were found less and less often, they were replaced by high-mountain birch forests.

Rhododendron grew thickly in the clearings. It was impossible to turn off the path.

Suddenly Alma turned her nose, but did not rush as fast as she could, like after a squirrel.

On the contrary, all stretched out, she began to carefully sneak among the flexible stems crawling along the ground. With difficulty making our way through the thickets, we followed the dog. It was interesting to know: who did she smell and why didn’t she run, but sneak so carefully?

Albert took the carbine off his shoulder just in case. “Isn’t it a bear? Here, in the rhododendron thickets, it’s very easy for him to hide.” But the dog is unlikely to become so strange like a cat, track down.

Suddenly Alma stopped rooted to the spot among the dense, impassable thickets. There was no doubt - the dog was standing on the counter.

I commanded: “Forward!” Alma rushed, and a mountain grouse flew up from under the bushes with a crash. In flight, it was very similar to our ordinary koscha, only a little smaller. The black grouse flew low, right above the thickets, and disappeared into the birch forest. Alma was still standing on the counter. Then she turned to us, as if asking: “Why didn’t you shoot?”

“You can’t shoot,” I said, stroking the dog. - After all, we are in a nature reserve.

But Alma, of course, could not understand my words. That day she found us either a squirrel or a bear cub, and we kept calling her back. Apparently this was not what we were looking for. Finally, she found the kind of game that you can’t chase after, barking, but you need to carefully sneak up on it. And Alma crept up. At the command “Forward!” she scared the game away and remained in place again. She did everything as the old owner taught her, but for some reason the new owner did not shoot. Alma was clearly perplexed as to what they wanted from her now.

And we also couldn’t explain to her that we didn’t need to kill anyone.

You just need to see what animals and birds inhabit this protected forest. And Alma helped us wonderfully. Albert and I were very pleased.

However, the hunting passion of our four-legged assistant was not at all satisfied, and on the way back Alma hardly looked for any animal or bird. After all, we didn’t shoot at anyone anyway. The dog sadly trudged behind us all the way to the house.

This trip to the mountains turned out to be very difficult for me, and I sank onto the porch, exhausted. Alma sat down next to me and looked at me with sad, attentive eyes. It seemed that she wanted to guess what I really needed from her. Finally she stood up hesitantly and looked at the door. I opened it.

Alma ran into the room and came back a second later. She held my slipper in her teeth.

“Maybe you need this?” - she seemed to ask.

- So smart! — I was delighted, taking off my heavy mountain boot and putting on a light sneaker.

Alma rushed into the room as fast as she could and brought me a second one. I stroked and caressed the dog.

“So this is the kind of game he needs,” she apparently decided and began to drag everything from the room to me: socks, a towel, a shirt.

- Enough, enough! - I shouted, laughing, but Alma did not stop until she had carried everything she could get and bring.

From then on, she began to directly harass me. As soon as I forgot to lock the door to the room, Alma was already stealing some clothes from there.

So she tried to please me all day. And at night she slept on the porch, near my room, and did not let anyone in to see me.

But our friendship was soon to come to an end. I left Guzeripl for Maykop, and from there to southern department reserve. I decided to take Alma with me and, passing through Khamyshki, give her to her owner.

Finally we set off. The road was disgusting. I put my things on the cart, and I walked ahead. Alma was running happily near the road.

But then Khamyshki appeared in the valley.

“Will Alma somehow meet his old master?” - I involuntarily thought with a jealous feeling.

At the edge of the village there is a white house where he lives. We arrived. The owner himself was busy with the cart. Hearing the sound of wheels, he turned around and saw a dog.

- Almushka, where did you come from? - he exclaimed joyfully.

Alma paused for a second and suddenly rushed to her owner as fast as she could. She squealed and jumped on his chest, apparently not knowing how to express her joy. Then, as if remembering something, she rushed to our cart, jumped on it, and before I had time to come to my senses, Alma grabbed my hat lying on the straw in her teeth and carried it to her owner.

- Oh, you scoundrel! - I laughed. “Now you’re stealing everything from me.” Let's go back here.

I walked over and bent over to the dog to take my thing from her. But Alma, putting her on the ground, pressed her tightly with her paw and, baring her teeth, growled angrily at me. I was amazed.

- Alma, don’t you recognize me? Almushka!

But the dog, of course, recognized me. She lay down on the ground, looked guiltily into her eyes, and wagged her stump of tail; She seemed to be asking to be forgiven, but still she didn’t give up the hat.

“You can, give it back, give it back,” the owner allowed.

Then Alma squealed joyfully and willingly allowed me to take her diarrhea.

I petted the dog. She looked at me just as kindly and friendly.

But I felt that now she had found her real master, whom she would obey in everything.

“Clever dog,” I said. And I was no longer offended that Alma so easily exchanged me for another. After all, the other one raised, educated, taught her, and to him alone she gave forever all her devotion and love.

Forest robber

- Dad, dad, the wolf killed the kid! - the guys shouted, running into the house.

Sergei Ivanovich quickly got up from the table, put on his quilted jacket, grabbed a gun and followed the children out into the street.

Their house stood on the very edge of the village. The forest began right outside the outskirts. It stretched for many tens of kilometers.

There used to be even bears in this forest, but they have long since disappeared.

But there were a lot of hares, squirrels, foxes and other forest creatures.

Wolves also visited. In late autumn and winter they approached the village itself, and in the dead, gloomy nights their long, melancholy howl was often heard. Then all the dogs in the village would crawl under the cages, under the huts, and from there they would bark pitifully and fearfully.

“So the damned ones have shown up again!” - Sergei Ivanovich grumbled, quickly walking with the children along the path into the forest.

The forest was completely empty. The entire leaf had long since fallen off and was washed to the ground by the rains. It even snowed once or twice, but then it melted again.

The cattle have not been sent out to graze for a long time. She stood in the barnyard. Only the goats were still wandering through the forest, gnawing at the bushes.

On the way, Anyutka, Sergei Ivanovich’s daughter, told her father:

“We went for brushwood; we collected all the firewood from the village.” We moved to the Rotten Swamp. We collect dried wood. Suddenly we hear our goat screaming beyond the swamp, so pitifully! Sanya says: “Maybe the little goat fell into the hole? He won't get out. Let's go help." So we ran. We passed a swamp, and we saw a goat running towards us, but the kid was not visible. We entered the clearing where the goat was running from, looked behind the bushes, and he was there, but he was dead, all torn to pieces, half his side torn out.

Sergei Ivanovich listened, and he himself kept speeding up his steps. Anyuta and Sanya could barely keep up with him.

We quickly reached the swamp and went around it. Here is the clearing. On it, from a distance, shreds of the fur of a torn goat were still visible.

Sergei Ivanovich carefully examined the remains of the animal feast. He even squatted down, trying to see the tracks of the animal on the ground, but they were impossible to notice among the withered grass nailed to the ground by the rains.

“It’s good that he didn’t kill the goat,” Sergei Ivanovich finally said. - Must be some loner who wandered in by accident. And if there had been a brood, both would have been killed.

So we returned home with nothing. Sergei Ivanovich ordered the guys to graze the goat near the village and not to let it go far into the forest.

During the first days, Sanya and Anyuta exactly followed their father’s orders. But no one else heard of the gray robber. The neighbors in the village also had goats, and at first they kept them near the houses, and then everything went as before - the guys gave up guarding, and the goats scattered through the forest again, again began to go to the Rotten Swamp, there were willow bushes growing along the edge - the most delicious food for them.

The village had already completely forgotten about what happened. And suddenly - again. One evening, their goat rushed into the yard of Sergei Ivanovich’s neighbors, covered in blood, with a huge wound on its side.

They ran into the forest again, searched and searched, but they never found the beast.

Sergei Ivanovich locked his goat in the yard and did not order it to be allowed to graze at all.

The village hunters gathered and began to consult on what to do. This, apparently, is not a random animal, it did not wander in passing. He lives here in the forest and doesn’t go anywhere. It’s a pity that the snow doesn’t fall for a long time, then they would quickly follow the trail. Well-fed wolf does not go far from the feeding site. He will find a quieter corner in the forest and sleep all day. This is where they would organize a raid on him.

But this is all good in winter, in the snow, and if there is no snow, go find it.

The forest is large, thicket and rubble, do you know where it lies?

There were husky dogs in the village, but they were not suitable for hunting wolves. With them you can only walk on squirrels and birds. So the hunters decided to wait for the snow to fall.

This would be nothing, but here’s the problem: it’s now dangerous to go into the forest with a dog to get squirrels. A husky will run far away from the hunter, find a squirrel in a tree, begin to bark, and the gray robber will be right there, instantly arriving at the dog’s barking, grabbing the little dog, strangling it - and remember the name. He will drag you into the thicket, eat everything, you won’t be able to find a scrap of fur.

Sergei Ivanovich was the saddest of all. He loved to go hunting for squirrels. And he had the very first dog in the area. Her name was Fluff.

It used to be that on Sunday they would go into the forest for squirrels, each hunter with his own husky. They will disperse in different directions. They wander around all day, only to return home at night. “Well, who got the most squirrels?” Of course, Sergei Ivanovich. Yes, look, he also brought in a wood grouse, and even a marten.

“There is no price for your Cannon,” said the hunters.

Sergei Ivanovich himself knew this well.

But if you look at Pushka from the outside, he’s a nondescript dog, a little taller than a cat, with a pointed muzzle, erect ears, and a tight curled tail. The color is all white, only not pure white, but with a reddish tint, as if it had either been set on fire or smeared with mud. Nothing to say, unsightly appearance, mongrel, and nothing more. But he's smart. “Well, just like a person,” said Sergei Ivanovich, “he understands everything, but he can’t say it.”

But Fluffy and his owner understood each other perfectly without any words.

And now, on Saturday evening, both, of course, were thinking about the same thing - about tomorrow. The day promised to be quiet and grey. It would be a good time to go get a squirrel. It was already cold, and snow was falling, which means that the squirrel must have moulted now. The skin is first grade. And it’s easy to walk through the forest at such a time: you don’t need to dress warmly, put on a padded jacket, boots - go wherever you want. But when winter comes, the snow will pile up to your waist, then you won’t go far; put on a sheepskin coat, felt boots and get on your skis. This is not walking. And it’s difficult for a dog to run through deep snow to look for a squirrel. What's better now, along the black trail.

Sergei Ivanovich really wanted to go hunting in the forest tomorrow.

I wanted to, but I was afraid: what if Fluffy runs into the gray one? He’ll catch you right away and won’t even let you make a word.

Cannon, apparently, was also eager to go into the forest with his owner. From the experience of previous years, he already knew: as soon as autumn comes, this is where they will begin to hunt. No wonder its owner examined it this afternoon, cleaned the gun and put the cartridges in a hunting bag. Noticing these so familiar preparations, Pushok no longer left Sergei Ivanovich, looked into his eyes, sighed, and even squealed slightly.

We sat down to dinner. Sergei Ivanovich poured Pushka into a bowl of food, but the dog didn’t even touch it.

-Are you inviting me to go hunting? - said Sergei Ivanovich.

The dog immediately pricked up his ears, squealed joyfully and began to rub his muzzle against his owner’s legs.

“I see what you want,” he said, caressing the dog. “I want to go for a walk myself, but I’m afraid that the wolf might devour you.”

But Fluffy did not understand his master’s fears. The gun was cleaned, the bag was in place - that means it’s time to go, what else are you waiting for?

Having decided nothing, Sergei Ivanovich went to bed. Tomorrow, they say, it will be clear - the morning is wiser than the evening. Or maybe by morning the weather will be bad, rain, snow, why guess in advance? In his heart, Sergei Ivanovich even wanted bad weather tomorrow. At least you won't want to go into the forest. And then, lo and behold, it will snow. Using the powder, we'll quickly find the gray one and finish him off. Then go into the forest for squirrels without fear.

But Sergei Ivanovich’s wishes did not come true. He woke up at dawn.

Or rather, Fluff woke him up. The dog stood on its hind legs and licked its owner's hand with its soft, wet tongue. Get up, they say, it’s already dawn.

- Oh, you restless one! - Sergei Ivanovich grumbled good-naturedly, getting out of bed.

Fluff, wagging his tail, ran to the door. Sergei Ivanovich followed him and went out onto the porch. He was filled with invigorating autumn freshness and the pleasant smell of fallen leaves. The day promised to be quiet and hazy. Nice day for hunting! Sergei Ivanovich walked down the damp wooden steps into the courtyard. I walked to the gate. It was already properly dawn.

Behind the gate, in the misty light of the autumn morning, a forest could be seen, all leafless, gloomy, but so alluring to the hunter’s heart.

Sergei Ivanovich vividly imagined how loudly the joyful bark of Pushka could be heard in the bare forest when he found a squirrel. The hunter had already seen the animal itself in a smart gray fur coat. Here he is sitting on a spruce branch, throwing up his fluffy tail and angrily clicking at the dog!.. And all this is so easy to see not only in the imagination, but in reality - you just need to take a bag, a gun and go into the forest. “What if it’s a wolf? Lose true friend... But why does the wolf necessarily stumble upon Fluffy? Maybe he’s already far away from here and has disappeared for a long time?..” Seeing that the owner was hesitating, for some reason did not take a gun, did not go into the forest, Fluff tried as best he could to cheer him up. He began to jump near him, lick his hands and, with his ears attached, looked touchingly straight into his face with his black, surprisingly intelligent and devoted eyes. It seemed like he was about to say: “Let's go hunting. I want it very much".

“Well, I feel sorry for you,” Sergei Ivanovich answered him, as if Pushok was really talking to him. “I’m afraid that you’ll run into a wolf and get pulled over, what then?” How can I survive without you? I can't find a place for myself.

But Fluffy understood this in his own way, in a dog’s way. The owner speaks to him so kindly - it means everything is fine, it means they will now go hunting. The dog even squealed with joy and, laying his ears, rushed around the owner and sat down again in anticipation.

- What can you do with you? - Sergei Ivanovich spread his hands. - Well, let's go wherever we go. Just be careful not to run too far from me.

Trying not to think about anything else, Sergei Ivanovich quickly returned to the house, put on a padded jacket, took a gun, a bag with cartridges and went hunting.

Late autumn in the forest. What time could be sadder and sweeter for a man accustomed to wandering with a gun along remote, long-untrodden paths!

Sergei Ivanovich walked along a narrow path, along soft, rotting leaves.

Low trees grew all around - aspen and birch trees. Their thin branches were completely bare, without a single leaf. Only on the young oak trees did the foliage, dark red, like the skin of a fox, wet from the night fog, still firmly hold on.

You couldn't hear the birds at all. The autumn forest is quiet.

But somewhere in the distance a jay screamed piercingly, and again everything fell silent.

Fluff ran off somewhere into the forest. Sergei Ivanovich knew: now he was prowling between the trees, sniffing the damp earth, looking for the desired squirrel trail.

“Just don’t run too far,” the hunter thought anxiously. But somewhere there, in the depths of his soul, he knew very well: if trouble happened, whether it was near or far, you still wouldn’t have time to help. How can such a bug compete with a wolf? He will grab him, drag him into the thicket - and that’s the end.

Suddenly Sergei Ivanovich even shuddered from the unprecedented. A loud dog barking seemed to shake the silence of the autumn forest. It was Fluffy barking. So, I found someone. Probably a squirrel.

Sergei Ivanovich hurried to the dog’s voice. He began to quickly make his way between the trees and bushes. The going was easy. Parting the branches and silently stepping on the wet ground, the hunter quickly reached the place. From a distance he noticed Cannon. He sat under an old pine tree and, raising his head up, barked occasionally.

Sergei Ivanovich looked at the top of the pine tree.

A huge wood grouse, spreading his wings and lowering his bearded head, looked angrily at the dog and grunted amusingly at it. This “forest turkey” looked like some kind of decayed dark brown snag. He was all disheveled, very big and ridiculous in appearance.

But the hunter has no time to look. The capercaillie is not a squirrel, he is careful.

If you make a slight mistake, it will notice and fly away.

“Well done, Fluffy! - thought Sergei Ivanovich. “Look how delicately he barks, doesn’t jump, doesn’t throw himself at a tree, as if he knows that he needs to be calm with the wood grouse, otherwise you’ll scare him away.”

Trying to remain unnoticed, Sergei Ivanovich stealthily moved from tree to tree. Now the game is no more than thirty or forty steps away, which means you can shoot. Having waited for the moment when the capercaillie, carried away by the dog, looked down, Sergei Ivanovich raised the gun to his shoulder, took aim and pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed through autumn forest. A huge bird fell from the tree and, hitting the branches, fell down. Fluffy squealed with joy and even stood up on his hind legs. The dead wood grouse plopped heavily onto the wet ground. The dog jumped up to him, but did not bother him, but only began to sniff everything with pleasure, thrusting his black nose deeply into the bird’s disheveled feathers.

Sergei Ivanovich came up and picked up the wood grouse. "Wow! Well, he’s healthy - he’ll weigh about four kilograms.” He put the bird in his shoulder bag.

- Clever dog, I found some good game. Look again,” Sergei Ivanovich praised his friend and patted him on the back.

He didn’t hang around his owner for a long time. Hunting is a serious matter, there is no time to worry about trifles. He disappeared into the forest again.

Less than half an hour had passed before the dog barked at a squirrel, then a second, a third...

And, as if as a reward for his efforts, all the animals sat on open branches, and did not hide in dense fir trees.

Sergei Ivanovich did not have to look for them for a long time or knock on the wood with an ax to scare the squirrel out of its hiding place.

“Well, Fluffy, you and I are lucky,” Sergei Ivanovich said cheerfully, tucking another animal into a bag.

Carried away by the hunt, Sergei Ivanovich himself did not notice how, out of old habit, going deeper into the forest, he turned towards the Rotten Swamp. In past years, there were always squirrels and even martens there. Listening to see if Fluffy was barking somewhere, the hunter walked quietly along the path.

“I think he screamed,” Sergei Ivanovich paused. “Now he’s barking.”

But instead of barking, the same squeal was heard again. He rushed through the forest with a desperate cry, as if a plea for help.

Without remembering himself, Sergei Ivanovich rushed to the rescue of his friend.

- Fluff, come to me! - Sergei Ivanovich shouted, but his voice completely disappeared.

From excitement, he even forgot that he had a gun in his hands. Maybe you could shoot and scare off the villain. But instead, the hunter rushed like mad through the swamp, hoarsely beckoning to his friend.

“Alive, still alive, barking! Maybe I’ll make it in time!” — fragments of thoughts flashed through my head.

Suddenly Sergei Ivanovich caught his foot on a root and flew with his face straight into the bushes. He fell and, feeling no pain, jumped up again and wanted to run.

Sergei Ivanovich looked around wildly. All around there is a swamp, hummocks, stunted, half-dead pines. And here, somewhere very close, in last time Fluffy squealed.

What is this? There was another squeal and loud barking.

Sergei Ivanovich rushed forward, but immediately stopped. “Wait, but Fluffy not only squeals, he barks, and, it seems, in one place. This means no one is chasing him, no one is strangling him, which means he was chasing someone himself, squealing and barking.”

Sergei Ivanovich even laughed with joy: “This is great!” However, joy immediately gave way to annoyance. But who was the dog chasing then? Of course, moose. And moose hunting is prohibited. How much time, effort and work Sergei Ivanovich lost to wean Pushka from chasing them, and now the naughty dog ​​again set about doing his own thing. I probably forgot all science over the summer.

- Well, wait, I’ll remind you! - Sergei Ivanovich grumbled.

In the secret of his soul, he was angry not so much with Pushka’s action as with his own mistake: without figuring out what was going on, he ran somewhere, all torn up, covered in blood, and also an old hunter!

Having calmed down and caught his breath, Sergei Ivanovich listened. “That’s right, barks and squeals in one place. Over there, behind the swamp, in the clearing. So, he stopped the moose and is hovering around him! - Sergei Ivanovich took a penknife from his pocket and cut off a long rod. - Wait, my friend, I’ll teach you a lesson now. You’ll remember all the science vividly!” Having crossed the swamp, Sergei Ivanovich finally got out of the dense thickets to a clean place. Here is the clearing.

Cannon noticed from afar. “Where is the elk?” There is no moose. Angrily squealing and barking until he was hoarse, Fluff rushed around the old oak tree.

Sergei Ivanovich glanced at the oak tree. On a branch, stretched out, lay a huge wild cat- lynx.

Even the gun shook in the hunter’s hands. He wants to open it, put in other cartridges, with large shot, but his hands are trembling and do not obey.

How can you approach now without the animal noticing? Otherwise he’ll jump off and run away.

Sergei Ivanovich began to walk around so as to approach the lynx from behind. I accidentally stepped on a twig. He crunched loudly. But the lynx, watching the dog, didn’t even notice and didn’t turn around.

But Fluffy immediately looked to the side and noticed the owner. And what a clever girl, she didn’t rush around the tree anymore, but sat down right in front of the beast’s face and started barking: “Look at me.”

Sergei Ivanovich quickly crept up. Now he won’t leave, you just need to shoot for sure so that you can hit him right away. Otherwise, if you injure him, he will fall, grapple with the dog, and may tear out his eyes with his claws.

A shot rang out. Without digging, a huge wild cat fell from the tree.

Fluff rushed at her furiously, grabbed her by the neck, and began to torment her.

At once I forgot all the science of hunting.

But Sergei Ivanovich was not angry with his old friend - where is there to be angry? He himself jumped up to the killed animal and barely lifted it.

Both the hunter and the dog forcibly calmed down. They began to look at the rare prey. And then suddenly Sergei Ivanovich remembered the kid torn to pieces by the beast. “Who, after all, and not a wolf, was robbing here in the forest!” Sergei Ivanovich shouldered the heavy beast and headed straight towards the house.

- Well done, Fluffy! - he said affectionately. - I tracked down a forest robber, brother. Now you can go wherever you want without fear.

Georgy Alekseevich Skrebitsky(July 20, 1903 - August 18, 1964) - famous naturalist writer.
Georgy Skrebitsky was born in Moscow, into the family of a doctor. His childhood years were spent in the provincial town of Chern Tula province, and childhood impressions of the dim nature of these places remained forever in the memory of the future writer.
In 1921, Skrebitsky graduated from the Chern school of the 2nd stage and went to study in Moscow, where in 1925 he graduated from the literary department at the Institute of Words. Then he entered the Moscow Higher Forestry Engineering Institute, after which (1930) he worked at the All-Union Institute of Fur Farming, in the laboratory of zoopsychology of the Institute of Psychology at Moscow State University. Candidate of Biological Sciences (1937).
However, it is not the scientific career of a naturalist researcher, but literary creativity Since the late 1930s, it has become the main thing in the life of Georgy Skrebitsky. In 1939, based on the script he wrote, the popular science film “Island of White Birds” was released, the material for which was scientific expedition to the bird nesting grounds of the White Sea.
At the same time, his writing debut took place: the story “Ushan” was published. “This,” Georgy Alekseevich said later, “is like a chink through which I looked into the country of the past, the country of my childhood” (“Leaf Faller. Instead of a Preface”).
Already Skrebitsky’s first collections, “Simps and Cunning People” (1944), “Stories of a Hunter” (1948), placed him among the best children’s naturalist writers.
Since the late 1940s, the famous animal writer Vera Chaplina has become a like-minded person and literary co-author of Georgy Skrebitsky. In their joint work, they also turned to the youngest readers - they wrote very short stories for them. educational stories about nature in the magazine “Murzilka” and in the book for first graders “Native Speech”. But these simple and easy-to-understand texts turned out to be a technically very difficult work for real writers and experts on nature, which Skrebitsky and Chaplina were in full measure. It was important for them, while achieving simplicity, not to stray into primitiveness. Particular precision of the word was required, the rhythm of each phrase was verified in order to give the kids a figurative and at the same time correct idea of ​​“How a squirrel spends the winter” or how a cockchafer lives.
In collaboration, Skrebitsky and Chaplina created scripts for the cartoons “Forest Travelers” (1951) and “In the Forest” (1954). After a joint trip to Western Belarus, they published a book of essays “In Belovezhskaya Pushcha” (1949).
In the 1950s, Skrebitsky continued to work on his new collections of stories: “In the Forest and on the River” (1952), “Our Nature Reserves” (1957). The result of the writer’s work were two autobiographical stories “From the first thawed patches to the first thunderstorm” (1964) and “The chicks grow wings” (1966); the text of the last story remained unfinished - after the death of Georgy Skrebitsky, Vera Chaplina prepared it for publication.
Works
"Simps and Cunning People" (1944)
"Tales of a Hunter" (1948)
“Hunting trails” (Voenizdat, M., 1949)
“In the forest and on the river” (1952)
"Our Reserves" (1957)
“Leaf Faller” (Detgiz, 1960)
“From the first thawed patches to the first thunderstorm” (1964)
“Chicks Grow Wings” (1966)

Animal stories for junior schoolchildren. Stories about animals by Georgy Skrebitsky. Stories for extracurricular reading V primary school. Stories about a cunning squirrel, an easy-going hedgehog and caring mother little fox.

G. Skrebitsky. Thief

One day we were given a young squirrel. She very soon became completely tame, ran around all the rooms, climbed on cabinets, shelves, and so deftly - she would never drop or break anything.

In my father’s office, huge deer antlers were nailed above the sofa. The squirrel often climbed on them: it used to climb onto the horn and sit on it, like on a tree branch.

She knew us guys well. As soon as you enter the room, a squirrel jumps from somewhere from the closet right onto your shoulder. This means she asks for sugar or candy. She loved sweets very much.

There were sweets and sugar in our dining room, in the buffet. They were never locked up because we children didn’t take anything without asking.

But then one day my mother calls us all into the dining room and shows us an empty vase:

- Who took the candy from here?

We look at each other and are silent - we don’t know which of us did this. Mom shook her head and said nothing. And the next day the sugar disappeared from the cupboard and again no one admitted that they had taken it. At this point my father got angry and said that now he would lock everything up and wouldn’t give us any sweets all week.

And the squirrel, along with us, was left without sweets. He used to jump up on his shoulder, rub his muzzle against his cheek, pull his ear with his teeth, and ask for sugar. Where can I get it?

One afternoon I sat quietly on the sofa in the dining room and read. Suddenly I see: a squirrel jumped onto the table, grabbed a crust of bread in its teeth - and onto the floor, and from there onto the cabinet. A minute later, I look, she climbed onto the table again, grabbed the second crust - and again onto the cabinet.

“Wait,” I think, “where does she take all the bread?” I pulled up a chair and looked at the closet. I see my mother’s old hat lying there. I lifted it up - here you go! There’s just something under there: sugar, candy, bread, and various bones...

I go straight to my father and show him: “That’s who our thief is!”

And the father laughed and said:

- How come I didn’t think of it before! After all, it is our squirrel who makes supplies for the winter. Now it’s autumn, all the squirrels in the wild are stocking up on food, and ours is not lagging behind, it’s also stocking up.

After this incident, they stopped keeping sweets away from us, they just attached a hook to the sideboard so that the squirrel couldn’t get into it. But the squirrel did not calm down and continued to prepare supplies for the winter. If he finds a crust of bread, a nut or a seed, he will immediately grab it, run away and hide it somewhere.

We once went into the forest to pick mushrooms. We arrived late in the evening, tired, ate, and quickly went to bed. They left a bag of mushrooms on the window: it’s cool there, they won’t spoil until the morning.

We get up in the morning and the whole basket is empty. Where did the mushrooms go? Suddenly my father shouts from the office and calls us. We ran to him and saw that all the deer antlers above the sofa were covered with mushrooms. There are mushrooms everywhere on the towel hook, behind the mirror, and behind the painting. The squirrel did this early in the morning: he hung mushrooms for himself to dry for the winter.

In the forest, squirrels always dry mushrooms on branches in the fall. So ours hurried. Apparently she sensed winter.

Soon the cold really set in. The squirrel kept trying to get into some corner where it would be warmer, and one day she completely disappeared. They looked and looked for her, but she was nowhere to be found. She probably ran into the garden, and from there into the forest.

We felt sorry for the squirrels, but there was nothing we could do.

We got ready to light the stove, closed the vent, piled on some wood, and set it on fire. Suddenly something moves in the stove and rustles! We quickly opened the vent, and from there the squirrel jumped out like a bullet - straight onto the closet.

And the smoke from the stove just pours into the room, it doesn’t go down the chimney. What's happened? The brother made a hook out of thick wire and stuck it through the vent into the pipe to see if there was anything there.

We look - he is dragging a tie from the pipe, his mother’s glove, he even found his grandmother’s holiday scarf there.

Our squirrel dragged all this into the chimney for its nest. That's what it is! Even though he lives in the house, he doesn’t abandon his forest habits. Such is, apparently, their squirrel nature.

G. Skrebitsky. Caring mom

One day the shepherds caught a fox cub and brought it to us. We put the animal in an empty barn.

The little fox was still small, all gray, his muzzle was dark, and his tail was white at the end. The animal hid in the far corner of the barn and looked around in fear. Out of fear, he didn’t even bite when we stroked him, but only pressed his ears back and trembled all over.

Mom poured milk into a bowl for him and placed it right next to him. But the frightened animal did not drink milk.

Then dad said that the little fox should be left alone - let him look around and get used to the new place.

I really didn’t want to leave, but dad locked the door and we went home. It was already evening, and soon everyone went to bed.

At night I woke up. I hear a puppy yapping and whining somewhere very close by. Where do I think he came from? Looked out the window. It was already light outside. From the window you could see the barn where the little fox was. It turns out that he was whining like a puppy.

The forest began right behind the barn.

Suddenly I saw a fox jump out of the bushes, stop, listen and stealthily run up to the barn. Immediately the yapping stopped, and a joyful squeal was heard instead.

I slowly woke up mom and dad, and we all started looking out the window together.

The fox ran around the barn and tried to dig up the ground underneath it. But there was a strong stone foundation there, and the fox could not do anything. Soon she ran away into the bushes, and the little fox again began to whine loudly and pitifully.

I wanted to watch the fox all night, but dad said that she wouldn’t come again and told me to go to bed.

I woke up late and, having dressed, first of all hurried to visit the little fox. What is it?.. On the threshold right next to the door lay a dead bunny. I quickly ran to my dad and brought him with me.

- That's the thing! - Dad said when he saw the bunny. - This means that the mother fox once again came to the little fox and brought him food. She couldn't get inside, so she left it outside. What a caring mother!

All day I hung around the barn, looked into the cracks and went with my mother twice to feed the little fox. And in the evening I couldn’t fall asleep, I kept jumping out of bed and looking out the window to see if the fox had come.

Finally, mom got angry and covered the window with a dark curtain.

But in the morning I got up before the light and immediately ran to the barn. This time, it was no longer a bunny lying on the doorstep, but a strangled neighbor’s chicken. Apparently, the fox came again at night to visit the fox cub. She failed to catch prey for him in the forest, so she climbed into her neighbors’ chicken coop, strangled the chicken and brought it to her cub.

Dad had to pay for the chicken, and besides, he got a lot from the neighbors.

“Take the little fox wherever you want,” they shouted, “or else the fox will take all the birds with us!”

There was nothing to do, dad had to put the little fox in a bag and take it back to the forest, to the fox holes.

Since then, the fox never came to the village again.

G. Skrebitsky. Fluff

There was a hedgehog living in our house; he was tame. When they stroked him, he pressed the thorns to his back and became completely soft. For this we nicknamed him Fluff.

If Fluffy was hungry, he would chase me like a dog. At the same time, the hedgehog puffed, snorted and bit my legs, demanding food.

In the summer I took Pushka for a walk in the garden. He ran along the paths, caught frogs, beetles, snails and ate them with appetite.

When winter came, I stopped taking Fluffy for walks and kept him at home. We now fed Cannon with milk, soup, and soaked bread. Sometimes a hedgehog would eat enough, climb behind the stove, curl up in a ball and sleep. And in the evening he will get out and start running around the rooms. He runs around all night, stomps his paws, and disturbs everyone's sleep. So he lived in our house for more than half the winter and never went outside.

But one day I was getting ready to sled down the mountain, but there were no comrades in the yard. I decided to take Cannon with me. He took out a box, laid it with hay and put the hedgehog in it, and to make it warmer, he also covered it with hay on top. He put the box in the sled and ran to the pond where we always slid down the mountain.

I ran at full speed, imagining myself as a horse, and was carrying Pushka in a sled.

It was very good: the sun was shining, the frost stung my ears and nose. But the wind had completely died down, so that the smoke from the village chimneys did not billow, but rose into the sky in straight columns.

I looked at these pillars, and it seemed to me that this was not smoke at all, but thick blue ropes were coming down from the sky and small toy houses were tied to them by pipes below.

I rode my fill from the mountain and took the sled with the hedgehog home.

As I was driving, suddenly I met some guys: they were running to the village to look at the dead wolf. The hunters had just brought him there.

I quickly put the sled in the barn and also rushed to the village after the guys. We stayed there until the evening. They watched how the skin was removed from the wolf and how it was straightened out on a wooden spear.

I only remembered about Pushka the next day. I was very scared that he had run away somewhere. He immediately rushed into the barn, to the sled. I look - my Fluff lies curled up in a box and does not move. No matter how much I shook or shook him, he didn’t even move. During the night, apparently, he completely froze and died.

I ran to the guys and told them about my misfortune. We all grieved together, but there was nothing to do, and decided to bury Pushka in the garden, burying him in the snow in the very box in which he died.

For a whole week we all grieved for poor Fluffy. And then they gave me a live owl - he was caught in our barn. He was wild. We began to tame him and forgot about Cannon.

But spring has come, and how warm it is! One morning I went to the garden: it’s especially nice there in the spring - the finches are singing, the sun is shining, there are huge puddles all around, like lakes. I make my way carefully along the path so as not to scoop mud into my galoshes. Suddenly, ahead, in a pile of last year’s leaves, something moved. I stopped. Who is this animal? Which? A familiar face appeared from under the dark leaves, and black eyes looked straight at me.

Without remembering myself, I rushed to the animal. A second later I was already holding Fluffy in my hands, and he sniffed my fingers, snorted and poked my palm with his cold nose, demanding food.

Right there on the ground lay a thawed box of hay, in which Fluff had happily slept all winter. I picked up the box, put the hedgehog in it and brought it home in triumph.

This publication includes stories about animals written for children by the famous naturalist writer G. A. Skrebitsky (1903–1964).

For younger ages.

G. Skrebitsky
Hunter's Tales

Filyusha

The village children ran into my room, out of breath.

Uncle, who we found! Oh, who did we find! They're just rolling their eyes!.. - they all began to shout at once, interrupting each other.

From the confused stories of the guys, I only understood that they had found a den in the forest with some gray shaggy animals, probably with wolf cubs. I took the gun and went into the forest with the kids.

They led me to the very wilderness, to an old, swampy burnt area.

All around were dark, half-rotten tree trunks piled on top of each other. We had to either crawl under them or climb over solid barriers. The twisted roots stuck out like the tentacles of a giant octopus. In the pits below them there was swamp water thick as tar.

Between the rotting trees, young green birch trees and various marsh grasses grew densely.

Where are we going? - I asked my guides.

And that mane over there. There, at the very edge... - they spoke, pointing to a small hill covered with pine trees.

What about the uterus itself with them? - they said. - If she asks us, you won’t bother anymore.

I had little idea what kind of animals the children had found, and therefore, I confess, I also approached the mysterious lair not without timidity. Maybe there are not wolves there, but lynx! The conversation with her will be worse. The she-wolf is cowardly; in case of danger, she will run away from the children, but the lynx, perhaps, can rush.

The kids let me go ahead and huddled together behind me.

There, there, you see, the pine tree has been knocked down, it looks like a hole under the roots. They’re sitting there... all gray, shaggy, their eyes are burning... It’s scary!..

I cocked the gun and began to carefully approach the lair. Having approached about ten steps, I whistled and prepared to shoot. But no one appeared from under the pine tree. I came closer and whistled again. No one again.

Is there anyone there? Maybe everyone ran away a long time ago?

I got close to the pine tree and looked under the roots.

I see two gray ones furry creatures huddle together. I took a closer look and almost screamed in surprise: in a hole under the roots sat two gray furry owls. “What birds! I almost mistook them for animals. They’re so funny, big-eyed! I’ll take one home, I think, and take it to the city, to the school’s living area. The kids will be so happy!”

I wrapped a handkerchief around my hand so that the eagle owl would not hurt me, and with some difficulty I pulled out from under the roots a large, desperately resisting chick.

The guys surrounded me.

What a monster! And those eyes, those eyes! And it doesn’t look like a bird at all!

The little owl was already almost the size of an adult eagle owl, with a huge head and yellow cat-like eyes; covered in brownish-gray fluff, with feathers already showing through in some places.

He looked around in fear, opened his mouth and hissed angrily.

We brought him home and put him in a spacious closet.

The caught eagle owl very soon got used to me. When I entered the closet, he no longer huddled in a corner, but, on the contrary, clumsily ran towards me, opened his mouth and demanded food.

I fed him finely chopped raw meat, which he swallowed with great greed. I named him Filyusha.

Filyusha felt great; it grew quickly and became covered with feathers. Often, sitting on the floor, he began to flap his wings and jump, trying to fly away.

Once, when I entered the closet, I did not find the eagle owl in its usual place - in the corner behind the box. I searched the entire closet - Filyusha was nowhere to be found. So he escaped somehow.

I was very annoyed and sorry for the little owl. “After all, he doesn’t know how to fly yet, he won’t be able to feed himself, he’ll hide somewhere under a barn or under a house and die,” I thought.

Suddenly someone was fussing over me. I look, and it’s Filyusha: he’s sitting on a shelf near the ceiling and looking at me.

I was delighted and told him:

This is where you got yourself, robber! This means that the wings have become stronger; Soon you will begin to fly completely.

After this, I once passed by the closet. Suddenly I hear - there is noise, some kind of fuss. I opened the door and saw Filyusha sitting in the middle of the floor; all fluffed up, hissing at me, clicking its beak.

I can’t understand what happened to him. I took a closer look: I saw that a huge rat was sticking out from under the eagle owl’s paw.

“This is so interesting!” I thought. “I took the little owl from the nest when he was very young, no one taught him, but the time has come for him to start hunting himself.”

Filyusha ate the rat all the way down to the last bone and ate the skin too, then he flew up to his shelf, sat down there and dozed off. And the next morning I look - on the floor under the shelf there is a hard gray lump: it was Filyusha who spat out the remains.

Birds of prey always do this: they swallow their prey in whole pieces, along with bones, fur, and feathers. The meat will be digested in their stomach, and everything inedible will stick together into a hard lump. They will spit it out. Such lumps are called pellets.

Since Filyusha caught a rat, I stopped feeding him chopped meat, and began shooting him sparrows, jackdaws, and crows. I'll bring the dead bird and throw it on the floor. Filyusha will immediately become all fluffed up, aim at the prey as if it were alive, then rush from the shelf, grab it with its claws and begin to tear it with its hooked beak. Eat enough and go back to the shelf.

One day the yard dogs strangled a hedgehog. I have long heard that eagle owls love hedgehog meat. I took the hedgehog, I carried it to Filyusha and I thought: “How will he tear the meat from the skin of the hedgehog with needles? After all, he will probably be punctured, and even if he accidentally swallowed the needle.”

Filyusha just saw the hedgehog, rushed at it, grabbed the prey with his claws and began tearing off large pieces of meat. It tears and swallows, right along with the skin and thorns.

I froze - the needles are sharp, how can he not puncture his entire mouth and stomach with them? And Filyusha, at least! I ate the whole hedgehog.

I was restless all day - I was afraid that the owl might get sick from such a “prickly dinner”. I went to check on him several times, but Filyusha was quietly dozing on his shelf.

The next morning I found two pellets with hedgehog needles on the floor.

About a month has passed since I brought the owl from the forest. Now he was already very good at flying around the closet.

One day I was sitting in the yard near the house. Suddenly I see Filyusha flying out of the open entryway. That's right, the closet door was accidentally left open.

Before I had time to gasp, the owl was already sitting on the roof. Bright sunlight blinded him, he turned his huge head in surprise and did not dare to fly further.

I rushed to the attic stairs, but at that time Filyusha flapped his huge soft wings and quietly flew across the yard to the birch grove.

I ran after him, not knowing what to do. “My gift to the guys flew away!”

Suddenly a whole flock of rooks fell from the birches. With a loud croak they attacked Filyusha. Wings and feathers flashed in the air. Everything got mixed up and flew down.

G. Skrebitsky

Hunter's Tales

The village children ran into my room, out of breath.

Uncle, who we found! Oh, who did we find! They're just rolling their eyes!.. - they all began to shout at once, interrupting each other.

From the confused stories of the guys, I only understood that they had found a den in the forest with some gray shaggy animals, probably with wolf cubs. I took the gun and went into the forest with the kids.

They led me to the very wilderness, to an old, swampy burnt area.

All around were dark, half-rotten tree trunks piled on top of each other. We had to either crawl under them or climb over solid barriers. The twisted roots stuck out like the tentacles of a giant octopus. In the pits below them there was swamp water thick as tar.

Between the rotting trees, young green birch trees and various marsh grasses grew densely.

Even in the heat it was cool here and there was a sharp smell of fragrant swamp dampness.

Where are we going? - I asked my guides.

And that mane over there. There, at the very edge... - they spoke, pointing to a small hill covered with pine trees.

What about the uterus itself with them? - they said. - If she asks us, you won’t bother anymore.

I had little idea what kind of animals the children had found, and therefore, I confess, I also approached the mysterious lair not without timidity. Maybe there are not wolves there, but lynx! The conversation with her will be worse. The she-wolf is cowardly; in case of danger, she will run away from the children, but the lynx, perhaps, can rush.

The kids let me go ahead and huddled together behind me.

There, there, you see, the pine tree has been knocked down, it looks like a hole under the roots. They’re sitting there... all gray, shaggy, their eyes are burning... It’s scary!..

I cocked the gun and began to carefully approach the lair. Having approached about ten steps, I whistled and prepared to shoot. But no one appeared from under the pine tree. I came closer and whistled again. No one again.

Is there anyone there? Maybe everyone ran away a long time ago?

I got close to the pine tree and looked under the roots.

I see two gray fluffy creatures huddling together. I took a closer look and almost screamed in surprise: in a hole under the roots sat two gray furry owls. “What birds! But I almost mistook them for animals. Yes, what funny, big-eyed ones! I’ll take one home, I think, and take it to the city, to the school’s living corner. The guys will be happy!”

I wrapped a handkerchief around my hand so that the eagle owl would not hurt me, and with some difficulty I pulled out from under the roots a large, desperately resisting chick.

The guys surrounded me.

What a monster! And those eyes, those eyes! And it doesn’t look like a bird at all!

The little owl was already almost the size of an adult eagle owl, with a huge head and yellow cat-like eyes; covered in brownish-gray fluff, with feathers already showing through in some places.

He looked around in fear, opened his mouth and hissed angrily.

We brought him home and put him in a spacious closet.

The caught eagle owl very soon got used to me. When I entered the closet, he no longer huddled in a corner, but, on the contrary, clumsily ran towards me, opened his mouth and demanded food.

I fed him finely chopped raw meat, which he swallowed with great greed. I named him Filyusha.

Filyusha felt great; it grew quickly and became covered with feathers. Often, sitting on the floor, he began to flap his wings and jump, trying to fly away.

Once, when I entered the closet, I did not find the eagle owl in its usual place - in the corner behind the box. I searched the entire closet - Filyusha was nowhere to be found. So he escaped somehow.

I was very annoyed and sorry for the little owl. “After all, he doesn’t know how to fly yet, he won’t be able to feed himself, he’ll hide somewhere under a barn or under a house and die,” I thought.

Suddenly someone was fussing over me. I look, and it’s Filyusha: he’s sitting on a shelf near the ceiling and looking at me.

I was delighted and told him:

This is where you got yourself, robber! This means that the wings have become stronger; Soon you will begin to fly completely.

After this, I once passed by the closet. Suddenly I hear - there is noise, some kind of fuss. I opened the door and saw Filyusha sitting in the middle of the floor; all fluffed up, hissing at me, clicking its beak.

I can’t understand what happened to him. I took a closer look: I saw that a huge rat was sticking out from under the eagle owl’s paw.

Hey, brother, are you already starting to hunt for rats here?

“That’s how interesting! - I thought. “I took the little owl from the nest very young, no one taught him, but the time came, he began to hunt himself.”

Filyusha ate the rat all the way down to the last bone and ate the skin too, then he flew up to his shelf, sat down there and dozed off. And the next morning I look - on the floor under the shelf there is a hard gray lump: it was Filyusha who spat out the remains.

Birds of prey always do this: they swallow their prey in whole pieces, along with bones, fur, and feathers. The meat will be digested in their stomach, and everything inedible will stick together into a hard lump. They will spit it out. Such lumps are called pellets.

Since Filyusha caught a rat, I stopped feeding him chopped meat, and began shooting him sparrows, jackdaws, and crows. I'll bring the dead bird and throw it on the floor. Filyusha will immediately become all fluffed up, aim at the prey as if it were alive, then rush from the shelf, grab it with its claws and begin to tear it with its hooked beak. Eat enough and go back to the shelf.

One day the yard dogs strangled a hedgehog. I have long heard that eagle owls love hedgehog meat. I took the hedgehog, carried it to Filyusha and thought: “How will he tear the meat from the skin with needles from the hedgehog? After all, he’ll probably get pricked, and even if he accidentally swallowed the needle.”

Filyusha just saw the hedgehog, rushed at it, grabbed the prey with his claws and began tearing off large pieces of meat. It tears and swallows, right along with the skin and thorns.

I froze - the needles are sharp, how can he not puncture his entire mouth and stomach with them? And Filyusha, at least! I ate the whole hedgehog.

I was restless all day - I was afraid that the owl might get sick from such a “prickly dinner”. I went to check on him several times, but Filyusha was quietly dozing on his shelf.

The next morning I found two pellets with hedgehog needles on the floor.

About a month has passed since I brought the owl from the forest. Now he was already very good at flying around the closet.

One day I was sitting in the yard near the house. Suddenly I see Filyusha flying out of the open entryway. That's right, the closet door was accidentally left open.

Before I had time to gasp, the owl was already sitting on the roof. The bright sunlight blinded him, he turned his huge head in surprise and did not dare to fly further.

I rushed to the attic stairs, but at that time Filyusha flapped his huge soft wings and quietly flew across the yard to the birch grove.

I ran after him, not knowing what to do. “My gift to the guys flew away!”

Suddenly a whole flock of rooks fell from the birches. With a loud croak they attacked Filyusha. Wings and feathers flashed in the air. Everything got mixed up and flew down.

Distraught with fear, Filyusha fell to the ground and, spreading his wings wide, fought off the rooks.

I ran up, chased away the pugnacious birds and brought the owl back to the closet.

Since then, he no longer tried to escape from the closet during the day.

But at dusk I began to release it myself.

He usually flew nearby: over the house, over the yard. Then he will sit on the barn and start hooting as if in the forest.

Filyusha knew his nickname well.

As soon as I called him, he instantly flew off the roof and sat on my hand or shoulder.

His claws were large and sharp, and for walks with Filyusha I began to wear an old cotton jacket so that he would not scratch me.

One evening, as usual, I let Filyusha out for a walk. Having swooped down, he sat down on the roof. I called him to carry him home, but this time he didn’t even think about flying to me.

It was as if something had happened to him. No matter how much I called him, Filyusha never came down. He sits on his roof as if he doesn’t hear.

Less than two or three minutes later, a terrible commotion arose in the rook grove.

“Have the rooks really noticed Filyusha even in the dark and are tearing him apart again?” I ran into the grove. The rooks are screaming, but I can’t see anything. So he returned with nothing.

I approach the porch, and what would you think? Filyusha is already home. He sits on the porch, on the railing, and holds a dead rook in his paws.

This means why the rooks in the grove were so alarmed! They slept in the trees in the dark and did not notice how Filyusha attacked them. And the eagle owl sees everything perfectly at night. He grabbed one rook, lifted it up and brought it to him for dinner.