Winter has gone, like a fairy tale.
And in this tale would like to hunt. Weather will give less forgiving, even though the temperature was -15 degrees. Dogs on a leash, backpack, skis and let’s go to the forest. Fortunately he is at hand. Dogs pounce, they serdeshny to celebrate rush forward. There will be a half kilometer and begin to look into the eyes:
Maybe there is a hidden meaning? But is not it. And there is one passion. They molodchaga begin to stomp and stomp or rather swim.
Find a rabbit and it seemed to settle down to work. Ghosn will not name. So, driven on, hold about a hundred meters, and then catch up with silence. Beast udalel. You stand in this tale and dogs can hear, even occasionally perevidet they can. So they went behind. And you’re eyes are scanned and neither of which have not seen the suspect. Come back look, and the beast was, the trail is. A was not. Sneaks, it was not, and now there is. And ahead with Bush falls Kuchta. And after five or seven minutes walk dogs under that bush. And there he went. and not seen again. A snow Prorva constantly purged with a gun barrel.
And what a beauty when a ski grohneshsya. Gun at you, somewhere. On their feet do not get up. Well, if skiing is not far left. Adjust and sort saved. As the water on the footbridge choose.
This I mean that I have stopped taking the gun. Hands took sticks, ski and walking became easier. A small animal is not:
Thonet has thrown. Sobakin, somewhere in the pope, and in the deep. But do not give up!
And then in February and ripe. And the sun is bright it is. It’s a bright sun, wedding Hare time has come:
Zaychiha started to walk in the house. Yes, luck, the queen of the house. So are the kids. But while the male came to her. Well, a real dog, not the hare. With insolent eyes, brown. A bastard came eight kilometers. So Frau our walk with him at night, hide in the day. So that the dogs will not find. Once the dogs are looking for, then our dog looking for her too. Here are his dog, find, and it is their home will lead to a zigzag. And all the familiar places. That is not the frozen creek, izvernёshsya pereydёsh:
That chypygu. And you know where he was going. Circumcised and wait. And no guns.
He crawls through the bushes in the snow. It clings to the branches sticking out of the snow, his concern. Will, or rather crawl and looks:
Snow depth fresh. And he gravely, after a sleepless night.
A dog and crawl up to the house and then pёhat pёhat. And still on the edge of the wind field:
But come spring calendar, but her real spring comes. And it will be next season. And let’s not guessing what it will be for bunnies!
Jaroslav Skvortsov28 December 2011 at 17:12