Zakhoder “Once upon a time there was Fip. The Wise Owl: A Tale

Dear friend, we want to believe that reading the fairy tale “The Wise Owl (Tuvan Fairy Tale)” will be interesting and exciting for you. Rivers, trees, animals, birds - everything comes to life, is filled with living colors, helps the heroes of the work in gratitude for their kindness and affection. Charm, admiration and indescribable inner joy produce the pictures drawn by our imagination when reading such works. A person’s worldview is formed gradually, and this kind of work is extremely important and edifying for our young readers. Simple and accessible, about nothing and everything, instructive and edifying - everything is included in the basis and plot of this creation. Probably due to the inviolability of human qualities over time, all moral teachings, morals and issues remain relevant at all times and eras. It is amazing that with empathy, compassion, strong friendship and unshakable will, the hero always manages to resolve all troubles and misfortunes. The fairy tale “The Wise Owl (Tuvan Tale)” is definitely worth reading for free online, it contains a lot of kindness, love and chastity, which is useful for raising a young individual.

Once upon a time there was a Khan of Birds, and he had an angry, domineering wife. She does whatever she wants, but the khan cannot say a word. Once upon a time the evil Khansha decided to try bird meat. The khan ordered to carry out his wife’s will. The Khansha has tasted all kinds of bird meat, but everything is not enough for her.
“Now I want to try eagle owl meat,” she told her husband.
The khan sent a fast hawk for the owl. The hawk found the eagle owl and conveyed the khan's order:
- The khan is calling you to his place. The Khansha decided to taste your meat.
The owl thought and said:
“I can’t fly during the day, my eyes can’t see anything.” You go, and at night I will appear to the khan.
The hawk flew away and conveyed the owl's words to the khan. The night passed, the day passed, and still no sign of the owl. Khansha gets angry and reproaches Khan:
- What kind of bird khan are you, since the owl doesn’t come to you! Will I try his meat soon?
“Soon, soon,” the khan answers her. “When night comes, he will fly.”
The day passed and the night passed, but the owl was still gone.
Trouble in the Khan's camp. The servant birds squeak, they are afraid to catch the Khansha’s eye, there’s no chance the evil Khansha will peck.
Finally, at the end of the third night, an owl appeared to the khan. The angry khan asks him:
- Why did you, pop-eyed, hesitate when I called you?
— On the first night I attended a big gathering. That’s why I was delayed, my khan,” the owl answers calmly.
“What was there?” the khan asked.
— We argued about which trees there are more after a storm: felled or standing.
- And what kind of trees are there more? - the khan continues to be curious.
- There are more dumped, my khan.
- Why more?
“Because the wind bent many trees, and they are also considered felled, my khan.”
- Well, okay, where were you on the second night? - asks Owl Khan.
“I was late at the big gathering, my khan.”
-What were they arguing about? - the khan became interested again.
— We argued about what happens more in a year: tskei or nights. We decided that there are more nights in a year than days.
- And why?
- Because on a cloudy day the sun is not visible, and it is also considered night, my khan.
- Okay, where were you last night?
- Already close to your aal, I lingered at another big gathering, my khan.
-What were they arguing about? - the khan asked curiously.
— They argued about who is more on earth: men or women. They decided that there were more women than men.
“Why are there more women?” the khan was surprised.
- Because men who fulfill stupid whims cannot consider themselves men, my khan.
— Does this also apply to khans?
“Yes, my khan,” the owl humbly answered and closed his eyes, round as bowls, as a sign of submission.
The khan began to sniffle and began to think:
“It was in vain that I obeyed my wife and destroyed many birds.”
And the khan forbade his khansha from killing birds from then on. And the birds rejoiced and thanked the wise owl.

Once upon a time there lived Fip.

To tell the truth, he lived so short that even he himself did not know who he was.

And he was a hatchery chicken three days from birth - a small, yellow, fluffy lump on thin legs and with a thin voice: “Fip! Fip!

Together with thousands - if you are interested in numbers, I can say for sure: together with 39,312 (do you know how to pronounce this? With thirty-nine thousand three hundred and twelve) - brothers and sisters, he was born in a huge building on which there was a sign: “Poultry farm No. 2."

He came into the world - so, perhaps, you can say, although it was not so bright there. True, it was warm there; but there was no sun, no sky, no earth, no grass, no wind - in a word, no nature, no weather!

But Fip wasn’t the least bit upset about it! After all, he had no idea that there were such things in the world as nature, weather, sky, sun, earth, and so on. To be honest, he knew little, and knew even less.

And yet, he cheerfully pecked at a tasty porridge made from ground grains, seeds, worms and the like (this is called a feed mixture) and cheerfully squeaked in his thin voice: “Fip!”

He really knew how to do that.

And so it went on—don’t you forget—for exactly three days.

And on the fourth day, in the morning, they put him in a cardboard box, where 35 (thirty-five) of his brothers and sisters were already sitting - just like Fip, yellow and fluffy, and just as scared. All of them, including Phip, squeaked with all their might.

But, as you know, squeaking usually doesn’t help much.

It didn't help our chickens either. Their box was loaded into the back of a small pickup truck, where it was completely dark and did not smell very pleasant, and where there were already many of the same cardboard boxes - all of them also squeaking desperately. But then something snorted loudly, rattled, growled: the chickens felt that everything was going somewhere, going, going, going... and they squeaked even louder, but since they themselves did not hear their own squeak, they soon had to stop.

The truck soon stopped, and the driver began to pass the silent boxes into the hands of some aunt.

Aunt, by the way, was very pretty (that is, it was pleasant to look at her).

And the driver was so focused on her that he didn’t even notice how a yellow fluffy lump flew out of one of the boxes onto the grass.

It was Fip.

Not from fear (he did not have time to get scared), but, probably, simply from surprise (after all, he had never flown before), Fip lost consciousness: he closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep.

But when he came to his senses and opened his eyes, he was truly frightened: someone’s huge scary face with big teeth was hanging right above him. Poor Fip didn't know what to do. He started to jump to his feet, but they immediately gave way; he closed his eyes again, but it was even more scary...

All this happened to him only because he knew so little; If he had known a little more, he would have understood that this scary, as it seemed to him, muzzle belonged to a cheerful, good-natured and curious Foal.

- E-go-go! What's your name? - asked the Foal, and asked so affably that even Fip somehow immediately began to understand that there seemed to be nothing to be afraid of.

“Fip,” answered Fip.

- Yeah-ha! Fip, got it! - said the Foal (this is where Fip got his name). -Where did you come from, Fip?

- Don't know! - Fip answered honestly.

- Igi-gi, I'm lost! - said the quick-witted Foal. - What will you do?

“I don’t know...” Fip admitted again.

- Yeah-ha! I know! You will look for your own!

- Which ones? - Fip, who did not understand anything, asked weakly.

The foal neighed thinly.

- What an eccentric! He doesn’t know his own people! Who are you? Bird! That means yours are birds too. Mine are horses, and yours are birds!

- Who are these birds? - Fip became interested. For some reason he liked this word.

- Igo-go! Birds are, brother... Well, birds, understand?

“I don’t understand,” admitted Fip.

- Well, those, with these... with wings... Well, those that run through the air very quickly! They also say... Aha, I remembered! Which fly! — the Foal repeated with pleasure. He was pleased that he remembered such a difficult word.

The interesting and meaningful conversation continued, perhaps, for a long time, but at this time one of the Foal neighed invitingly (several horses were grazing nearby), and the Foal shouted:

- I'm running, mom! - he rushed away, only managing to warn Fip in parting: - Look for your people, otherwise you will be completely lost!

Fip stood up and looked around. What a huge, bright, noisy world surrounded him! A green, green meadow, a blue, blue sky, and there, in the sky, something dazzlingly golden - Fip looked and quickly closed his eyes again... And how warm it is, what wonderful smells, what a gentle breeze! The green grass sways slightly in the breeze - so tall that not only Fipu can hide his head in it - and the flowers shake their pretty heads importantly. There are so many of them, they are so different! Yellow, red, white, purple... And everywhere you look there are birds. They either fly from flower to flower, from blade of grass to blade of grass, then they hover in the air for a long time in one place, then they swiftly, with a buzz, rush right over Fip’s head.

“Well, I won’t be lost here,” Fip thought joyfully. - How many of our own!”

But the strange thing is that no matter which of them Fip rushed towards, all the birds shied away from him and quickly ran away. Not only did none of the winged creatures want to enter into a conversation with Phip, but no one answered him even to the most polite questions.

Luckily for Fipovo, not far from it a very, very blue flower smoothly descended big bird, perhaps, larger than Fip himself. She had fluffy mustaches, six thin legs, wide multi-colored wings, and with each of her movements these wings shone with all the colors of the rainbow. Taught by bitter experience, Fip approached her, slowly, carefully, and first of all politely greeted her.

- Hello, aunt! - Fip squeaked. -Can I ask you one thing?

The butterfly (you, of course, guessed that it was she) was so big that it did not frighten Fipa.

“Ask, polite child,” she said.

- Aunt, are you a bird? - asked Fip and immediately realized that he had said something inappropriate.

The butterfly flapped its wings as if about to fly.

- Don't fly away, aunt! Please! Please! - Fip squeaked desperately.

The butterfly remained in place and only began to vigorously fan itself with its wings.

“How could you... how could you even think such a terrible thing about me!” - she said finally. - I'm a bird? Brrrr!

- But you’re flying! - Fip squeaked, completely confused. - And whoever flies is a bird...

Here the Butterfly laughed thinly:

“I see you’re just stupid and didn’t want to offend me,” she said and flew away.

The day went by, and Fipu still couldn’t find any real bird. The poor fellow was completely upset, and what especially upset him was that everyone he addressed—all the winged ones, all the flying ones—were offended when he mistook them for birds. And one huge and tough-tough Zhuk even promised to beat him up for such questions.

- What does this mean? - Fip reasoned out loud, settling down for the night under a bush (to him this bush seemed big tree). - It turns out to be nonsense: they fly, not birds. Well, that's just nonsense!

- Nonsense, my friend, your reasoning! - suddenly I heard a voice from somewhere above. - However, this does not surprise me. Down there, everything is upside down.

Fip raised his head. High above him, on a branch, someone was hanging upside down.

From amazement, Fip could not utter a sound.

“Yes, sir,” continued the unknown interlocutor Fipa, “try to reason for real.”

Seeing that Fip did not understand anything, she explained:

— Insects fly, but they are not birds. I fly, but I'm not a bird. Conclusion: not everyone who flies is a bird.

Fip opened his beak in surprise and grief.

“Yes, sir,” the stranger said triumphantly. - And moreover: not all birds fly. Ostrich does not fly. Kiwi doesn't fly. Penguin doesn't fly. But here I am, flying.

And with these words Bat(who could it be, besides her?) spread her huge leathery wings and silently disappeared into the evening twilight. Soon she returned and something fell on Fipu's head. It seemed to him that these were the hard wing covers of the same Beetle that had recently threatened to beat him...

“Birds don’t fly, they fly, not birds,” Fip reasoned to himself. - Well, then how can I recognize birds? - he whined so pitifully that the Bat softened.

“Birds are very easy to recognize,” she said. - They are singing! Yes, sir!

“The birds are singing, the birds are singing,” Fip repeated, so as not to forget. With these words he fell asleep.

It was a wonderful morning. Only Fipu immediately wanted to drink and eat. He pecked a few drops of dew from the leaves and grass and began to peck at the grains, although they were green and not as tasty as those that were given to Fipu before, but he was happy about that and pecked them with great enthusiasm.

But suddenly he gave up his exciting activity and became wary. Yes, there was no doubt - someone sang loudly and loudly:

- In the river-cupcake! In the river-river-cupcake!

Although Phip did not know what a “cupcake” was, or even what a river was, he rushed towards the sound of this song. Quite naturally: firstly, he really liked the song, and secondly (and this is the main thing), it was a song, and, therefore, there was a bird somewhere nearby.

And indeed, on the shore of a large puddle (or small pond) sat someone unusually beautiful: green, shiny, with big sparkling eyes, and sang. He sang wonderfully:

- In the river-cupcake!

Fip listened so much that he forgot about everything in the world.

- You are a bird, of course? - he asked when the singer finally fell silent.

- Quack? - asked the singer. - Why do you say that?

- They told me that birds sing, and you sing so wonderfully!

- Kwak, kwak am I singing? - asked the green singer.

- Wonderful, wonderful! - Fip admired. “I have never heard such wonderful singing in my life!”

I think there is no need to explain what Fip said the honest truth: He really had never heard singing in his life.

“You seem to be a smart tadpole,” said the green singer. “I sing really wonderfully, wonderfully!” What you say is correct. But I'm not a bird. Here's another! I am a frog!

Poor Phip could not hide his disappointment.

“And I thought... and they told me that only birds sing...” he drawled in a plaintive voice.

- Hehehe! Who told you this?

“Bat,” said Fip.

- Bat? Hehehehe! - the Frog laughed. - Well, as you know, everything is upside down for her, she sleeps upside down! I came up with it too! Only the birds sing! We frogs sing better than any birds, I heard it myself! And why?

Here the Frog paused so long that Fipp, willy-nilly, had to ask:

- But why?

- Yes, because we were the first in the world to sing.

The frog paused again, and Fip again had to ask:

- Yes! After all, there was a time when no one could sing, because everyone lived in the water, and there you couldn’t really sing. But we frogs did it! And they started singing!

The frog fell silent again, apparently waiting for Fip to express his delight again. But Fip misunderstood her.

“What about me then...” he began, but she interrupted him:

- Yes, we were the first to sing, and then there were others... and these birds are praised, and now everyone who is not too lazy to sing...

Fip again tried to ask the Frog something, but she did not pay attention to him.

“Everyone sings,” she continued passionately, “who can and who can’t.” Birds at least have some kind of voice, but many - hehehehe - sing without a voice at all! The technology has come so far - you won’t believe it: they sing with their feet, they listen with their feet. Can you imagine?

“I can’t,” Fip admitted honestly.

- Yes, look, there, you see the little green one there, with his knees back.

Fip looked where the Frog was pointing and saw a large green Grasshopper. The grasshopper struck his wing vigorously with his leg, again, again, and a familiar song began to flow.

“You see, here he is,” said the Frog with satisfaction, ----- it’s a pity, he’s sitting a little far away, otherwise we would have had a better look at him.

And then Fip suddenly began to cry.

- Oh-oh-oh, what should I do? “Everyone flies, everyone sings,” he sobbed, “how can I recognize the birds?”

The frog noticed that the poor chicken was completely upset, and she felt sorry for him.

- How to recognize birds? “I’ll teach you, tadpole,” she said good-naturedly. “Whoever sings is good, whoever flies is also good, but that’s only half the battle.” And the main thing is that whoever builds the nest is the bird. Understood?

“I didn’t understand anything,” answered Fip. - What other nests? Where are they?

“I’ll teach you again, tadpole,” continued the Frog. — There are all kinds of nests. And they are everywhere: on the ground, on bushes, in trees... Look only for the best. Yes, there it is! There it is, the nest. Whoa, there, in the reeds, do you see?

- Thank you very much, aunt! - Fip shouted and ran to the reeds, to where a nest was swaying on a tall, slender reed, a very pretty nest, woven from dry blades of grass.

- Bird, bird, come out! - Fip shouted while still running. This time he was absolutely sure that he had found his people.

And in response to his call, someone’s charming face actually looked out of the nest, followed by a second, a third. It was simply amazing how they all fit there.

- Hee hee! - answered from the nest. - He thinks we are birds. Hee hee! Hee hee! What kind of birds are we? Can't you see, we are little mice!

“Little mice...” said Fip in confusion. “Why are you sitting in the nest?”

- What do you mean why? This is our nest!

“And they told me: birds make nests.”

“Birds carry eggs,” all three mice told him in rivalry.

- Are they carrying testicles? And where to? - Fip asked sadly. And then there was such a burst of laughter that he hung his head and walked away.

- Hey, baby, wait! - someone shouted after him.

Fip turned around reluctantly. A larger muzzle was peeking out of the nest. It was the mother of the mice, Little Mouse.

-Are you looking for birds? she asked. - So: the birds really live in a nest and really lay eggs, so white, round, and sometimes they are painted!

“Thank you,” said Fip. “White, roundish,” he repeated. And suddenly a familiar picture appeared before his eyes: white, round ones... From time to time they burst, and Fipa’s brother or sister came out into the wild.

- I remembered! - Fip squeaked, very excited. “That’s right, and I was in the testicle, which means I really am a bird!”

Out of joy, he began to peck at everything he could find, and without noticing, he climbed onto some kind of hummock covered with dry needles and thorny branches. On its top lay white roundish objects, very similar to those that Fip had just remembered, only small, and he began to peck at them too.

- Hey, you! What are you doing? - came a voice so thin that Fipov’s squeak could seem like a bass in comparison. - These are our testicles! We take them to dry, and you peck.

-Are you carrying testicles? - asked the stunned Fip, looking with his eyes to see who was saying this. - Where are you? So you are birds? Where are you?

- So are you birds? - Fip said doubtfully. “Birds lay eggs,” he mechanically repeated the memorized phrase.

“What are you talking about, uncle,” the Ant answered with sincere bewilderment. - What do the birds have to do with it? What kind of testicles do they have there? Well, he’ll lay one or two eggs or five, and that’s it. And for us, the ants, wow! For us, brother, the queen will lay so many eggs in a day - and there’s no counting! Million! Or even a thousand!

- What does this mean? - Fip was amazed, sitting down to rest under a tall, tall tree that reached the sky. - They fly - and not birds... They sing - and not birds... They build nests - and they are not birds... They carry eggs - and they are not birds ! - the poor chicken burst into tears. - Everyone is not a bird! Who are the birds then? - he said, not addressing anyone.

And in response, he suddenly heard someone’s deep, kind, very kind voice:

- You recognize a bird by its feather. - And from the top of the tree under which Fip was sitting, a bird’s feather smoothly, slowly flew down - beautiful, light, shiny. In smooth, wide circles it sank lower and lower, and when it completed the circle, a kind, deep voice sounded again - it was the Tree saying:

- There are birds that do not sing... There are birds that do not fly... And they do not build nests... There are birds without wings at all... But there is no bird without feathers!

The tree fell silent, and, as if putting an end to it, the feather landed directly on Fipu’s nose.

- But I don’t even have feathers?.. That means I’m not a bird myself! - Fip gasped.

But he didn’t even have time to get upset, because someone sank to the ground next to him, even a little shorter than Fip, but terribly lively, cheerful and impudent, and covered in feathers.

- It is known, not a bird! A chicken is not a bird! - Sparrow said cheerfully (it was he, and no one else).

- Am I a chicken? - asked poor Fip.

“You? You’re not even a chicken yet,” the mocker continued. - You’re a chicken, it’s good, even if it’s not fried!

- Oh oh oh! - Fip whined. - Well, where can I find my own?

And he hung his head with such a defeated look that even the robber Korshun, not only the honest Sparrow, would have pitied him.

- Don't whine! - he chirped cheerfully, - There they are, yours!

- Where? — the sufferer Fip raised his head in disbelief.

- Kwok-kwok! - came to his ears. - Kwok-kwok!

Fip had never heard anything better than this in his adventure-rich life. And he couldn’t see a better picture than this: not far away, a bird came out onto the meadow - a large, beautiful, colorful one, and behind it, squeaking merrily, kept pace with a whole dozen of the same yellow fluffy lumps as Fip himself.

Fip started to rush towards them, but suddenly stopped.

-What about feathers? - he asked timidly.

- And the feathers will grow! - Sparrow laughed. - Fly, fly to your people, don’t doubt it! - And Fip flew away. With all my might.

The evil predator eagle owl hunts at night and hides during the day. They say that he cannot see well during the day and that is why he hides. And in my opinion, even if he could see well, he still wouldn’t be able to show himself anywhere during the day - he had made many enemies for himself with his night robberies.

One day I was walking along the edge of a forest. My little hunting dog, a spaniel by breed, and nicknamed Swat, smelled something in a large pile of brushwood. Swat ran around the pile barking for a long time, not daring to crawl under it.

- Drop it! – I ordered. - This is a hedgehog.

This is how my dog ​​is trained: I say “hedgehog,” and Swat leaves.

But this time the Matchmaker did not listen and fiercely rushed onto the pile and managed to crawl under it.

“Probably a hedgehog,” I thought.

And suddenly, on the other side of the heap, under which Swat had crawled, an eagle owl, long-eared and of enormous size and with huge cat-like eyes, runs out from under it into the light.

An eagle owl in the light is huge event in the bird world. Sometimes in childhood I had to get into dark room- something might not show up in the dark corners, and most of all I was afraid of the devil. Of course, this is nonsense, and there is no devil for a person. But birds, in my opinion, have a devil - this is their night robber, the eagle owl. And when the eagle owl jumped out from under the heap, it was the same for the birds as if the devil had appeared in the light.

There was only one crow, flying by when the eagle owl, bent over, ran in horror from under the heap to the nearest tree. The crow saw the robber, sat on the top of this tree and shouted in a very special voice:

How amazing it is for crows! How many words does a person need, but they have only one “kra” and for all cases, and in each case this word of only three letters means different things thanks to different shades of sound. In this case, the crow’s “kra” meant as if we shouted in horror:

- F-r-r-r-r-rt!

The nearest crows heard the terrible word first, and when they heard it, they repeated it. And those more distant, having heard, also repeated it, and so in an instant: a countless flock, a whole cloud of crows shouting: “Damn!” flew in and clung to the tall tree from the top branch to the bottom.

Hearing the commotion in the crow world, black jackdaws with white eyes, brown jays with blue wings, and bright yellow, almost golden orioles also flew in from all sides. There wasn’t enough space for everyone on the tree, many neighboring trees were covered with birds, and more and more were arriving: titmice, chickadees, coal minnows, wagtails, warblers, robins and various wrens.

At this time, Swat, not realizing that the eagle owl had long since jumped out from under the heap and slipped under the tree, was still screaming and digging under the heap. The crows and all the other birds looked at the pile, they were all waiting for the Matchmaker to jump out and drive the owl out from under the tree. But Swat kept fiddling around, and the impatient crows shouted a word to him:

In this case it meant simple.

And finally, when Swat smelled a fresh trail and flew out from under the heap and, having quickly figured out the tracks, headed towards the tree, all the crows in one common voice again shouted in our language:

And in their way it meant:

- Right!

And when the eagle owl ran out from under the tree and stood on its wing, the crows again shouted:

And this now meant:

All the crows rose from the tree, followed by the crows, all the jackdaws, jays, orioles, blackbirds, whirligigs, wagtails, goldfinches, titmice, chickadees, and Muscovites, and all these birds rushed like a dark cloud after the eagle owl and all shouted only one thing:

- Take, take, take!

I forgot to say that when the owl stood on its wing, Swat managed to grab the tail with his teeth, but the owl rushed, and Swat was left with owl feathers and down in his teeth. Embittered by his failure, he rushed across the field after the eagle owl and at first ran, keeping up with the birds.

- That's right, that's right! - some crows shouted to him.

And so the whole cloud of birds soon disappeared on the horizon, and Swat also disappeared behind the copse.

I don’t know how it all ended. The matchmaker returned to me only an hour later with owl fluff in his mouth. And I can’t say anything: whether it was the fluff he had left that he took when the eagle owl took its wing, or whether the birds finished off the eagle owl and Swat helped them in dealing with the villain.

What I didn’t see, I didn’t see, but I don’t want to lie.

Once upon a time there lived a Khan of Birds, and he had an angry, domineering wife. She does whatever she wants, but the khan cannot say a word. Once upon a time the evil Khansha decided to try bird meat. The khan ordered to carry out his wife’s will. The Khansha has tasted all kinds of bird meat, but everything is not enough for her.

Now I want to try eagle owl meat,” she told her husband.

The khan sent a fast hawk for the owl. The hawk found the eagle owl and conveyed the khan's order:

The khan is calling you to his place. The Khansha decided to taste your meat.

The owl thought and said:

I can’t fly during the day, my eyes can’t see anything. You go, and at night I will appear to the khan.

The hawk flew away and conveyed the owl's words to the khan. The night passed, the day passed, and still no sign of the owl. Khansha gets angry and reproaches Khan:

What kind of bird khan are you if the owl doesn’t come to you! Will I try his meat soon?

“Soon, soon,” the khan answers her. - When night comes, he will fly.

The day passed and the night passed, but the owl was still gone.

Trouble in the Khan's camp. The servant birds squeak, they are afraid to catch the Khansha’s eye, there’s no chance the evil Khansha will peck.

Finally, at the end of the third night, an owl appeared to the khan. The angry khan asks him:

Why did you, pop-eyed, hesitate when I called you?

On the first night I attended a big gathering. That’s why I was delayed, my khan,” the owl answers calmly.

“What was there?” the khan became interested.

They argued about which trees there are more after a storm: felled or standing.

And what kind of trees are there more? - Khan continues to be curious.

There are more dumped, my khan.

Why more?

Because the wind bent many trees, and they are also considered felled, my khan.

Okay, where were you the second night? - asks Owl Khan.

I was late at the big gathering, my khan.

What were they arguing about? - the khan became interested again.

They argued about what happens more in a year: tskei or nights. They decided that there are more nights in a year than days.

And why?

Because on a cloudy day the sun is not visible, and it is also considered night, my khan.

Okay, where were you last night?

Already close to your aal, I lingered at another big gathering, my khan.

What were they arguing about? - the khan was curious.

They argued about who is more on earth: men or women. They decided that there were more women than men.

“Why are there more women?” the khan was surprised.

Because men who fulfill stupid whims cannot consider themselves men, my khan.

Does this also apply to the khans?

“Yes, my khan,” the owl humbly answered and closed his eyes, round as bowls, as a sign of submission.

The khan began to sniffle and began to think:

“It was in vain that I obeyed my wife and destroyed many birds.”

And the khan forbade his khansha from killing birds from then on. And the birds rejoiced and thanked the wise owl.

I
Once upon a time there lived Fip.
To tell the truth, he lived so short that even he himself did not know who he was.
And he was an incubator chicken three days old - a small, yellow, fluffy lump on thin legs and with a thin voice: “Fip! Fip!
Together with thousands - if you are interested in numbers, I can say for sure: together with 39312 (do you know how to pronounce this? With thirty-nine thousand three hundred and twelve) - brothers and sisters, he was born in a huge building on which there was a sign: “Poultry Farm E.” 2".
He was born - so, perhaps, you can say, although it was not so bright there. True, it was warm there; but there was no sun, no sky, no earth, no grass, no wind - in a word, no nature, no weather!
But Fip wasn’t the least bit upset about it! After all, he had no idea that there were such things in the world as nature, weather, sky, sun, earth, and so on. To be honest, he knew little, and knew even less.
And yet he cheerfully pecked at a tasty porridge made from ground grains, seeds, worms and the like (this is called a feed mixture) and cheerfully squeaked in his thin voice: “Fip!”
He really knew how to do that.
And this went on - don't you forget - for exactly three days.
And on the fourth day, in the morning, they put him in a cardboard box, where 35 (thirty-five) of his brothers and sisters were already sitting - just like Fip, yellow and fluffy, and just as scared. All of them, including Phip, squeaked with all their might.
But, as you know, squeaking usually doesn’t help much.
It didn't help our chickens either. Their box was loaded into the back of a small pickup truck, where it was completely dark and did not smell very pleasant, and where there were already many of the same cardboard boxes - they were all also squeaking desperately. But then something snorted loudly, rattled, growled: the chickens felt that everything was going somewhere, going, going, going... and they squeaked even louder, but since they themselves did not hear their own squeak, they soon had to stop.
The truck soon stopped, and the driver began handing the silent boxes into the hands of some aunt.
Aunt, by the way, was very pretty (that is, it was pleasant to look at her).
And the driver was so focused on her that he didn’t even notice how a yellow fluffy lump flew out of one of the boxes onto the grass.
It was Fip.
II
Not from fear (he did not have time to get scared), but, probably, simply from surprise (after all, he had never flown before), Fip lost consciousness: he closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep.
But when he came to his senses and opened his eyes, he was truly frightened: someone’s huge scary face with big teeth was hanging right above him. Poor Fip didn't know what to do. He started to jump to his feet, but they immediately gave way; he closed his eyes again, but it was even more scary...
All this happened to him only because he knew so little; If he had known a little more, he would have understood that this scary, as it seemed to him, muzzle belonged to a cheerful, good-natured and curious Foal.
- E-go-go! What's your name? - asked the Foal, and asked so affably that even Fip somehow immediately began to understand that there seemed to be nothing to be afraid of.
“Fip,” answered Fip.
- Yeah-ha! Fip, got it! - said the Foal (this is where Fip got his name). -Where did you come from, Fip?
- Don't know! - Fip answered honestly.
- Igi-gi, I'm lost! - said the quick-witted Foal. - What will you do?
“I don’t know...” Fip admitted again.
- Yeah-ha! I know! You will look for your own!
- Which ones? - Fip, who did not understand anything, asked weakly.
The foal neighed thinly.
- What an eccentric! He doesn’t know his own people! Who are you? Bird! That means yours are birds too! Mine are horses, and yours are birds!
- Who are these birds? - Fip became interested. For some reason he liked this word.
- Igo-go! Birds are, brother... Well, birds, understand?
“I don’t understand,” admitted Fip.
- Well, those, with these... with wings... Well, that run through the air very quickly! They also say... Aha, I remembered! Which fly! - the Foal repeated with pleasure. He was pleased that he remembered such a difficult word.
The interesting and meaningful conversation would have continued, perhaps, for a long time, but at this time one of the Foal neighed invitingly (several horses were grazing nearby), and the Foal shouted:
- I'm running, mom! - he rushed away, only managing to warn Fip at parting: - Look for your people, otherwise you will be completely lost!
III
Fip stood up and looked around. What a huge, bright, noisy world surrounded him! A green, green meadow, a blue, blue sky, and there, in the sky, something dazzlingly golden - Fip looked and quickly closed his eyes again... And how warm it is, what wonderful smells, what a gentle breeze! It sways a little in the breeze green grass- so high that not only Fipu can hide her head in it, - and the flowers shake their pretty heads importantly. There are so many of them, they are so different! Yellow, red, white, purple... And everywhere you look there are birds. They either fly from flower to flower, from blade of grass to blade of grass, then they hover in the air for a long time in one place, then they swiftly, with a buzz, rush right over Fip’s head.
“Well, I won’t be lost here,” Fip thought joyfully. - How many of our own!”
But the strange thing is that no matter which of them Fip rushed to, all the birds shied away from him and quickly ran away. Not only did none of the winged creatures want to enter into conversation with Phip, but no one answered him even to the most polite questions.
As luck would have it for Fipovo, not far from him a very, very large bird, perhaps larger than Fipo himself, smoothly landed on a blue and yellow flower. She had a fluffy mustache, six thin legs, wide multi-colored wings, and with each of her movements these wings shone with all the colors of the rainbow. Taught by bitter experience, Fip approached her, slowly, carefully, and first of all politely greeted her.
- Hello, aunt! - Fip squeaked. - Can I ask you one thing?
The butterfly (you, of course, guessed that it was she) was so big that it did not frighten Fipa.
“Ask, polite child,” she said.
- Aunt, are you a bird? - asked Fip and immediately realized that he had said something inappropriate.
The butterfly flapped its wings as if it was about to fly away.
- Don't fly away, aunt! Please! Please! - Fip squeaked desperately.
The butterfly remained in place and only began to vigorously fan itself with its wings.
- How could you... how could you even think such a terrible thing about me! - she said finally. - I'm a bird? Brrrr!
- But you’re flying! - Fip squeaked, completely confused. - And whoever flies is a bird...
Here the Butterfly laughed thinly.
“I see you’re just stupid and didn’t want to offend me,” she said and flew away.
IV
The day was drawing to a close, and Fip still failed to find a single real bird. The poor fellow was completely upset, and he was especially upset that everyone he addressed - all the winged ones, all the flying ones - were offended when he mistook them for birds. And one huge (almost larger than Fip himself) Zhuk even promised to beat him up for such questions.
- What does this mean? - Fip reasoned out loud, settling down for the night under a bush (to him this bush seemed like a big tree). - It turns out to be nonsense: birds fly, not birds. Well, that's just nonsense!
- Nonsense, my friend, your reasoning! - suddenly it was heard from somewhere above. - However, this does not surprise me. Down there, everything is upside down.
Fip raised his head. High above him, on a branch, someone was hanging upside down.
From amazement, Fip could not utter a sound.
“Yes, sir,” continued the unknown interlocutor Fipa, “try to reason for real.”
Seeing that Fip did not understand anything, she explained:
- Insects fly, but they are not birds. I fly, but I'm not a bird. Conclusion: not everyone who flies is a bird.
Fip opened his beak in surprise and grief.
“Yes, sir,” the stranger said triumphantly. - And moreover: not all birds fly. Ostrich does not fly. Kiwi doesn't fly. Penguin doesn't fly. But here I am, flying.
And with these words, the Bat (who could it be but her?) spread her huge leathery wings and silently disappeared into the evening twilight. Soon she returned and something fell on Fipu's head. It seemed to him that these were the hard elytra of the same Beetle that had recently threatened to beat him...
“Birds don’t fly, they fly, not birds,” Fip reasoned to himself. - Well, how can I recognize birds then? - he whined so pitifully that the Bat softened.
“Birds are very easy to recognize,” she said. - They are singing! Yes, sir!
“The birds are singing, the birds are singing,” Fip repeated, so as not to forget. With these words he fell asleep.
V
It was a wonderful morning. Only Phil immediately wanted to drink and eat. He pecked a few drops of dew from the leaves and grass and began to peck at the grains, although they were green and not as tasty as those that were given to Fipu before, but he was happy about that and pecked them with great enthusiasm.
But suddenly he gave up his exciting activity and became wary. Yes, there was no doubt - someone sang loudly and loudly:
- There's a cupcake in the river! In the river-river-cupcake!
Although Phip did not know what a “cupcake” was, or even what a river was, he rushed towards the sound of this song. Quite naturally: firstly, he really liked the song, and secondly (and this is the main thing), it was a song and, therefore, there was a bird somewhere nearby.
And indeed, on the shore of a large puddle (or small pond) sat someone unusually beautiful: green, shiny, with big sparkling eyes, and sang. He sang wonderfully:
- There's a cupcake in the river!
Fip listened so much that he forgot about everything in the world.
- You are a bird, of course? - he asked when the singer finally fell silent.
- Kwak? - asked the singer. - Why do you say that?
- They told me that birds sing, and you sing so wonderfully!
- Kwak, kwak am I singing? - asked the green singer.
- Wonderful, wonderful! - Fip admired. - I have never heard such wonderful singing in my life!
I think there is no need to explain that Fip was telling the absolute truth: he really had never heard singing in his life.
“You seem to be a smart tadpole,” said the green singer. - I sing really wonderfully, wonderfully! What you say is correct. But I'm not a bird. Here's another! I am Frog!
Poor Phip could not hide his disappointment.
“I thought... and they told me that only birds sing...” he drawled in a plaintive voice.
- He-he-he! Who told you this?
“Bat,” said Fip.
- Bat? Hehehehe! - the Frog laughed. - Well, as you know, everything is upside down for her, she sleeps upside down! I came up with it too! Only the birds sing! We frogs sing better than any birds, I heard it myself! And why?
Here the Frog paused so long that Fipp, willy-nilly, had to ask:
- But why?
- Yes, because we were the first in the world to sing.
The frog paused again, and Fip again had to ask:
- Well, yes?
- Yes! After all, there was a time when no one could sing, because everyone lived in the water, and you can’t really sing there. But we frogs did it! And they started singing!
The frog fell silent again, apparently waiting for Fip to express his delight again. But Fip misunderstood her.
“What about me then...” he began, but she interrupted him:
- Yes, we were the first to sing, and then there were others... and these birds are praised, and now everyone who is not too lazy is singing...
Fip again tried to ask the Frog something, but she did not pay attention to him.
“Everyone sings,” she continued passionately, “who can and who can’t.” Birds at least have some kind of voice, but many - hehehehe - sing without a voice at all! The technology has come so far - you won’t believe it: they sing with their feet, they listen with their feet. Can you imagine?
“I can’t,” Fip admitted honestly.
- Yes, look, there he is, see there, green, with his knees back.
Fip looked where the Frog was pointing and saw a large green Grasshopper. The grasshopper struck his wing strongly with his leg, again, again - and the familiar song began to flow.
“You see, that’s where he is,” said the Frog with satisfaction, “it’s a pity he’s sitting a little far away, otherwise we’d have a better look at him.”
And then Fip suddenly began to cry.
- Oh-oh-oh, what should I do? “Everyone flies, everyone sings,” he sobbed, “how can I recognize the birds?”
The frog noticed that the poor chicken was completely upset, and she felt sorry for him.
- How to recognize birds? “I’ll teach you, tadpole,” she said good-naturedly. - Whoever sings is good, whoever flies is also good, but that’s only half the battle. And the main thing is that whoever builds the nest is the bird. Understood?
“I didn’t understand anything,” answered Fip. - What other nests? Where are they?
“I’ll teach you again, tadpole,” continued the Frog. - There are all kinds of nests. And they are everywhere: on the ground, on bushes, in trees... Look only for the best. Yes, there it is! There it is, the nest! Whoa, there, in the reeds, do you see?
“Thank you very much, Auntie,” Fip shouted and ran to the reeds, to where a nest was swaying on a tall, slender reed, a very pretty nest, woven from dry blades of grass.
- Bird, bird, come out! - Fip shouted while still running. This time he was absolutely sure that he had found his people.
And in response to his call, someone’s charming face actually looked out of the nest, followed by a second, a third. It was simply amazing how they all fit there.
- Are you birds? - asked Fip in a fallen voice. For some reason his confidence began to fade.
- Hee-hee! - they answered from the nest. - He thinks we are birds. Hee hee! Hee hee! What kind of birds are we? Can't you see, we are little mice!
“Mice...” said Fip in confusion. - Why are you sitting in the nest?
- What do you mean why? This is our nest!
- And they told me: birds build nests.
“Birds carry eggs,” all three mice told him in rivalry.
- Are they carrying testicles? And where to? - Fip asked sadly. And then there was such a burst of laughter that he hung his head and walked away.
- Hey, baby, wait! - someone shouted after him.
Fip turned around reluctantly. A larger muzzle was peeking out of the nest. It was the mother of the mice, Little Mouse.
-Are you looking for birds? - she asked. - So: the birds really live in a nest and really lay eggs, so white, roundish, and sometimes they are painted!
“Thank you,” said Fip. “White, roundish,” he repeated. And suddenly a familiar picture appeared before his eyes: white, round ones... From time to time they burst, and Fipa’s brother or sister came out into the wild.
- I remembered! - Fip squeaked, very excited. - That’s right, and I was in the testicle, which means I really am a bird!
Out of joy, he began to peck at everything he could find, and without noticing, he climbed onto some kind of hummock covered with dry needles and thorny branches. On its top lay white roundish objects, very similar to those that Fip had just remembered, only small, and he began to peck at them too.
- Hey, you! What are you doing? - came such a tiny voice that Fipov’s squeak could seem like a bass in comparison. - These are our testicles! We take them to dry, and you peck!
-Are you carrying testicles? - asked the stunned Fip, looking with his eyes to see who was speaking. - Where are you? So you are birds? Where are you?
“Here we are,” answered a thin voice, and then Fip finally saw his interlocutor. It was a red Ant.
- So you are the birds? - Fip said doubtfully. “Birds lay eggs,” he mechanically repeated the memorized phrase.
“What are you talking about, uncle,” the Ant answered with sincere bewilderment. - What do birds have to do with it? What kind of testicles do they have there? Well, he’ll lay one or two eggs or five, and that’s all. And for us, the ants, wow! With us, brother, the queen will lay so many eggs in a day - and there’s no counting! Million! Or even a thousand!
Since Fip was completely incapable of counting, this ant’s boasting made no impression on him. He understood only one thing: he again did not find the birds. Completely disappointed, he trudged away.
- What does this mean? - Fip was amazed, sitting down to rest under a tall, tall tree that reached to the sky. - They fly, but they are not birds... They sing, but they are not birds... They build nests, but they are not birds... They lay eggs, and they are not birds! - the poor chicken burst into tears. - Everyone is not a bird! Who are the birds then? - he said, not addressing anyone.
And in response, he suddenly heard someone’s deep, kind, very kind voice:
- You recognize a bird by its feather. - And from the top of the tree under which Fip was sitting, a bird’s feather smoothly, slowly flew down - beautiful, light, shiny. In smooth, wide circles it sank lower and lower, and when it completed the circle, a kind, deep voice sounded again: it was the Tree speaking.
- There are birds that do not sing... There are birds that do not fly... And they do not build nests... There are birds without wings at all... But there is no bird without feathers!
The tree fell silent, and, as if putting an end to it, the feather landed directly on Fipu’s nose.
- But I don’t even have feathers?.. That means I’m not a bird myself! - Fip gasped.
But he didn’t even have time to get upset, because someone sank to the ground next to him, even a little shorter than Phip, but terribly lively, cheerful and impudent, and covered in feathers.
- It is known, not a bird! A chicken is not a bird! - Sparrow said cheerfully (it was he and no one else).
- Am I a chicken? - asked poor Fip.
- Is that you? “You’re not even a chicken yet,” the mocker continued. - You’re a chicken, it’s good, even if it’s not fried!
- Oh oh oh! - Fip whined. - Well, where can I find my own?
And he hung his head with such a defeated look that even the robber Korshun, not only the honest Sparrow, would have pitied him.
- Don't whine! - he chirped cheerfully. - There they are, yours!
- Where? - the sufferer Fip raised his head incredulously.
- Kwok-kwok! - came to his ears. - Kwok-kwok!
Fip had never heard anything better than this in his adventurous life. And he couldn’t see a better picture than this: very nearby, a bird came out onto the meadow - large, beautiful, colorful, and behind it, squeaking happily, kept pace with a whole dozen yellow fluffy lumps just like Fip himself.
Fip started to rush towards them, but suddenly stopped.
- What about feathers? - he asked timidly.
- And the feathers will grow! - Sparrow laughed. - Fly, fly to your people, don’t doubt it!
And Fip flew away. With all my might.