Igor Ivanovich Akimushkin, there lived a wolf. Igor Akimushkin - once upon a time there was a bear

Igor Ivanovich Akimushkin

Once upon a time there was a bear

A bear cub was born in winter in a den - a warm, cozy hole under an inverted spruce tree. The den was covered on all sides with coniferous branches and moss. The little bear cub was born - the size of a mitten, and weighed only half a kilogram.

The first thing he remembered was something wet, but warm, licking him. He crawled towards him. The heavy beast that was licking him turned so that the baby was directly in front of the nipple. The little bear clung to the nipple and, smacking with impatience, began to suck the milk.

This is how the little bear lived: he ate, slept, sucked again, slept again in his mother’s warmth.

He was still completely blind: his eyes opened only a month after birth. When the newborn cub became cold and began to tremble, the mother covered the baby with her front paws and began to breathe hotly on him to warm him up.

Three months passed quickly - spring approached. One day, waking up, the bear cub, to his surprise, discovered another animal in the den, similar to his mother, but smaller than her. It was his older sister. Last summer, the bear drove away all the grown cubs and kept only one with her. The two of them lay down in the den.

Why did you leave it?

And then, so that there is someone to help care for the cubs that will be born in the den in winter. The older bear cub is called a nurse. Because he cares for newborns, nurtures them, like a good nanny.

...Spring is still early - April. There is still a lot of snow in the forest along the spruce forests, pine forests, and gullies. Raw, grainy, lies tightly.

When the mother bear sensed the smells of spring, she broke through the roof of her sleeping hole and climbed out into the light. And after the darkness of the den, the light struck her eyes with extraordinary brightness. With her sensitive nose, the bear sniffed the spirit from the damp earth, from the swollen buds, from the melted snow, from the pine trees that generously exuded resin.

It's time... It's time to leave the winter shelter. It's time to walk through the forest and collect food.

And so she went, collapsing immediately into a snowdrift that the blizzard had blown over the winter near the turnout. The nurse immediately came out of the den behind her, and the little bear cub whined pitifully: he had not overcome the obstacle. Then the pestun returned to the pit and pulled him out by the collar with his teeth.

The spruce forest rustles with needles, the wind rustles in the branches. Our bears got out of the forest and into the black forest. The snow has almost completely melted here. The earth became foggy under the steamy warmth of the sun.

The mother bear was not idle, she was in charge everywhere: she would pull out snags, some stones, turn over slabs. The beast has great strength. The wind fell the tree to the ground, the bear walked around it, sniffed under the trunk what the earth smelled like there. Suddenly she grabbed a pine tree and moved it from its place like a light log. Now the nurse poked his nose into that bed sore and scraped the ground with his claws: maybe there was some small thing alive to eat. An example for the baby! He also began to dig the ground with his new claws.

The bear has lost weight over the winter, is hungry, chews and gnaws everything that is green, that is alive, scurrying around in the spring. The cubs keep up with her and imitate her in everything. Last year's pine nuts and acorns are being collected.

The anthill is a particularly pleasant find. They dug it all up and scattered it far around. The bear licked her paws, and the cubs, looking at her, did the same. Then they shoved their paws into the very vanity of the ants. Instantly the paws turned black from the ants that rushed at them in droves. Here the bears licked the ants off their paws, ate them and reached for a new portion.

They ate a lot of ants, but did not feel full. The she-bear took the children to the moss swamps to pick cranberries.

They walked as usual: the mother was in front, the little bear cub was behind her, and the nurse was behind. The swamps have long since been freed from snow and are red with red berries - last year's cranberries. The mother bear and cubs raked up whole clumps with their paws and put them in their mouths, swallowed the juicy berries and threw away the moss. The sun had already risen high - the mother bear and her cubs went to rest: they climbed into the very thicket - the chapyga. We slept until late in the evening. The dawn was already fading in the west when the mother of her children led her to a field at the edge of the forest: there the winter crops were growing green. They ate this greenery until the morning, grazing like cows in a meadow.

The pike went to the floods to spawn, and the bear went there too. She sat down by the water and looked at it. The cubs also lay down nearby and became quiet. How long did they wait - no one watched the clock; But the bear spotted a large fish not far from the shore and suddenly jumped on it with a noisy splash with all four paws, like a fox on a mouse. The pike did not escape from the bear's claws. The loot is important. The whole family feasted.

Once again noon approached, and the bears went to bed again. We slept until dawn.

One day, a bear and her children were walking early in the morning, well-fed and happy, and came across a tree broken by a storm, whose trunk was split. The bear stopped near him. She came closer to the trunk, grabbed a chip of wood with her paw, pulled it down and let go. A chip of wood hit the trunk - the trunk rattled and hummed, vibrating. Once again she took the chipped wood to the side and, releasing it, hit the trunk - a rumble went through the forest. This is music for bears. They love her: they bow their heads here and there to one side, listening to how far the loud echo carries the roar they make through the surrounding forests.

Bears love different things. For example, throwing stones and snags from a steep slope. And they themselves look down with curiosity at how they roll and what noise it makes.

Summer passed quickly in business and fun. Autumn has begun to threaten with cold. It's time for bears to think about winter. The main thing is to choose a place for the den: remote, difficult to pass. There, usually under the roots of a fallen tree, bears dig a hole. Then the bed is prepared - from moss, from bark torn from trees. Others cover the pit with brushwood, branches, and moss. Such a den, as hunters say, has “sky.” And the hole in such a “sky” - an outlet - is called a “berloch brow”.

Favorite stories of Koshchei Yozhkovich.

Igor Ivanovich Akimushkin
(1929-1993)

About the wolf and wolves

...Artists, as a rule, depict the wolf as too ferocious, too stocky, too undynamic. The photograph can only give some idea of ​​the outline of the wolf. The wolf in the zoo is a sad animal, all of whose movements are dominated by reconciliation with the irresistible force of captivity.

In life, that is, in the forest, field or tundra, the wolf makes a very special impression. It, if we exclude forgivable fear, can be defined as triumph and reverence before the mystery of contact with the mighty power of wild nature.

He is known to be gray. But here, probably, the word “gray” should be understood relatively. In the gray-brown tundra the wolf is gray-brown; on the silver snow and its fur turns silver, against the background of birch trunks (black and white) it is lost, flowing, and its skin ripples like bark. The camouflage is designed for speed, its effect is that after just a minute the observer loses any idea of ​​the distance to the wolf. However, with all their desire for camouflage, wolves are great fashionistas. If one wears a discreetly aristocratic gray suit, then the other diversifies it with a silver collar or a light shirtfront on the chest. A black or brown saddle cloth on the back suits someone very well; it’s a matter of taste. Even light tundra wolves, which are also bleached by the sleepless sun of the polar day (their ears are often red!), even they manage to maintain an elegant appearance.

However, a fur coat is a fur coat. In winter it should provide warmth, and in summer, if you really can’t take it off, let it make it easier. This is what happens to wolves. For cold weather, they stock up on undercoat, which is very dense and can withstand winds and frosts of fifty degrees! In the spring they shed.

European, Asian and American wolves, differing only in what they eat for lunch, are similar in all other respects. And yet there are no two wolves alike in everything. The wolf grows quickly and by the first year gains 40-45 kilograms. And from the third year he matures and acquires not only even more weight (sometimes up to 70 kilograms!), but also his own posture, characteristic only of him. It's like a person's body type, everyone has their own. And an experienced wolf hunter, seeing a wolf he has already met, will definitely recognize him.

True, usually when people meet a wolf, they try to confuse it with a dog. He is, of course, bigger than a dog. In addition, if you see a “dog” in the forest, pay attention to its tail. It is never twisted, but is either lowered down or flows beautifully horizontally (this is when the wolf is in a good mood). Then the muzzle. A wolf never opens its mouth wide. (It turns out that the expression “wolf’s appetite” is incorrect. The wolf eats slowly: his jaws are too narrow. If he has to hurry, he painfully gags and groans.)

But teeth! They say about a bear: “picked up.” About the wolf - “killed”. It doesn’t cost him anything to slash a deer’s neck halfway down to the spine or bite through its side to the liver! These same teeth are capable of performing a surprisingly delicate operation. Lois Kreisler tells how a tamed she-wolf carefully opened her eyelids with her teeth (there was a feeling of a faint tingling of needles). Can you imagine what kind of instrument these teeth are? Jewelry!

And finally, the paws. The rear ones deserve special attention; they are surprisingly powerful. On them, a wolf can jump up like a candle, and quite high. This is the so-called “observational jump”. The footprints also cannot be confused with those of a dog. They are characterized by fingers gathered together. But the main thing is the size of the footprint: a young wolf is like a large dog, a mature one is 14 centimeters long, 8 centimeters wide.

Wolf tracks... In the tundra, along the traditional migration routes of reindeer, you will always find them. And if you follow these paths, you will see sad landmarks on them: the corpses of deer. Wolves are not able to eat all the prey, and it goes to crows, magpies, arctic foxes, and wolverines.

Let's try to look where few people have looked - into the lair.

Among the fallen trees, between the roots,
Having dug a hole for housing,
A wolf family grew up...

So, although in verse, the oldest Voronezh wolf hunter Georgy Vasilyevich Koltsov accurately described the wolf’s habits. And he knows very well what he's talking about. Indeed, wolves dig housing among the roots, because the roots are a frame that can prevent a collapse. If possible, choose a remote location - these are often linings that have been flooded during floods. The tundra wolf has the same requirements (seclusion, a nearby watering hole, etc.). Watering is very important: wolves drink a lot. And if there is no water nearby, they even go to village ponds to drink at night!

Wolves try to settle down comfortably in their den. True, comfort never replaces concern for safety, so sometimes they have to celebrate housewarming twice or thrice: if a person in their old place disturbs them. Wolves very prudently search in advance and, having convinced themselves of their suitability, remember well several such spare places for a lair. And when it suddenly became unsafe where the wolf cubs were born, the children would immediately be taken away from there. But the spare dens are not nearby at all (otherwise there would be no point in them), and therefore the wolf cubs are transported in stages: first, they will drag one at a time to some secluded place halfway, put them in a heap under a bush, and then carry them one by one to the next transfer point .

Wolves have their own fatal and incomprehensible oddities. Even the hen protects the chickens! But wolves do not touch humans and dogs that attack the den. They run away and hide. The wolf cubs, in defense, fight with the dogs, but the parents will never come to the rescue. It is amazing! It is also surprising that if hounds follow a wolf’s trail with a loud bark, the animals will never turn around, drive them away or bite them to death, and will run and run, and sooner or later the hounds will drive them out under gunfire. But wolves drag village dogs without fear. Sometimes they pull out a desperately squealing dog, the same hound, from under the porch. Even in the forest, they can grab her right from the rut (and this often happens, especially if the messenger’s voice is mongrel-like and not full-bodied). Yes, but when the dog is chasing a hare or a fox, and not when the dog is chasing the wolves themselves (especially if it barks so excitedly that it “tears my lungs!”)…
...The she-wolf brings from two to eight cubs.
They first grow on pure wolf's milk. Then the meat appears, and the wolf cubs greet it with delight. Parents carry their spoils to them in a very original way. They swallow pieces of meat and then regurgitate them in front of the wolf cubs. What’s remarkable: the meat emerges from the depths of the wolf’s belly completely fresh; apparently, wolves are able to delay digestion for this time.

Wolf cubs are not always able to maintain a daily routine. Of course, it’s good if breakfast arrives on time, before sunrise, but sometimes dad returns from a night hike only at noon (by the way, he has to run 50 or even 150 kilometers during one hunt). In this case, the mother takes the wolf cubs for a walk, where they feed them a light milk breakfast and allow them to frolic to their heart's content.

The wolf cubs' play is hectic and mischievous. This is what Canadian zoologist Farley Mowat saw when he lived in the tundra side by side with wolves.
“Two cubs tried to tear off their mother’s tail, they tore and tore it with such fury that the fur flew in clumps; the other two did everything they could to leave their mother without an ear. For about an hour, Angelina (that’s what he called the she-wolf) heroically endured the torture, then, disheveled, she tried to defend herself: she sat on her own tail and hid her tormented head between her paws. But where there - the wolf cubs attacked her legs, one on each. A pitiful sight met my eyes: Angelina, like a shaman driving away evil spirits, was trying with all her might to cover her paws, tail and head at the same time. Finally the she-wolf couldn't stand it anymore. She jumped away from her tormentors and ran to the high sandy ridge behind the lair.”
You know, not every mother has such truly angelic patience!

Father returns. Here it would be nice to call the naughty people to order, but dad is also kind-hearted. He is tired, wants to sleep, but there will be no rest for him! Whether you like it or not, you have to entertain your children.
In general, the attitude of wolves towards babies, even strangers, deserves not only praise but imitation! If the parents die, and another wolf finds the cubs, he will feed them, give them water and teach them to live. There were cases where hungry puppies were brought into the den by wolves to feed them.

And wolf cubs simply adore adult wolves! Lois Chrysler saw and told how wolf cubs caressed an adult wolf. They had only to touch him, and they trembled with tender excitement. They hugged him, they kissed him, they licked him. Of course, from such caresses you will melt and give away a piece of meat that was supposed to be left in your stomach. The caressed breadwinner, having forgotten that he was about to go to bed, rushes off to hunt again. This is a consequence of the atmosphere of love that reigns in the wolf kingdom - it activates the elders.

There are almost no frenzied fights among wolf cubs. These are amazingly peaceful children. Although, for the sake of truth, we must admit that the reasons that excite all the fighters of this world - a sense of ownership, resentment, jealousy - these reasons often quarrel and wolf. But if in the rest of the world their easiest consequence is a broken nose, then in the wild wolf’s den they can quickly turn an armed conflict into a game and a funny joke.

The day will come when the trampled lawn in front of the house will be cramped and various “geographical” questions will arise in large foreheads: who is hiding behind that boulder? Can't you smell the sun? And so we set off on a journey. Alone. And they stocked up on the journey with only frivolity - the load, as you know, is the most light and pleasant.
We passed a boulder (or maybe a centuries-old spruce tree that stubbornly blocked the horizons). Something strange, red, come to life in a gust of wind, appeared in front of the nose of the leader of the guide. The researchers shy away in fear. (We know an ordinary flower.)
However, noble curiosity wins. But “it” is suitable for playing, the wolf cubs guess. And delight begins, which is laughter to look at! The flower is carefully sniffed, then examined for strength (children, after all!). And finally, crumpled, he falls down and is caught by the whole company. There is a general brawl in which everyone completely forgets about the flower. Tinkering is, of course, the highest pleasure.

They move on. A soft bald spot on the ground, they will give it its due. Bird on a branch - listen to the bird. Some kind of stick - they will play with a stick. The ability to find joy in the simplest objects of nature is a quality that lives in the blood of wolves. Wolves know how to rejoice when the first patch of earth thaws because the leaves have blossomed on the trees, just like us. Anyone who lived next to them knows about this.

But suddenly! Horrible! Big! Eared! Hare! The wolf cubs got scared and deserted. But let us forgive them: they will still have opportunities to rehabilitate themselves. Moreover, now the vicissitudes of the journey have placed them in a position that evokes sympathy. They seem to be lost.

This happens in the forest, in the tundra or in the steppe (what a difference it makes for small, fluffy, defenseless lumps, for which even not too tall grass is a difficult obstacle!). They would follow their trail and probably return to their mother: she came from hunting and was running restlessly around the lair. But no - the wolf cubs, having described a wide semicircle, are approaching the house from the opposite side. They have some kind of device in their heads for orientation - it worked, preventing them from getting lost. So we had no reason to worry.

I'd like to get some money for being absent without permission! But no! This kind of educational method is almost never used by wolves. (And how will you punish them, caressing ones?) A wolf is very easily traumatized by resentment or fear: perhaps that is why it is not easy for a person, a very fickle and inconsistent creature, to tame it. Such domestication is rare and is achieved by reserved, kind people, about whom they say: a good person.

Next time one of the parents will lead the walk themselves. Let's say father. He will touch each of the wolf cubs with his nose, and they will follow him unquestioningly (obedient children!). Of course, the walk will now be edifying. Who you should be afraid of, who you shouldn’t, who you should try to catch up with, who you should just intimidate, show that you are a wolf. By the way, some researchers have noticed such a trait in the wolf - to intimidate, to pretend to be angry, when in fact he is in the most complacent mood. You can’t help but think: the wolf is aware of its position in the eyes of others.

Wolves are the animals of the community. But their generosity, essential to partnership, extends beyond their brother. The wolf will not touch the arctic fox who steals the prey he has hidden. We saw: he is kind to the raven, crow, magpie, fox. He is capable of tearing out a piece of meat from his stomach for a dog.
The grief of their brother touches them. The young ones (wolves up to a year old) were running through the forest and found a hedgehog. One got stabbed in the face and drew blood. Others glance at the wounded man and whine quietly, expressing sympathy.

In front of the young tame wolf, the Eskimo dogs started squabbling. The wool flies in clumps. What did the she-wolf do? She, having unmistakably identified the main bully, pulled him out of the dump by his tail. An action very similar to peacemaking.

Misfortune happened. Pereyarok (again hunting terminology - a young wolf from one to two years old) did not return from his walk. No, another day. Looks like he died. You will be mistaken if you decide that his sister will rejoice: now it will be easier with food, one less mouth to feed. No, she'll lose her appetite. And she will cry. And her cry - “oo oh ou” - will disturb your soul, like the lamentations of an experienced screamer.

… Wolves scratching each other’s necks is a manifestation not of enmity, but of sympathy.
Just as the village youth used to go outside the outskirts to dance in circles, so the wolves go out to the games. This is again a hunting word, meaning a clearing, a wide road, a bald hillock, or even a harvested field. Having become naughty, they will scatter the sheaves and trample the dusty road, and it will be unnoticeable that they have ever driven along it. Jumping is at a premium. They jump vertically upward - like a candle, one jumps over the other; leapfrog, and that’s all! They play cat and mouse. And what a joy it is, having accelerated, to slow down in front of your friend’s face with all the strength of your flattened feet!
Sometimes wolves of different families come together for games. At these public gatherings, lack of etiquette is punishable. Here, if you are young, be attentive to your elders, show them due respect. Violent expression of feelings at the first meeting is bad form. You must be restrained and courteous. Greet the seasoned one by crouching to the ground, and do not forget to place your neck directly under his teeth as a sign of submission. And then he will not touch the weak. However, wolf etiquette is not always the same in different countries. Just like people.

Don't laugh, but wolves can smile! The smile is different: gentle, sociably cheerful, cunning, frank, shy. In general, a wolfish smile. Everyone who has studied wolves up close is amazed: after all, a smile is already a facial expression, a sign of a wealth of emotions and intelligence.

At the end of June, at the beginning of July, early broods begin to howl. A solemn and sad phenomenon. That horror, that chill on the skin that rips through the distant listener, is nothing compared to the irresistibly fatal role of howling in the life of the wolf himself. And in his death. He, cautious and smart, he, who knows how to run quickly, he, who knows how to hide better than others in the most impenetrable thickets, gives himself away with his head. The whole flock will respond to a “wabu” (imitation of a howl) from a more or less skillful hunter. And the place is open. Prepare your hounds, load your guns with buckshot, the hunt will be successful!
They begin to howl when there is dawn in the sky, morning or evening. What is this - a choral concert, an intimate conversation, or maybe a prayer in anguish?

...And yet it is hardly worth asserting that the howl of a wolf has some specific semantic meaning. It is most likely a mood, an intuition. To compare it with music, I believe, is a more promising matter.
So, let's imagine: wolves are music lovers.

... It is by no means a fable that wolves respond to music, to singing, to a hunting horn. They even tell the following story (I just don’t know how to verify its authenticity): the flock howled in response to the locomotive whistle! But such frivolous musical hobbies are, of course, on the conscience of frivolous youth who always adore the wrong music. Yes, however, why blame her if the respectable fathers and mothers of wolf families themselves sometimes cannot restrain themselves? Only a very experienced, seasoned she-wolf, having heard an unfamiliar howl, before howling in response, will not be too lazy to make a circle of several kilometers so that, coming from the rear, she will check who wants to play music.
Howling is a solemn and significant act. In everyday life, wolves have a different “language of sounds”: growls, grunts, howls, whimpers, yelps, barks, squeals, outright squeals. This extensive vocal repertoire seems to serve them well for communication. The wolf squeals, calling the cubs. They are running - they understand! He walks around the lair, waiting for the she-wolf so that he can go on a hunting raid together. As usual, she hesitated. He yaps. Here, understandably, impatience is expressed. He is glad to have your company and wants to talk about it; “looks you straight in the eyes and for a long time, selflessly, tongue-tied, mutters and squeals almost on the same note.” Some wolves, L. Chrysler noted, have a funny gesture of greeting and goodwill - a front paw thrown to the side. A frank yawn is a sign of a good mood. Hind legs scraping the ground - contempt. In general, their “language” of body movements and sounds is emotional and rich, and a lot has been written about this recently.

Wolves are able to quickly understand (and adopt!) human intonations and actions: for example, pushing back the bolts on doors or having a weakness for spirits and... dogs. They also have a tendency to make premature generalizations: one person did something bad, and the wolves already expect similar evil from other people. But the goodness of one quickly endears them to others. In general, the character of a wolf (in relation to its dissimilarity with a dog) is defined as follows by those who know wolves well: the dog’s life principle is dependence, the wolf has responsibility, the dog has ambition and conceit, the wolf has prestige and power.

... I am approaching the end of the story and for the last time I want to draw your attention to Lois Chrysler's book "Caribou Trails" - the best thing I have ever read about wolves. This book is a heroic study for the wolf and has inspired many.

Non-marsupials of prey live in all countries of the world. Only in New Zealand and Australia they have never existed before. But people brought dogs, cats, and foxes there too. At last count, there are 252 species of predatory animals on Earth. Many of them diversify their carnivorous diet with fruits and even grass, and some (the giant panda) even seem to be vegetarians.

Previously, man looked at all predators as his worst enemies and exterminated them without pity. But science has proven that predators in the life of nature are not only useful, but simply necessary: ​​as orderlies and breeders who improve the tribe of non-predatory animals, because predators destroy primarily the sick and weak, poorly adapted, carrying various hereditary vices and defects. Therefore, in many countries the law now protects against excessive extermination of predators. But old traditions and prejudices against wild animals are still alive among people. The fate of wolves is especially tragic: almost everywhere they are killed - without pity, without remorse and with a naive awareness of the usefulness of this harmful deed.

Ambushes, raids - on foot and in cars, helicopters and planes...

And besides, every hunter armed with hares will have two cartridges filled with buckshot or jacan. Try it, robber, try it!

But the buckshot will smash a bottle thrown into the air into pieces, and the zhakan will hit the trunk of a pine tree, causing the annual rings to bend in it, which will be very strange for a researcher if he ever studies this tree. Hunters are unlikely to encounter a wolf. He will not meet them even because he is cunning and cautious. It's just that the wolf is now an extremely rare animal. Many didn't even see him.

So, it is appropriate to tell what he is like.

Artists, as a rule, depict the wolf as too ferocious, too stocky, too undynamic. The photograph can only give some idea of ​​the outline of the wolf. The wolf in the zoo is a sad animal, all of whose movements are dominated by reconciliation with the irresistible force of captivity. In life, that is, in the forest, field or tundra, the wolf makes a very special impression. It, if we exclude forgivable fear, can be defined as triumph and reverence before the mystery of contact with the mighty power of wild nature.

He is known to be gray. But here, probably, the word “gray” should be understood relatively. In the gray-brown tundra, the wolf is gray-brown; on the silver snow and its fur turns silver, against the background of birch trunks (black and white) it is lost, flowing, and its skin ripples like bark. The camouflage is designed for speed, its effect is that after just a minute the observer loses any idea of ​​the distance to the wolf. However, with all their desire for camouflage, wolves are great fashionistas. If one wears a restrained aristocratic gray suit, then the other diversifies it with a silver collar or a light shirtfront on the chest. A black or brown saddle cloth on the back suits someone very well - it’s a matter of taste. Even light tundra wolves, which are also bleached by the sleepless sun of the polar day (their ears are often red!), even they manage to maintain an elegant appearance.

However, a fur coat is a fur coat. In winter it should provide warmth, and in summer, if you really can’t take it off, let it make it easier. This is what happens to wolves. For cold weather, they stock up on undercoat, which is very dense and can withstand winds and frosts of fifty degrees! In the spring they shed.

European, Asian and American wolves, differing only in what they eat for lunch, are similar in all other respects. And yet there are no two wolves alike in everything. The wolf grows quickly and by the first year gains 40–45 kilograms. And from the third year he matures and acquires not only even more weight (sometimes up to 70 kilograms!), but also his own posture, characteristic only of him. It's like a person's body type, everyone has their own. And an experienced wolf hunter, seeing a wolf he has already met, will definitely recognize him. True, usually when people meet a wolf, they try to confuse it with a dog. He is, of course, bigger than a dog (we won’t touch the little ones for now - this is such an infantile audience!). In addition, if you see a “dog” in the forest, pay attention to its tail. It is never twisted, but is either lowered down or flows beautifully horizontally (this is when the wolf is in a good mood). Then the muzzle. A wolf never opens its mouth wide. (It turns out that the expression “wolf’s appetite” is incorrect. The wolf eats slowly: his jaws are too narrow. If he has to hurry, he painfully gags and groans.)

But teeth! They say about a bear: “picked up.” About the wolf - “killed.” It doesn’t cost him anything to slash a deer’s neck halfway down to the spine or bite through its side to the liver! These same teeth are capable of performing a surprisingly delicate operation. Lois Kreisler tells how a tamed she-wolf carefully opened her eyelids with her teeth (there was a feeling of a faint tingling of needles). Can you imagine what kind of instrument these teeth are? Jewelry!

And finally, the paws. The rear ones deserve special attention; they are surprisingly powerful. On them, a wolf can jump up like a candle, and quite high. This is the so-called “observational jump”. The footprints also cannot be confused with those of a dog. They are characterized by fingers gathered together. But the main thing is the size: a young wolf is like a large dog, a mature one is 14 centimeters long, 8 centimeters wide.

Wolf tracks... In the tundra, along the traditional migration routes of reindeer, you will always find them. And if you follow these paths, you will see sad landmarks on them: the corpses of deer. Wolves are not able to eat all the prey, and it goes to crows, magpies, arctic foxes, and wolverines.

These are the animals. People handed them a death sentence, which in some places has already been carried out. The verdict contains four charges:

1. Destruction of wild animals.

2. Destruction of domestic animals.

3. Spread of dangerous diseases, in particular rabies.

4. Attack on a person.

I, continuing the story in which I am going to question all these points, first dismiss the last one. Many tales have been written about such attacks. Fiction is especially rich in them. What’s interesting: the fewer wolves become, the more willingly books about their cannibalistic exploits are published. Here in front of me is one like this – a child’s one. A postman was killed by wolves: his son heroically continues his father’s work.

You look at the lines (and between the lines) and you are convinced: there is no smell of fact here, and neither is imagination, because imagination, although a free thing, is subordinate to logic and requires vital premises. In the story, the events are simply named, and this is a sure sign of epigonism. But what epigonism? For most realist writers, wolves do not attack people; no matter how you look for it. But there are examples to the contrary. Look through Prishvin. He told a funny story: a pregnant woman was surrounded by a pack of wolves. But it wasn’t that they didn’t touch her… they left their marks, so she had to go further with wet feet. It must be assumed that the wolves did this out of pure approval and respected motherhood.

Of course, a writer can write about anything, creating his own world in which wolves swallow grandmother and Little Red Riding Hood, but why pass off fables as truth? After all, the writer, who “teared to pieces” the poor postman in the pursuit of catharsis, dumped the tragedy on the heads of not the book wolves, but the living ones.

Vladimir Ivanovich Dal, a great expert on the Russian language, collected one and a half nonpareil columns of proverbs and sayings in his dictionary for the word “wolf.” From all these, so to speak, concentrates of folk wisdom, a very unsightly image of a gray predator emerges, but there was nothing like a wolf attack on people in them. But there is a proverb about how a shepherd, when selling sheep, as they say, “to the left,” blames the wolf.

A bear cub was born in winter in a den - a warm, cozy hole under an inverted spruce tree. The den was covered on all sides with coniferous branches and moss. The little bear cub was born - the size of a mitten, and weighed only half a kilogram.

The first thing he remembered was something wet, but warm, licking him. He crawled towards him. The heavy beast that was licking him turned so that the baby was directly in front of the nipple. The little bear clung to the nipple and, smacking with impatience, began to suck the milk. This is how the little bear lived: he ate, slept, sucked again, slept again in his mother’s warmth. He was still completely blind: his eyes opened only a month after birth. When the newborn cub became cold and began to tremble, the mother covered the baby with her front paws and began to breathe hotly on him to warm him up.

Three months passed quickly - spring approached. One day, waking up, the bear cub, to his surprise, discovered another animal in the den, similar to his mother, but smaller than her. It was his older sister. Last summer, the bear drove away all the grown cubs and kept only one with her. The two of them lay down in the den.
Why did you leave it?
And then, so that there is someone to help care for the cubs that will be born in the den in winter. The older bear cub is called a nurse. Because he cares for newborns, nurtures them, like a good nanny.

...Spring is still early - April. There is still a lot of snow in the forest along the spruce forests, pine forests, and gullies. Raw, grainy, lies tightly.
When the mother bear smelled the smells of spring, she broke through the roof of her sleeping hole and climbed out into the light. And after the darkness of the den, the light struck her eyes with extraordinary brightness. With her sensitive nose, the bear sniffed the spirit from the damp earth, from the swollen buds, from the melted snow, from the pine trees that generously exuded resin.
It's time... It's time to leave the winter shelter. It's time to walk through the forest and collect food.
And so she went, collapsing immediately into a snowdrift that the blizzard had blown over the winter near the turnout. The nurse immediately came out of the den behind her, and the little bear cub whined pitifully: he had not overcome the obstacle. Then the pestun returned to the pit and pulled him out by the collar with his teeth.
The spruce forest rustles with needles, the wind rustles in the branches. Our bears got out of the forest and into the black forest. The snow has almost completely melted here. The earth became foggy under the steamy warmth of the sun.
The mother bear was not idle, she was in charge everywhere: she would pull out snags, some stones, turn over slabs. The beast has great strength. The wind fell the tree to the ground, the bear walked around it, sniffed under the trunk what the earth smelled like there. Suddenly she grabbed a pine tree and moved it from its place like a light log. Now the nurse poked his nose into that bedsore and scraped the ground with his claws: maybe there was some small thing alive to eat. An example for the baby! He also began to dig the ground with his new claws.
The bear has lost weight over the winter, is hungry, chews and gnaws everything that is green, that is alive, scurrying around in the spring. The cubs keep up with her and imitate her in everything. Last year's pine nuts and acorns are being collected.

The anthill is a particularly pleasant find. They dug it all up and scattered it far around. The bear licked her paws, and the cubs, looking at her, did the same. Then they shoved their paws into the very vanity of the ants. Instantly, the paws turned black from the Ants, who rushed at them in crowds. Here the bears licked the Ants off their paws, ate them and reached for a new portion.
They ate a lot of Ants, but did not become full. The she-bear took the children to the moss swamps to pick cranberries.

They walked as usual: the mother was in front, the little bear cub was behind her, and the nurse was behind. The swamps have long since been freed from snow and are red with red berries - last year's cranberries. The mother bear and cubs raked up whole clumps with their paws and put them in their mouths, swallowed the juicy berries and threw away the moss. The sun had already risen high - the mother bear and her cubs went to rest: they climbed into the very thicket of the chapyga. We slept until late in the evening. The dawn was already fading in the west when the mother of her children led her to a field at the edge of the forest: there the winter crops were growing green. They ate this greenery until the morning, grazing like cows in a meadow.
The pike went to the floods to spawn, and the bear went there too. She sat down by the water and looked at it. The cubs also lay down nearby and became quiet. How long did they wait - no one watched the clock; But the bear spotted a large fish not far from the shore and suddenly jumped on it with a noisy splash with all four paws, like a fox on a mouse. The pike did not escape from the bear's claws. The loot is important. The whole family feasted.

Early spring - April. The ice on the rivers has disappeared, but on the lakes it still floats in the middle of the water surface, porous and wet. Near the dam itself, through which spring waters flow from the lake, some strange hillock rises.

This is a beaver house, and there are family celebrations in it: kids were born! As many as five. They have only just come into the world, but they already see everything around them. Beavers are born sighted, unlike puppies or kittens.

Within a day or two they are crawling out of their relative’s house. They want to see what is going on around them.

Beavers can even swim! They are just crumbs, but they float without freezing in the still cold water. From birth they are covered with thick wool from the cold.

Summer has passed - the beavers have grown up. They learn from their parents the intricacies of the “engineering” science that beavers master.

Writers and zoologists call these rodents “engineers.” And not in vain...

It is customary for beavers to erect complex buildings.

The first “project” is holes. They are dug when the banks of a reservoir are high and steep. Beavers begin to dig a hole under water, and then lead it obliquely upward. It rises above the water level, so that the “bedroom” where the hole ends is always dry. And the bedroom is often so large that two people can easily fit in it.

The second “project” is huts made of branches and silt, which glues them together like good cement. Beaver lodges rise above the water by one and a half to three meters, and their width is up to ten to twelve meters. The entrance is also underwater.

The huts are so strong that even if a moose climbs onto this beaver house, it will not break or collapse.

The third “project” is channels. In a swampy area, in different directions from the beavers’ home, when viewed from above, like rays from the sun in a child’s drawing, narrow, shallow strips of water diverge. These are waterways. Beavers float tree stumps and branches along them. This is easier than dragging them along the ground in your teeth and paws.

The fourth “project” is dams. You can’t take in the entire building with your eyes. The height of a beaver dam can be more than four meters, and its length can be six hundred meters!

Working together, beavers dump tree trunks, stones, branches, and silt in the middle of the river to form an island. Then, material suitable for a dam is also piled on the sides of the island towards the shores. They braid it with branches, coat it with silt, clay, and prop it up with stakes. They fold and weave... Until they reach the shore. The water goes wide and upward, overflows the edge of the dam, and makes gullies in it. But builders are persistent. They drag, weave, cover up... The water level in front of the dam has already risen, shines with a calm surface, and excess water pours out through a reliable drain built by beavers from branches. The river will no longer wash it away.

Without water, the beaver family will die. Water protects them from enemies. In water they are not so afraid of a wolf, a fox or some other predator. Beavers cannot walk quickly, and any animal can overtake them.

Beavers of the same family are friendly, peaceful, love to have fun and play.

Beavers eat shoots, bark, and leaves. They especially love aspen and willow, marsh grasses - reeds, iris, water lilies. They store branches under water for the winter.

Beavers cut down trees for food and construction. They chew them up. The front teeth - incisors - are powerful: up to twelve centimeters long! Two or three minutes - and the aspen as thick as your arm falls.

But beavers also fell large trees - half a meter thick. Such work takes them hours, or even the whole night.

Do beavers need a lot of trees for food and buildings? In the Voronezh Nature Reserve, scientists have calculated that one adult beaver spends so many branches and stumps of trunks per year for its needs that, if you put them in a pile, it would be only two meters high, long and wide. So there is little harm to the forest from beavers. But they are of great benefit! Where there are beavers, the river floods are wide, there is a lot of water and there is no drought. There are many different birds and animals here.

In the Middle Ages in Europe, the beaver was considered a fish. Its meat was a delicacy. Beaver tail was especially appreciated by lovers of delicious food.

The beaver's tail is flat, as if compressed from top to bottom. Such a tail is a good rudder and oar when a beaver swims. The beaver's hind legs also help it swim quickly: they have membranes between their toes, like those of a frog or a duck. And the front paws are without membranes: membranes would prevent the beaver from working. It is difficult to grab a branch with a webbed paw.

And here’s another interesting thing: on the beaver’s front paws, the little finger acts like the thumb on a person’s hand - it bends far away from all the other fingers. A beaver can firmly grab various objects with its paw and carry them.

The appearance of the beast is impressive. Walks around in a beaver fur coat! Dear fur coat, warm. To prevent it from getting wet, it is lubricated with an oily substance. After each bath, the beaver carefully cleans it, oils it and combs it - with a forked claw on its hind legs.

It was because of her, because of this fur coat, that the beavers suffered a difficult fate. Everywhere they were destroyed for the sake of their precious skin.

About fifty years ago, there were no more than a thousand beavers left in our entire country.

Then strict laws came out - hunting for these valuable animals was prohibited. The survivors began to be resettled in other places suitable for them, where they had previously been found, and then they all died.

And here is the result: there are now several tens of thousands of beavers in our country.

Beavers also live in the Losiny Ostrov park - it partially lies within the city of Moscow. At first, only seven beavers were released here. Not enough, it would seem. They were afraid that these valuable animals would die here. But they got along well.

…Autumn. Golden leaves silently fall from the trees. The forest is exposed. Beavers are busy with pre-winter chores - repairing huts, hastily gnawing branches, dragging them, hiding them under water...

Where beavers live, every spring the rivers flood wide and the forests turn green.