Summary of the story snap story of a bull terrier. Read online "Snap (The History of the Bull Terrier)". Other retellings and reviews for the reader's diary

Ernest Seton-Thompson

I saw him for the first time at dusk.

Early in the morning I received a telegram from my school friend Jack:

“I am sending you a wonderful puppy. Be polite to him. He doesn’t like impolite people.”

Jack has such a personality that he could send me a hellish machine or a rabid ferret instead of a puppy, so I waited for the package with some curiosity. When it arrived, I saw that it said “Danger.” From inside, at the slightest movement, a grumbling squeal could be heard. Looking into the hole sealed with bars, I saw not a tiger cub, but just a small white bull terrier. He tried to bite me and growled grumpily all the time. His growl was unpleasant to me. Dogs can growl in two ways: in a low, chesty voice - this is a polite warning or a dignified answer, and in a loud, high-pitched growl - this is the last word before an attack. As a dog lover, I thought I knew how to manage them. Therefore, having released the porter, I took out a penknife, a hammer, a hatchet, a toolbox, a poker and tore off the grate. The little imp growled menacingly with every blow of the hammer and, as soon as I turned the box on its side, rushed straight to my feet. If only his paw hadn't gotten caught in the wire mesh, I would have had a bad time. I jumped up on the table where he couldn't reach me and tried to reason with him. I've always been a proponent of talking to animals. I claim that they grasp the general meaning of our speech and our intentions, even if they do not understand the words. But this puppy apparently considered me a hypocrite and was contemptuous of my ingratiation. First, he sat down under the table, vigilantly looking in all directions for a foot trying to descend. I was quite sure that I could bring him into obedience with my gaze, but I could not manage to look him in the eyes, and so I remained on the table. I'm a cold-blooded person. After all, I am a representative of a company that sells iron goods, and our brother is generally famous for his presence of mind, second only to the gentlemen who sell ready-made clothes.

So I took out a cigar and lit it, sitting cross-legged on the table while the little despot waited at my feet. Then I took the telegram out of my pocket and re-read it: “Wonderful puppy. Be polite to him. He doesn’t like impolite people.” I think that my composure successfully replaced politeness in this case, because half an hour later the growling died down. After an hour, he no longer threw himself on the newspaper, which had been carefully lowered from the table to test his feelings. It is possible that the irritation caused by the cell has subsided a little. And when I lit the third cigar, he staggered to the fireplace and lay down there, however, not forgetting me - I could not complain about that. One of his eyes watched me all the time. I was watching with both eyes not at him, but at his short tail. If that tail had just twitched to the side just once, I would have felt like I had won. But the tail remained motionless. I took out the book and continued to sit on the table until my legs went numb and the fire in the fireplace began to go out. By ten o'clock it became cool, and at half past ten the fire went out completely. My friend’s gift stood up and, yawning and stretching, went under my bed, where the fur rug lay. Easily stepping from the table to the sideboard and from the sideboard to the fireplace, I also reached the bed and, undressing without noise, managed to lie down without alarming my master. I had not yet fallen asleep when I heard a light scratching and felt that someone was walking on the bed, then on my legs. Snap

Apparently he found it too cold below.

He curled up at my feet in a very uncomfortable way. But it would be in vain to try to make myself more comfortable, because as soon as I tried to move, he grabbed my leg with such fury that only a thick blanket saved me from serious injury.

A whole hour passed before I managed to position my legs in such a way, moving them a hair's breadth each time, that I could finally fall asleep. During the night I was awakened several times by the puppy's angry growls - perhaps because I dared to move my leg without his permission, but also, it seems, because I allowed myself to snore occasionally.

In the morning I wanted to get up before Snap. You see, I named him Snap... His full name was Gingersnap. Some dogs have a hard time finding a name, while others don’t have to come up with nicknames - they somehow are themselves.

So, I wanted to get up at seven o'clock. Snap chose to wait until eight to get up, so we got up at eight. He let me light the fire and let me get dressed, without once forcing me onto the table. Leaving the room and getting ready to have breakfast, I noticed:

Snap, my friend, some people would discipline you by beating you, but I think my plan is better. Current doctors recommend a treatment system called “leave without breakfast.” I'll try it on you.

It was cruel not to give him food all day, but I maintained my temper. He scratched the whole door, and then I had to repaint it, but by evening he willingly agreed to take some food from my hands.

Less than a week later, we were already friends. Now he slept on my bed, not trying to maim me at the slightest movement. The treatment system, which was called “leave without breakfast,” did wonders, and after three months we could not be spilled.

It seemed that the feeling of fear was unfamiliar to him. When he met a small dog, he did not pay any attention to it, but as soon as a healthy dog appeared, he pulled his stubby tail with a string and began to walk around it, disdainfully shuffling his hind legs and looking at the sky, at the ground, into the distance - anywhere, with the exception of the stranger himself, marking his presence only with frequent growls at high notes. If the stranger was in no hurry to leave, a fight began. After the fight, the stranger in most cases left with particular readiness. It also happened that Snap was beaten, but no bitter experience could instill in him even a grain of caution.

One day, while riding in a carriage during a dog show, Snap saw an elephant-like St. Bernard on a walk. Its size delighted the puppy; he rushed headlong out of the carriage window and broke his leg.

He had no feeling of fear. He didn't look like any dog I knew. For example, if a boy happened to throw a stone at him, he immediately started running, but not from the boy, but towards him. And if the boy threw a stone again, Snap would immediately deal with him, which gained everyone respect. Only I and the office boy at our office knew how to see his good sides. He considered only the two of us worthy of his friendship. By the middle of the summer, Carnegie, Vanderbilt and Astor together could not have raised enough money to buy my little Snap from me.

)

E. Seton-Thompson Snap History of the Bull Terrier

I

I saw him for the first time at dusk.

Early in the morning I received a telegram from my school friend Jack:

“I am sending you a wonderful puppy. Be polite to him. It’s safer this way.”

Jack has such a personality that he could send me a hellish machine or a rabid ferret instead of a puppy, so I waited for the package with some curiosity. When it arrived, I saw that it said “Danger.” From inside, at the slightest movement, a grumbling growl could be heard. Looking into the hole sealed with bars, I, however, saw not a tiger cub, but only a small white bull terrier. He tried to bite me and growled grumpily all the time. Dogs growl in two modes: in a low, chesty voice - this is a polite warning or a dignified answer - and loudly, almost shrilly - this is the last word before an attack. And the white dog growled just like that. As a dog lover, I thought I could handle any of them. Therefore, having dismissed the porter, I took out my folding knife, which successfully replaced a hammer, a hatchet, a toolbox and a poker (a specialty of our company) and tore off the grate. The imp growled menacingly with every blow to the boards and, as soon as I turned the box on its side, rushed straight to my feet. If only his paw hadn't gotten caught in the wire mesh, I would have had a bad time - he clearly wasn't going to joke. I jumped up on the table where he couldn't reach me and tried to reason with him. I've always been a proponent of talking to animals. In my deep conviction, they grasp the general meaning of our speech and our intentions, even if they do not understand the words. But this puppy, apparently, considered me a hypocrite and despised all my ingratiations. First, he sat down under the table, vigilantly looking in all directions for a foot trying to descend. I was quite sure that I could bring him into obedience with my gaze, but I could not manage to look him in the eyes, and so I remained on the table. I'm a cold-blooded person. After all, I am a representative of a company that sells hardware, and our brother is generally famous for his presence of mind, second only to the gentlemen who sell ready-made clothes.

So I took out a cigar and lit it, sitting cross-legged on the table while the little despot waited at my feet. Then I took the telegram out of my pocket and re-read it: “Wonderful puppy. Be polite to him. It’s safer this way.” I think that my composure successfully replaced politeness in this case, because half an hour later the growling died down. After an hour, he no longer threw himself on the newspaper, which had been carefully lowered from the table to test his feelings. It is possible that the irritation caused by the cell has subsided a little. And when I lit the third cigar, the puppy leisurely walked to the fireplace and lay down there, however, not forgetting me - I could not complain about that. One of his eyes watched me all the time. I was watching with both eyes not at him, but at his short tail. If that tail had just twitched to the side just once, I would have felt like I had won. But the tail remained motionless. I took out the book and continued to sit on the table until my legs went numb and the fire in the fireplace began to go out. By ten o'clock it became cool, and at half past ten the fire finally went out. My friend’s gift stood up and, yawning and stretching, went under my bed, where the fur rug lay. Easily stepping from the table to the sideboard and from the sideboard to the fireplace, I also reached the bed and, undressing without noise, managed to lie down without alarming my master. I had not yet fallen asleep when I heard a light scratching and felt that someone was walking on the bed, then on my legs. Snap apparently found it too cold below and decided to make himself as comfortable as possible.

He curled up at my feet in a very uncomfortable way. But it was in vain to try to get comfortable, because as soon as I tried to move, he grabbed my leg with such fury that only a thick blanket saved me from terrible injury. A whole hour passed before I managed to position my legs in such a way, moving them a hair's breadth each time, that I could finally fall asleep. During the night I was awakened several times by the puppy's angry growls - perhaps because I dared to move my leg without his permission, but also, it seems, because I allowed myself to snore occasionally.

In the morning I wanted to get up earlier than Snap. You see, I named him Snap... His full name was Gingersnap. Some dogs have a hard time finding a name, while others don’t have to come up with nicknames - they are somehow themselves.

So, I wanted to get up at seven o'clock. Snap chose to wait until eight to get up, so we got up at eight. He let me light the fire and let me get dressed, without once forcing me onto the table. As I left the room to prepare breakfast, I noticed:

Snap, my friend, some people would discipline you with a whip, but I think my plan is better. Current doctors recommend a treatment system called “leave without breakfast.” I'll try it on you.

It was cruel not to give him food all day, but I maintained my temper. He scratched the whole door, and then I had to repaint it, but by evening he willingly agreed to take some food from my hands.

Apparently, the feeling of fear was unfamiliar to him. When he met a small dog, he did not pay any attention to it, but as soon as a healthy dog appeared, he stretched out his thick tail like a string and began to walk around the stranger, disdainfully shuffling his hind legs and looking at the sky, at the ground, in the distance - anywhere, except for this dog, and marking his presence only with frequent growls at high notes. If the stranger was in no hurry to leave, a fight began. After the fight, the stranger in most cases left with particular readiness. It also happened that Snap lost a battle, but no bitter experience could instill in him even a grain of caution.

One day, while riding in a carriage during a dog show, Snap saw an elephant-like St. Bernard on a walk. Its size caused such frenzied delight in the puppy that he rushed headlong out of the carriage window and broke his leg.

He didn't know what fear was. He didn't look like any dog I knew. For example, if a boy happened to throw a stone at him, he immediately started running, but not from the boy, but towards him. And if the boy threw a stone again, Snap immediately dealt with him, which gained everyone’s respect. Only I and the office boy at our office knew how to see his good sides. He considered only the two of us worthy of his friendship. By the middle of the summer, Carnegie, Vanderbildt and Astor together could not have raised enough money to buy my little Snap from me.

II

Although I was not a traveling salesman, the company I worked for sent me on a trip in the fall, and Snap was left alone with his landlady. They didn't get along. He despised her, she feared him, and both hated each other.

I was busy selling barbed wire in the northern states. Letters were delivered to me once a week. In her letters, my landlady constantly complained about Snap.

Arriving in Mendoza, North Dakota, I found a good market for the wire. Of course, my main deals were made with large merchants, but I also hung around among farmers to learn their needs and requirements, and thus became acquainted with the Penruf brothers' farm.

You cannot visit an area where cattle breeding is practiced and not hear about the atrocities of some crafty and bloodthirsty wolf. The time has passed when wolves fell for poison. The Penruf brothers, like all reasonable cattle breeders, abandoned poison and traps and began training various kinds of dogs to hunt wolves, hoping not only to rid the area of enemies, but also to have some fun.

The hounds turned out to be too weak for a decisive fight, the Great Danes were too clumsy, and the greyhounds could not pursue the animal without seeing it. Each breed had some fatal flaw. The cowboys hoped to make a difference with a mixed pack, and when I was invited to the hunt, I was greatly amused by the variety of dogs participating in it. There were a lot of bastards there, but there were also purebred dogs - by the way, several Russian wolfhounds, which were probably worth a lot of money.

Gilton Penruf, the eldest of the brothers and the “boss” of the local hunt, was unusually proud of them and expected great feats from them.

Greyhounds are too pampered for wolf hunting, Great Danes run slowly, but you will see that shreds will fly when the wolfhounds get down to business.

Thus, greyhounds were intended for the rut, mastiffs for reserve, and wolfhounds for general battle. In addition, the pack included two or three hounds, who were supposed to track the beast with their subtle sense if the others lost sight of it.

It was a glorious sight as we set off between the hills on a clear October day! The air was clear and clean, and, despite the late season, there was neither snow nor frost. The hunters' horses got a little excited and tried to show me twice how they got rid of their riders. We noticed two or three gray spots on the plain, which Gilton said could be wolves or coyotes. The pack rushed off with a loud bark. But they failed to catch anyone, although they rushed around until the evening. Only one of the greyhounds caught up with the wolf and, having received a wound in the shoulder, fell behind.

It seems to me, Gilt, that your vaunted wolfhounds are of no use,” said Garvin, the youngest of the brothers. - The little black dog is much better, even though he is a simple bastard.

I do not get it! - Gilton grumbled. “Even the coyotes could never escape those greyhounds, much less the wolves.” The hounds are also excellent - they will follow even a three-day trail. And dogs can even cope with a bear.

I don’t argue, their father said, your dogs can chase, they can track and they can handle a bear, but the fact is that they don’t want to mess with a wolf. The whole damned pack is simply cowardly. I would give a lot to get back the money I paid for them.

So they quarreled and grumbled when I said goodbye to them and moved on. Apparently, the failure was explained by the fact that the dogs, although they were strong and fleet-footed, the sight of the wolf obviously terrified them. They did not have the courage to measure their strength with him, and involuntarily my imagination took me to the fearless dog who had shared my bed for the last year. How I wished he were here! The clumsy giants would have a leader whose courage never fails.

At my next stop, in Baroka, I received letters, among which were two messages from my mistress: the first with the statement that “this vile dog is causing mischief in my room,” the other, even more ardent, demanding the immediate removal of Snap.

“Why not discharge him to Mendoza? - I thought. - Only twenty hours on the road. Penroofs will be happy with my Snap. And on the way back I’ll stop by to see them.”

III

My next meeting with Gingersnap was not so different from the first as might have been expected. He rushed at me, pretended to bite me, and grumbled continuously. But the grumbling was deep and deep, and the tail was twitching vigorously.

The Penroofs had started wolf hunts several times since I visited them, and were beside themselves with constant failures. The dogs raised the wolf almost every time, but could not finish it off; the hunters were never close enough to find out why they were cowardly.

Old Penroof was now fully convinced that “in all the wicked rabble there is not a single dog braver than a rabbit.”

The next day we left at dawn. The same excellent horses, the same excellent riders, the same big gray, red and motley dogs. But, in addition, there was a small white dog with us, who clung to me all the time and introduced not only the dogs, but also the horses with her teeth when they dared to approach me. Snap seems to have quarreled with every person, dog and horse in the neighborhood. We stopped on the flat top of a large hill. Suddenly Gilton, who was examining the surroundings through binoculars, exclaimed:

I see him! Here he is running to the stream, Skell. It must be a coyote.

Now it was necessary to force the greyhounds to see the prey. This is not an easy task, since they cannot look through binoculars, and the plain was covered with sagebrush taller than a dog.

Then Gilton called: “Here, Dunder!” - and put his foot forward. With one swift leap, Dunder flew up onto the saddle and stood there, balancing on the horse, while Gilton insistently pointed out to him:

Here it is, Dunder, look! Bite him, there, there!

Dander peered intensely at the point indicated by his owner, then he must have seen something, because with a slight yelp he jumped to the ground and began to run. The other dogs followed him. We hurried after them, but lagging behind significantly, since our path was hampered by ravines, badger holes, stones and high wormwood. Jumping too fast could end sadly.

So we're all behind; I, a man unaccustomed to the saddle, fell behind the most. From time to time, dogs flashed ahead, either rushing across the plain, or flying into a ravine, only to immediately appear on its other slope. The recognized leader was the greyhound dog Dunder, and, climbing the next ridge, we saw the whole picture of the hunt: a coyote flying at a gallop, and the dogs running a quarter of a mile behind, but apparently overtaking him. The next time we saw them, the coyote was lifeless and all the dogs were sitting around him, except the two hounds and Gingersnap.

Late to the fight! - Gilton noted, looking at the lagging hounds. Then he patted Dander with pride: “After all, as you can see, your puppy was not needed!”

Please tell me how brave it is: ten big dogs attacked a little coyote! - the father remarked mockingly. - Wait, let us meet the wolf!

The next day we went hunting again. Climbing the hill we saw a moving gray dot.

A moving white dot indicates an antelope, a red one indicates a fox, and a gray one indicates a wolf or coyote. Whether it is a wolf or a coyote is determined by its tail. The lowered tail belongs to the coyote, the raised tail belongs to the hated wolf.

Like yesterday, Dander was shown the prey, and he, like yesterday, led a motley flock of greyhounds, wolfhounds, hounds, mastiffs, bull terriers and horsemen. For a moment we saw a chase: no doubt a wolf was moving in long leaps ahead of the dogs. For some reason, it seemed to me that the dogs in front were not running as fast as when they were chasing the coyote. No one saw what happened next. The dogs returned one after another, and the wolf disappeared.

Now ridicule and reproach rained down on the dogs.

Eh! They chickened out, they simply chickened out! - old man Penroof said with disgust. - They could have easily caught up with him, but as soon as he turned towards them, they ran away. Ugh!

Where is the incomparable, fearless and heroic terrier? - Gilton asked contemptuously.

“I don’t know,” I said. - Most likely, he never saw the wolf. But if he ever sees it, I bet he will choose victory or death.

That night, near the farm, wolves killed several cows, and we went hunting again.

It started approximately the same as the day before. By evening we saw a gray youngster with his tail raised no more than half a mile away. Gilton placed Dander on the saddle. I followed his example and called Snap. His legs were so short that he could not jump onto the horse's back. Finally he climbed up with the help of my leg. I showed him the wolf and repeated: “Bite, bite!” - until he finally noticed the beast and rushed as fast as he could after the already running greyhounds.

This time the chase did not go through the bushes in the river valley, but through open areas. We all climbed up to the plateau together and saw the chase just at the moment when Dander overtook the wolf and tried to grab it by the hind paw. Gray turned to him to fight, and we clearly saw everything that followed. The dogs ran up in twos and threes, surrounding the wolf in a ring, barking at him until the last white dog came running. This one did not waste time barking, but rushed straight to the wolf’s throat, but missed and only managed to grab his nose. Then ten big dogs closed in on the wolf, and two minutes later he was dead. We rushed at a gallop so as not to miss the outcome, and even from a distance, we clearly saw that Snap justified my recommendation and laudatory telegram.

Now it's my turn to celebrate. Snap showed them how to catch wolves, and finally the Mendoza pack finished off the wolf without the help of people.

However, two circumstances somewhat darkened the joy of victory. Firstly, it was a young wolf, almost a wolf cub. That's why he foolishly started running across the plain. And secondly, Snap was wounded - the wolf seriously grazed his shoulder.

As we proudly set off on our way back, I noticed that he was limping.

Here! - I shouted. - Snap, Snap!

He tried to jump onto the saddle twice, but could not.

Give it to me here, Gilton,” I asked.

Thank you humbly. You can handle your own rattlesnake,” Gilton replied, since everyone now knew that it was unsafe to mess with Snap.

Here, Snap, take it! - I said, handing him the whip. He grabbed it with his teeth, and in this way I lifted him onto the saddle and brought him home. I looked after him like a child. He showed these herders who was missing from their pack. Hounds have beautiful noses, greyhounds have fast legs, wolfhounds and mastiffs are strong, but they are all worthless, because only the bull terrier has selfless courage. On this day, the cattle breeders resolved the wolf issue, which you can easily see if you visit Mendoza, for each of the local packs now has its own bull terrier, mostly of Snapamendoza blood.

IV

The next day was the anniversary of my Snap. The weather was clear and sunny. There was no snow yet. We are going on a wolf hunt again. To everyone's disappointment, Snap felt ill. He slept, as usual, at my feet, and there were traces of blood on the blanket. He, of course, could not participate in the bullying. We decided to go without him. He was lured into a barn and locked there. Then we set off, but I was tormented by a premonition of evil. I knew we would fail without my dog, but I didn't imagine how great it would be.

We had already climbed far, wandering among the hills, when suddenly, flashing through the wormwood, a white ball rushed after us. A minute later, Snap came running up to my horse, growling and wagging his tail. I couldn't send him back because he would never listen. His wound looked bad. Calling him over, I handed him the whip and lifted him onto the saddle. “Here,” I thought, “you will sit until you return home.” But it was not there. Gilton's cry of "Atu, Atu!" informed us that he had seen a wolf. Dunder and Ryle, his opponent, both rushed forward, collided and fell to the ground together. Meanwhile, Snap, looking keenly, spotted the wolf, and before I had time to look back, he had already jumped out of the saddle and rushed in zigzags up and down - through the wormwood, under the wormwood right at the enemy. For several minutes he led the entire pack. Not for long, of course. The big greyhounds saw the moving dot, and a long line of dogs stretched across the plain. The baiting promised to be interesting, since the wolf was very close and all the dogs were rushing at full speed.

They turned into Bear Gully! - Garvin shouted. - Behind me! We can stop them!

And we turned and rode quickly along the northern slope of the hill, while the pursuit, apparently, moved along the southern slope.

We climbed the ridge and were preparing to descend when Gilton shouted:

He is here! We ran straight into it.

Gilton jumped off his horse, dropped the reins and ran forward. I did the same. A large wolf was rushing towards us across an open clearing, waddling. His head was lowered, his tail extended in a straight line, and fifty paces behind him rushed Dunder, twice as fast as the wolf. A minute later, the greyhound dog caught up with him and was already baring his teeth, but backed away as soon as the wolf turned to him. They were now just below us, no more than fifty pounds away. Garvin drew his revolver, but Gilton, unfortunately, stopped him:

No no! Let's see what happens.

A moment later the second greyhound came rushing, then one after another the other dogs. Each one rushed, burning with rage and bloodlust, ready to immediately tear the gray one apart. But each one retreated one by one and began barking at a safe distance. About two minutes later the wolfhounds arrived - nice, beautiful dogs. As they approached, they no doubt wanted to rush straight at the gray wolf. But his fearless appearance, muscular chest, deadly jaws frightened them long before meeting him, and they also joined the general circle, while the gray robber turned first in one direction, then in the other, ready to fight with each of them and with everyone together.

Then the Great Danes appeared, heavy creatures, each the same weight as a wolf. Their heavy breathing turned into menacing wheezes as they advanced, ready to tear the wolf to shreds. But as soon as they saw him up close - gloomy, fearless, with powerful jaws, with tireless paws, ready to die if necessary, but confident that he would not die alone - these big dogs, all three of them, felt, like the others, a sudden surge of shyness: yes, yes, they will rush at him a little later, not now, but as soon as they catch their breath. Of course, they are not afraid of the wolf. Their voices sounded brave. They knew well that the first one to poke his nose in would be in trouble, but it didn’t matter, just not now. They bark a little more to cheer themselves up.

While ten large dogs were idly running around the silent beast, a rustling sound was heard in the sagebrush behind them. Then a snow-white rubber ball appeared in leaps and bounds, soon turning into a small bull terrier. Snap, the slowest and smallest of the pack, came running, breathing heavily - so heavily that he seemed to be suffocating, and flew straight to the ring around the predator, which no one dared to fight. Did he hesitate? Not for a moment. Through the ring of barking dogs he rushed forward towards the old despot of the hills, preparing to grab him by the throat. And the wolf struck him with all twenty of his daggers. However, the baby rushed at him a second time, and what happened then is difficult to say. The dogs mixed up. It seemed to me that I saw how a small white dog grabbed the nose of a wolf, which was now attacked by the whole pack. We couldn't help the dogs, but they didn't need us. They had a leader of indestructible courage, and when the battle was finally over, there lay on the ground in front of us a wolf - a mighty giant - and a white dog clutching his nose.

We stood around, ready to intervene, but unable to do so. Finally it was all over: the wolf was dead. I called out to Snap, but he didn't move. I leaned towards him.

Snap, Snap, it's over, you killed him! - But the dog was motionless. Now I just saw two deep wounds on his body. I tried to lift him up: “Let him go, old man, it’s all over!”

He growled weakly and released the wolf.

The rude herdsmen knelt around him, and old Penroof muttered in a trembling voice:

I wish I had lost twenty bulls!

I took Snap in my arms, called him by name and stroked his head. He grumbled slightly, apparently as a farewell, licked my hand and fell silent forever.

We returned home sadly. We had the skin of a monstrous wolf with us, but it could not comfort us. We buried the undaunted Snap on the hill behind the farm. At the same time, I heard Penroof, standing next to me, mutter:

This is truly a brave man! Without courage you won't get far in our business.

Someone sent a package with a surprise to one fairly experienced hunter. The parcel contained a small, white, cute, fluffy puppy. But when the hunter opened the package, this “puppy” rushed at him so decisively that the man had to urgently save himself on the table. There, on the table, he sat all day until the puppy fell asleep.

Well, the hunter knew perfectly well how to raise such a creature. The puppy was locked in a room without food for two days. And even though he scratched the entire door there and chewed up all the furniture, the hunter did not give up and did not let the puppy go, because he knew that soon everything would be fine, and he and the puppy would become friends. And so it happened. When the hunter released the puppy, it rushed not at him, but at the bowl of treats. The puppy fully appreciated the action of his new owner, and after that he even stopped biting him at night. The hunter named the puppy "Snap".
All the men in these places often got together and hunted wolves, which destroyed flocks of sheep. The hunter began to take his little Snap with him. However, he kept him in the saddle and did not allow him to join the hunt. This continued until Snap grew up.
One day, a pack picked up the scent of a small jackal and rushed after it. Snap took part in the hunt for the first time and rushed forward with the pack. The greyhounds quickly caught up with the jackal, surrounded him, barked and did not allow him to leave. Soon the wolfhounds arrived, and the reprisal against the jackal did not last long. In this huge confusion of dogs gathered around the lifeless jackal, no one could see the small, white lump named Snap. He was simply not visible behind the backs of huge, thoroughbred animals. “Well,” said the other hunters to Snap’s owner. — “Your plush puppy turned out to be of no use! OK! If you want, let him continue to run with the rest of the dogs. At least he doesn't bother anyone." However, Snap's owner had a completely different opinion about him. He just smiled and calmly said to the others: “You will definitely find out what he is capable of! Just wait a little, let the opportunity present itself! »
On the next hunt, the pack picked up the trail of a young wolf. This was already something more serious than a cowardly jackal. The greyhounds again caught up with the predator, surrounded him and barked. Then the wolfhounds arrived. But what is it? They are in no hurry to attack the wolf, because he was not going to give up, but, on the contrary, clanged his teeth and bit one of the attackers. But it’s okay, now the royal dogs will arrive! And here come the Great Danes! But no, they didn’t rush at the wolf right away! They first bark at the wolf, surround it, gain strength... and only then the wolf will see no mercy! Hunters see everything through binoculars and are a little disappointed. In this situation, they will need to drive the pack away a little and shoot the wolf. But then something incomprehensible happened. A small, white lump jumped out of the bushes, silently ran through the gathered pack and, without stopping, a happy Snap ran to its owner.
Well, the owner had to put Snap in the saddle and show him the wolf. But he jumped from the saddle and ran after the pack. The greyhounds immediately appreciated the strength of this monster. Just in case, standing away from him, they tried not to bark too much. Still, they understood that it was dangerous to anger such an enemy. And suddenly, at that moment, a small, white lump jumped out of the bushes. Did he stop to bark and scare the wolf? Without stopping, silently, he ran through the ring and rushed to the wolf. The wolf reacted instantly. He hit Snap sharply with all his fangs. The snap flew to the side with a bitten side. But what is he doing? He gets up and, just as silently, rushes at the wolf again, aiming for his nose. And the wolf wavered for a moment. This moment was enough for Snap to grab the wolf’s nose with a death grip. and when the battle was finally over, there lay on the ground the wolf - a mighty giant - and a small white dog clutching his nose.
He grumbled slightly, apparently as a farewell, licked his owner’s hand and fell silent forever.

Snap
Ernest Seton-Thompson

Stories about animals

Ernest Seton-Thompson

I saw him for the first time at dusk.

Early in the morning I received a telegram from my school friend Jack:

“I am sending you a wonderful puppy. Be polite to him. He doesn’t like impolite people.”

Apparently he found it too cold below.

Snap, my friend, some people would discipline you by beating you, but I think my plan is better. Current doctors recommend a treatment system called “leave without breakfast.” I'll try it on you.

It was cruel not to give him food all day, but I maintained my temper. He scratched the whole door, and then I had to repaint it, but by evening he willingly agreed to take some food from my hands.

One day, while riding in a carriage during a dog show, Snap saw an elephant-like St. Bernard on a walk. Its size delighted the puppy; he rushed headlong out of the carriage window and broke his leg.

Although I was not a traveling salesman, nevertheless, my company, in which I served, sent me on a trip in the fall, and Snap was left alone with his landlady. They didn't get along. He despised her, she was afraid of him, they both hated each other.

I was busy selling wire in the northern states. Letters received in my name were delivered to me once a week. In these letters, my mistress constantly complained to me about Snap.

Arriving in Mendoza, North Dakota, I found a good market for the wire. Of course, my main deals were with the big merchants, but I hung around among the farmers to get practical instructions from them, and thus became acquainted with the Penroof brothers' farm.

You cannot visit an area where cattle breeding is practiced without hearing about the atrocities of some crafty and deadly wolf. The time has passed when wolves fell for poison. The Penroof brothers, like all reasonable cowboys, abandoned poison and traps and began training various kinds of dogs to hunt wolves, hoping not only to rid the area of their enemies, but also to have fun.

The hounds turned out to be too good-natured for a decisive fight, the Great Danes were too clumsy, and the greyhounds could not pursue the animal without seeing it. Each breed had some fatal flaw. The cowboys hoped to make a difference with a mixed pack, and when I was invited to the hunt, I was greatly amused by the variety of dogs participating in it. There were a lot of bastards there, but there were also purebred dogs - by the way, several Russian wolfhounds, which were probably worth a lot of money.

Gilton Penruf, the eldest of the brothers, was unusually proud of them and expected great feats from them.

Greyhounds are too thin-skinned for wolf hunting, Great Danes run slowly, but you'll see, shreds will fly when my wolfhounds intervene.

Thus, greyhounds were intended for the rut, mastiffs for reserve, and wolfhounds for general battle. In addition, there were two or three hounds, which were supposed to track down the beast with their subtle sense if it was lost sight of.

It was a glorious sight as we set off between the hills on a clear October day! The air was clear and clean, and, despite the late season, there was neither snow nor frost. The cowboys' horses got a little excited and showed me a couple of times how they get rid of their riders.

We noticed two or three gray spots on the plain, which Gilton said were wolves or jackals. The pack rushed off with a loud bark. But they failed to catch anyone, although they rushed around until the evening. Only one of the greyhounds caught up with the wolf and, having received a wound in the shoulder, fell behind.

It seems to me, Gilt, that your wolfhounds will be of little use,” said Garvin, the youngest of the brothers. “I’m ready to stand for the little black dog against everyone else, even though he’s a simple bastard.”

I do not get it! - Gilton grumbled. “Even jackals never managed to elude these greyhounds, let alone wolves.” Hounds - also excellent - will track a trail for at least three days. And dogs can even cope with a bear.

“I don’t argue,” said the father, “your dogs can chase, they can track and they can cope with a bear, but the fact is that they don’t want to get involved with a wolf.” The whole damned pack is simply cowardly. I would give a lot to get back the money I paid for them.

This is how they interpreted it when I said goodbye to them and moved on.

The greyhounds were strong and fleet-footed, but the sight of the wolf apparently terrified all the dogs. They did not have the courage to measure their strength with him, and involuntarily my imagination took me to the fearless puppy who had shared my bed for the last year. How I wished he were here! The lumbering giants would have a leader whose courage never fails.

At my next stop, in Baroka, I received a package from the post office containing two messages from my mistress: the first with the statement that “this vile dog is causing mischief in my room,” the other, even more ardent, demanding the immediate removal of Snap.

“Why not discharge him to Mendoza? - I thought. - Only twenty hours away. The Penroofs will be glad to see my Snap.”

My next meeting with Gingersnap was not so different from the first as might have been expected. He rushed at me, pretended to bite me, and grumbled continuously. But the grunt was chesty, bassy, and the stump of the tail twitched vigorously.

The Penroofs had started wolf hunts several times since I lived with them, and were beside themselves with constant failures. The dogs picked up the wolf almost every time, but could not finish it off, and the hunters were never close enough to find out why they were cowardly.

Old Penroof was now fully convinced that “in all the wicked rabble there is not a single dog that can compete even with a rabbit.”

The next day we left at dawn - the same kind horses, the same excellent riders, the same big gray, yellow and pockmarked dogs. But, in addition, there was a small white dog with us, who clung to me all the time and introduced not only the dogs, but also the horses with her teeth when they dared to approach me. Snap seems to have quarreled with every person, dog and horse in the neighborhood.

We stopped at the top of a large flathead hill. Suddenly Gilton, who was examining the surroundings with binoculars, exclaimed:

I see him! Here he goes to the stream, Skell. It must be a jackal.

Now it was necessary to force the greyhounds to see the prey. This is not an easy task, since they cannot look through binoculars, and the plain is covered with bushes taller than a dog's height.

There he is, Dunder, look! Bite, bite him, there, there!

Dander peered intensely at the point indicated by his owner, then he must have seen something, because with a slight yelp he jumped to the ground and began to run. The other dogs followed him. We hurried after them, but lagging behind significantly, since the soil was pitted with ravines, badger holes, and covered with stones and bushes. Jumping too fast could end sadly.

So we are all behind; I, a man unaccustomed to the saddle, fell behind the most. From time to time, dogs flashed by, either galloping across the plain, or flying into a ravine, only to immediately appear on the other side. The recognized leader was the Dunder greyhound, and, having climbed the next ridge, we saw the whole picture of the hunt: a jackal flying at a gallop, the dogs running a quarter of a mile behind, but apparently overtaking him. When we next saw them, the jackal was lifeless, and all the dogs were sitting around him, except the two hounds and Gingersnap.

We're late for the feast! - Gilton noted, looking at the lagging hounds. Then he patted Dander with pride: “After all, as you can see, your puppy was not needed!”

Please tell me what courage: ten big dogs attacked a small jackal! - the father remarked mockingly. - Wait, let us meet the wolf.

The next day we hit the road again.

As we climbed the hill, we saw a moving gray dot. A moving white dot means an antelope, a red dot means a fox, and a gray dot means a wolf or jackal. Whether it is a wolf or a jackal is determined by its tail. The hanging tail belongs to the jackal, the raised tail belongs to the hated wolf.

Like yesterday, Dander was shown the prey, and he, like yesterday, led a motley flock of greyhounds, wolfhounds, hounds, mastiffs, bull terriers and horsemen. For a moment we saw a chase: no doubt it was a wolf, moving in long leaps ahead of the dogs. For some reason it seemed to me that the leading dogs were not running as fast as when they were chasing the jackal. No one saw what happened next. The dogs returned one after another, and the wolf disappeared.