A story about a journey to the planet Mars. Journey to Mars: what can happen to an astronaut on the way to the planet and on its surface

My brother Seryozha and I went to bed. Suddenly the door opened, and dad came in, followed by a large beautiful dog, white with dark brown spots on the sides. Her muzzle was also brown; huge ears hung down.

Dad, where are you from? Will it be ours? What is her name? we shouted, jumping up from our beds and rushing to the dog.

The dog, a little embarrassed by such a stormy meeting, nevertheless wagged his tail in a friendly way and allowed himself to be stroked. He even sniffed my hand and licked it with his soft pink tongue.

So we got a dog, - said dad. - And now the march on the beds! And then mom will come, she will see that you are running around in the same shirts, and she will ask us.

We climbed back into bed, and dad sat down on a chair.

Jack, sit down, sit down here,” he told the dog, pointing to the floor.

Jack sowing next to dad and gave him a paw.

Hello, - said dad, shook his paw and took it off his knees, but Jack immediately gave it again.

So he "hello", probably ten times in a row. Dad pretended to be angry - he took off his paw, Jack served again, and we laughed.

That's enough," Dad finally said. - Lie down.

Jack obediently lay down at his feet and only looked askance at his dad and lightly tapped his tail on the floor.

Jack's coat was short, shiny, smooth, and strong muscles showed from under it. Dad said it was a hunting dog, a pointer. With pointing dogs, you can only hunt for game - for different birds, but you can’t hunt hares or foxes.

When August comes, the time for hunting comes, and we will go with him to shoot ducks. Well, it's time for bed, it's already late.

Dad called the dog and left the room with him.

The next morning we got up early, drank our tea quickly, and went for a walk with Jack.

He merrily ran through the tall, thick grass, between the bushes, wagged his tail, caressed us, and generally felt at home in his new place.

Having run enough, we decided to go play "hunters".

Jack also followed us. We made two bows from a hoop from a barrel, cut out arrows and went on a “hunt”.

There was a small stump in the middle of the grass garden. From a distance, he looked very much like a hare. Two twigs protruded from his sides, like ears.

Seryozha shot him first. The arrow hit a stump, bounced off and fell into the grass. At the same moment, Jack rushed to the arrow, grabbed it in his teeth and, wagging his tail, brought it and gave it to us. We were very pleased with this. They shot the arrow again, and Jack brought it back.

Since then, the dog took part in our shooting every day and gave us arrows.

Very soon we learned that Jack gives not only arrows, but also any thing that you throw at him: a stick, a hat, a ball ... And sometimes he brought things that no one asked him to do. For example, he will run into the house and bring a galosh from the front.

Why did you bring it - it's completely dry! Bring it back! we laughed.

Jack gallops around, puts a galosh in his hands and, apparently, is not at all going to carry it back to its place. I had to carry it myself.

Jack really liked to go swimming with us. It used to be that we just started to get ready, and he was already right there - jumping, spinning, as if in a hurry to us.

The river in the place where we swam was shallow near the shore. We floundered in the water with laughter and squeals, splashed, chased each other! And Jack, too, climbed into the water, rushed along with us; if they threw a stick into the river, he rushed after it, swam, then took it in his teeth and returned to the shore. Often, in a fit of merriment, he grabbed something from our clothes and started running, while we chased him across the meadow, trying to take away our cap or shirt. And one time, that's what happened.

We swam in the river with my dad. Dad swam very well. He swam to the other side and began to call Jack to him. The dog was playing with us at that time. But, as soon as he heard his father's voice, he immediately became alert, rushed into the water, then unexpectedly returned, grabbed his father's clothes in his teeth, and before we had time to come to our senses, he was already swimming to the other side. Behind him, inflating like a big white bubble, the shirt dragged along the water, and the trousers were already completely wet, disappeared under the water, and Jack could hardly hold them with his teeth at the very tip. We just froze in place, afraid that he would miss the clothes and she would drown. However, Jack did not lose anything and safely swam to the other side.

Dad had to swim back, holding clothes in his hand. Of course, she didn’t have time to dry, and when we returned home, mom, seeing dad, gasped:

What happened? Why are you like this? Did you fall into the river? - But, having learned what was the matter, then she laughed with us for a long time.

We got used to Jack very much, did not part with him for whole days and kept dreaming about when August would come and dad and Jack would go hunting. Dad promised that he would take us with him too.

Every morning we first ran to the tear-off calendar, tore off the old sheet and counted how many more sheets were left until August.

Finally, there was only one left.

On this day, dad, as soon as he returned from work and had lunch, looked meaningfully at us and said:

Well, who wants to go with me to prepare for tomorrow's hunt?

Of course, there was no need to repeat the invitation. Seryozha and I rushed as fast as we could into the office and sat down near the desk.

Dad took out all the hunting supplies from the box: gunpowder, shot, shells, wads - and began to fill the cartridges.

We watched these preparations with bated breath.

Finally, the cartridges were filled and neatly inserted into a wide belt with narrow pockets for each cartridge. Such a belt is called a "bandolier".

Hanging the bandolier on a nail, papa took a cover out of the closet and slowly took out the most interesting thing- a gun. It was double-barreled, that is, with two trunks. A cartridge was inserted into each barrel, so that such a gun can be fired twice: first from one barrel, and if you miss, then, without reloading, now from the other. The gun was very beautiful, with golden decorations.

We gently touched it and even tried to aim, but it turned out to be too heavy.

When dad filled the cartridges, Jack calmly lay in a corner on his rug. But as soon as he saw the gun, he jumped up, began to jump, jump around dad and showed with his whole appearance that he was immediately ready to go hunting. Then, not knowing how else to express his joy, he rushed off to the dining room, dragged a pillow from the sofa and began to shake it so that only fluff flew in all directions.

What is going on with you? - Mom was surprised, entering the office.

She took the pillow from Jack and carried it to the place.

The next day was Sunday. We got up early, got dressed quickly and were no longer a step behind dad. And he, as if on purpose, dressed and ate breakfast very slowly.

Finally, my father got ready. He put on a jacket, high boots, girded himself with a bandolier and picked up a gun.

Jack, who had been spinning under his feet all the time, flew out into the yard like a bullet and, squealing with joy, began to rush around the harnessed horse. And then, with all his might, he jumped onto the cart and sat down.

Dad and we also climbed onto the cart and set off.

Goodbye, look empty-handed, don't come back! - laughing, my mother shouted after us, standing on the porch.

Ten minutes later we had already left our town and rolled along a smooth country road, through a field, through a forest - to where the river still gleamed from afar and a mill lined with willows could be seen.

From this mill, reeds grew thickly up along the river bank and a wide swamp stretched. There were wild ducks, long-nosed marsh waders, snipes, and other game.

Arriving at the mill, dad left the horse, and we went to the swamp.

As we walked along the road to the swamp, Jack stayed close to dad and kept looking at him, as if asking if it was time to run ahead.

Finally we came to the swamp itself. Then dad stopped, pulled up taller boots, loaded the gun, lit a cigarette, and then only commanded:

Jack, go!

The dog, apparently, was just waiting for this. He threw himself into the swamp with all his might, so that the spray flew in all directions.

Having run twenty paces, Jack stopped and began to run now to the right, then to the left, sniffing at something.

He was looking for game. Dad slowly, loudly slapping his boots on the water, followed the dog. And we walked behind, behind dad.

Suddenly, Jack became agitated, ran faster, and then immediately somehow all stretched out and slowly, slowly began to move forward. So he took a few steps and stopped. He stood motionless, like a dead man, all stretched out in a string. Even the tail was stretched out, and only the tip of it was trembling finely from the strong tension.

Papa quickly approached the dog, raised his gun and commanded:

Jack took a step back and stopped again.

Go-go! Dad ordered again.

Jack took another step, another ... Suddenly, in front of him, something rustled in the reeds, clapped, a large wild duck flew out from there.

Dad raised his gun and fired.

The duck somehow immediately leaned forward, rolled over in the air and plopped heavily into the water.

And Jack stood still, as if frozen.

Give it, give it here! his father shouted cheerfully.

Here Jack immediately came to life. He rushed through the swamp straight into the river and swam after the duck.

Here she is right next to me. Jack opened his mouth to grab her. Suddenly a splash of water - and there is no duck! Jack looked around in surprise: where did she go?

Dove! Wounded, that is! - Papa exclaimed in annoyance. - Now it will hide in the reeds, you will not find it.

At this time, the duck surfaced a few steps from Jack. The dog quickly swam towards her, but as soon as he approached, the duck dived again. This was repeated several times.

We stood in the swamp, at the very edge of the water, and could do nothing to help Jack. Dad was afraid to shoot the duck again, so as not to shoot Jack by accident. And he could not catch the dodgy bird on the water. But he did not let her near the dense thickets of reeds, but squeezed her farther and farther, into clear water.

At last the duck surfaced at the very nose of Jack and immediately disappeared again under the water. At that moment, Jack also disappeared.

A second later, he again appeared on the surface, holding a caught duck in his mouth, and swam to the shore.

We rushed to him in order to quickly take the prey from him. But Jack squinted angrily at us, even grunted, and, running around, gave the duck to dad right into his hands.

Well done, well done! - papa praised, taking the game from him. - Look, guys, how carefully he brought it - not a single feather was crushed!

We ran up to dad and began to examine the duck. She was alive and even almost not injured. The shot only slightly caught her wing, which is why she could not fly further.

Dad, can I take her home? Let us live! we asked.

Well, take it. Just be careful so that it doesn't break out of you.

When we returned from the hunt, we immediately began to arrange a room for her. We fenced off a corner in the barn, put a basin of water there and planted a duck.

The first days she was shy. She sat, huddled in a corner, ate almost nothing and did not bathe. But gradually our duck began to get used to it. She no longer ran and hid when we entered the barn, but, on the contrary, even walked towards us and willingly ate the soaked bread that we brought her.

Soon the duck became completely tame. She walked around the yard with domestic ducks, was not afraid of anyone and was not shy. Only one Jack was immediately disliked by the duck, probably because he was chasing her through the swamp. When Jack happened to pass by, the duck spread its feathers, hissed angrily, and kept trying to pinch his paw or tail.

But Jack ignored her. After she settled in the barn and walked around the yard with domestic ducks, for Jack she ceased to be a game and lost all interest.

In general, Jack was not at all interested in poultry. But on the hunt I was looking for game with great enthusiasm. For whole days he could roam the field tirelessly in the heat and in the rain, looking for quails, or late autumn, in the cold, climb through the swamp for ducks and never seemed to get tired.

Jack was an excellent hunting dog. He lived with us for a very long time, to a ripe old age. First, my father hunted with him, and then my brother and I.

When Jack was completely old and could not look for game, he was replaced by another hunting dog. By that time, Jack was already seeing and hearing poorly, and his once brown muzzle had become completely gray.

Most of the day he slept lying in the sun, on his bed or near the stove.

Jack perked up only when we were going to hunt: we put on boots, hunting jackets, took guns. Here old Jack became agitated. He began to senselessly fuss and run, also, probably, as in the old days, going hunting. But no one took him.

Home, home, old man, stay! - Papa said affectionately to him and stroked his graying head.

Jack seemed to understand what he was being told. He looked at papa with his intelligent eyes, faded from old age, sighed, and dejectedly trudged along on his mat to the stove.

I was very sorry for the old dog, and sometimes I still went hunting with him, but not for my own, but for his pleasure.

Jack had long lost his sense of smell and could no longer find any game. But on the other hand, he made excellent racks for all kinds of birds, and when a bird took off, he rushed headlong after her, trying to catch.

He made racks not only for birds, but even for butterflies, dragonflies, frogs - in general, for all living things that he came across. Of course, I did not take a gun for such a “hunt”.

We wandered until Jack was tired, and then returned home - though without game, but very pleased with the day.

My brother Seryozha and I went to bed. Suddenly the door opened, and dad came in, followed by a big beautiful dog, white, with dark brown spots on its sides. Her muzzle was also brown; huge ears hung down.

Dad, where are you from? Will it be ours? What is her name? we shouted, jumping up from our beds and rushing to the dog.
The dog, a little embarrassed by such a stormy meeting, nevertheless wagged his tail in a friendly way and allowed himself to be stroked. He even sniffed my hand and licked it with his soft pink tongue.
“So we got a dog,” said dad. - And now the march on the beds! And then mom will come, she will see that you are running around in the same shirts, and she will ask us.
We climbed back into bed, and dad sat down on a chair.
"Jack, sit down, sit down here," he told the dog, pointing to the floor.
Jack sat down next to his dad and gave him a paw.
- Hello, - said dad, shook his paw and took it off his knees, but Jack immediately gave it again.
So he "hello", probably ten times in a row. Dad pretended to be angry, took off his paw, Jack served again, and we laughed.
"That's enough," Dad finally said. - Lie down.
Jack obediently lay down at his feet and only looked askance at his dad and lightly tapped his tail on the floor.
Jack's coat was short, shiny, smooth, and strong muscles showed from under it. Dad said it was a hunting dog, a pointer. With pointing dogs, you can only hunt for game - for different birds, but you can’t hunt hares or foxes.
- When August comes, the time of hunting comes, we will go with him to shoot ducks. Well, it's time for bed, it's already late.
Dad called the dog and left the room with him.
The next morning we got up early, drank our tea quickly, and went for a walk with Jack.
He cheerfully ran through the tall thick grass, between the bushes, wagged his tail, caressed us and generally felt at home in a new place.
Having run enough, we decided to go play "hunters".
Jack also followed us. We made two bows from a hoop from a barrel, cut out arrows and went on a “hunt”.
There was a small stump in the middle of the grass garden. From a distance, he looked very much like a hare. Two twigs protruded from his sides, like ears.
Seryozha shot him first. The arrow hit a stump, bounced off and fell into the grass. At the same moment, Jack rushed to the arrow, grabbed it in his teeth and, wagging his tail, brought it and gave it to us. We were very pleased with this. They shot the arrow again, and Jack brought it back.
Since then, the dog took part in our shooting every day and gave us arrows.
Very soon we learned that Jack gives not only arrows, but also any thing that you throw at him: a stick, a hat, a ball ... And sometimes he brought things that no one asked him to do. For example, he will run into the house and bring a galosh from the front.
- Why did you bring it - it's completely dry! Bring it back! we laughed.
Jack gallops around, puts a galosh in his hands and, apparently, is not at all going to carry it back to its place. I had to carry it myself.
Jack really liked to go swimming with us. It used to be that we just started to get ready, and he was already right there - jumping, spinning, as if in a hurry to us.
The river in the place where we swam was shallow near the shore. We floundered in the water with laughter and squeals, splashed, chased each other. And Jack, too, climbed into the water, rushed along with us; if they threw a stick into the river, he rushed after it, swam, then took it in his teeth and returned to the shore. Often, in a fit of merriment, he grabbed something from our clothes and started running, while we chased him across the meadow, trying to take away our cap or shirt. And one time, that's what happened.
We swam in the river with my dad. Dad swam very well. He swam to the other side and began to call Jack to him. The dog was playing with us at that time. But as soon as he heard his father's voice, he immediately became alert, rushed into the water, then unexpectedly returned, grabbed his father's clothes in his teeth, and before we had time to come to our senses, he was already swimming to the other side. Behind him, inflating like a big white bubble, the shirt dragged along the water, and the trousers were already completely wet, disappeared under the water, and Jack could hardly hold them with his teeth at the very tip. We just froze in place, afraid that he would miss the clothes and she would drown. However, Jack did not lose anything and safely swam to the other side.
Dad had to swim back, holding clothes in his hand. Of course, she didn’t have time to dry, and when we returned home, mom, seeing dad, gasped:
- What's happened? Why are you like this? Did you fall into the river? - But, having learned what was the matter, then she laughed with us for a long time.
We got used to Jack very much, did not part with him for whole days and kept dreaming about when August would come and dad and Jack would go hunting. Dad promised that he would take us with him too.
Every morning we first ran to the tear-off calendar, tore off the old sheet and counted how many more sheets were left until August.
Finally, there was only one left.
On this day, dad, as soon as he returned from work and had lunch, looked meaningfully at us and said:
- Well, who wants to go with me to prepare for tomorrow's hunt?
Of course, there was no need to repeat the invitation. Seryozha and I rushed as fast as we could into the office and sat down near the desk.
Dad took out all the hunting supplies from the box: gunpowder, shot, shells, wads - and began to fill the cartridges.
We watched these preparations with bated breath. Finally, the cartridges were filled and neatly inserted into a wide belt with narrow pockets for each cartridge. Such a belt is called a "bandolier".
Having hung the cartridge belt on a carnation, dad took out a case from the closet and slowly took out the most interesting thing - a gun. It was double-barreled, that is, with two trunks. A cartridge was inserted into each barrel, so that such a gun can be fired twice: first from one barrel, and if you miss, then, without reloading, now from the other. The gun was very beautiful, with golden decorations.
We gently touched it and even tried to aim, but it turned out to be too heavy.
When dad filled the cartridges, Jack calmly lay in a corner on his rug. But as soon as he saw the gun, he jumped up, began to jump, jump around dad and showed with his whole appearance that he was immediately ready to go hunting. Then, not knowing how else to express his joy, he rushed off to the dining room, dragged a pillow from the sofa and began to shake it so that only fluff flew in all directions.
- What is going on with you? - Mom was surprised, entering the office.
She took the pillow from Jack and carried it to the place.
The next day was Sunday. We got up early, got dressed quickly and were no longer a step behind dad. And he, as if on purpose, dressed and ate breakfast very slowly.
Finally, my father got ready. He put on a jacket, high boots, girded himself with a bandolier and picked up a gun.
Jack, who had been spinning under his feet all the time, flew out into the yard like a bullet and, squealing with joy, began to rush around the harnessed horse. And then, with all his might, he jumped onto the cart and sat down.
Dad and we also climbed onto the cart and set off.
- Goodbye, don't come back empty-handed! - laughing, my mother shouted after us, standing on the porch.
Ten minutes later we had already left our town and rolled along a smooth country road, through a field, through a forest - to where the river still gleamed from afar and a mill lined with willows could be seen.
From this mill, reeds grew thickly up along the river bank and a wide swamp stretched. There were wild ducks, long-nosed marsh waders - snipes - and other game.
Arriving at the mill, dad left the horse, and we went to the swamp.
As we walked along the road to the swamp, Jack stayed close to dad and kept looking at him, as if asking if it was time to run ahead.
Finally we came to the swamp itself. Then dad stopped, pulled up his boots, loaded his gun, lit a cigarette, and then only ordered:
- Jack, go ahead!
The dog, apparently, was just waiting for this. He threw himself into the swamp with all his might, so that the spray flew in all directions. Having run twenty paces, Jack stopped and began to run first to the right, then to the left, sniffing at something.
He was looking for game. Dad slowly, loudly slapping his boots on the water, followed the dog. And we walked behind, behind dad.
Suddenly, Jack became agitated, ran faster, and then immediately somehow all stretched out and slowly, slowly began to move forward. So he took a few steps and stopped. He stood motionless, like a dead man, all stretched out in a string. Even the tail was stretched out, and only the tip of it was trembling finely from the strong tension.
Papa quickly approached the dog, raised his gun and commanded:
- Forward!
Jack took a step back and stopped again.
- Go-go! Dad ordered again.
Jack took another step, another ... Suddenly, in front of him, something rustled in the reeds, clapped, a large wild duck flew out from there.
Dad raised his gun and fired.
The duck somehow immediately leaned forward, rolled over in the air and plopped heavily into the water.
And Jack stood still, as if frozen.
- Give it, give it here! his father shouted cheerfully.
Here Jack immediately came to life. He rushed through the swamp straight into the river and swam after the duck.
Here she is right next to me. Jack opened his mouth to grab her. Suddenly a splash of water - and the duck is gone! Jack looked around in surprise: where did she go?
- I dived! Wounded, that is! - Papa exclaimed in annoyance. - Now it will hide in the reeds, you will not find it.
At this time, the duck surfaced a few steps from Jack. The dog quickly swam towards her, but as soon as he approached, the duck dived again. This was repeated several times.
We stood in the swamp, at the very edge of the water, and could do nothing to help Jack. Dad was afraid to shoot the duck again, so as not to shoot Jack by accident. And he could not catch the dodgy bird on the water. But he did not let her near the dense thickets of reeds, but squeezed her farther and farther, into clear water.
At last the duck surfaced at the very nose of Jack and immediately disappeared again under the water. At that moment, Jack also disappeared.
A second later, he again appeared on the surface, holding a caught duck in his mouth, and swam to the shore. We rushed to him in order to quickly take the prey from him. But Jack squinted angrily at us, even grunted, and, running around, gave the duck to dad right into his hands.
- Well done, well done! - papa praised, taking the game from him. - Look, guys, how carefully he brought it - not a single feather was crushed!
We ran up to dad and began to examine the duck. She was alive and even almost not injured. The shot only slightly caught her wing, which is why she could not fly further.
- Dad, can I take her home? Let us live! we asked.
- Well, take it. Just be careful so that it doesn't break out of you.

We went further. Jack climbed through the swamp, looking for game, and dad shot. But we weren't that interested anymore. I wanted to get home as soon as possible to arrange our captive.
When we returned from the hunt, we immediately began to arrange a room for her. We fenced off a corner in the barn, put a basin of water there and planted a duck.
The first days she was shy. She sat, huddled in a corner, ate almost nothing and did not bathe. But gradually our duck began to get used to it. She no longer ran and hid when we entered the barn, but, on the contrary, even walked towards us and willingly ate the soaked bread that we brought her.
Soon the duck became completely tame. She walked around the yard with domestic ducks, was not afraid of anyone and was not shy. Only one Jack was immediately disliked by the duck, probably because he was chasing her through the swamp. When Jack happened to pass by, the duck spread its feathers, hissed angrily, and kept trying to pinch his paw or tail.
But Jack ignored her. After she settled in the barn and walked around the yard with domestic ducks, for Jack she ceased to be a game and lost all interest.
In general, Jack was not at all interested in poultry. But on the hunt I was looking for game with great enthusiasm. For days on end he could tirelessly roam the field in the heat and rain, looking for quails, or in late autumn, in the cold, climb through the swamp for ducks and, it seemed, never got tired.
Jack was an excellent hunting dog. He lived with us for a very long time, to a ripe old age. First, my father hunted with him, and then my brother and I.
When Jack was completely old and could not look for game, he was replaced by another hunting dog. By that time, Jack was already seeing and hearing poorly, and his once brown muzzle had become completely gray.
Most of the day he slept lying in the sun on his bed or near the stove.
Jack perked up only when we were going to hunt: we put on boots, hunting jackets, took guns. Here old Jack became agitated. He began to senselessly fuss and run, also, probably, as in the old days, going hunting. But no one took him.
- At home, at home, old man, stay! - Papa said affectionately to him and stroked his graying head.
Jack seemed to understand what he was being told. He looked at papa with his intelligent eyes, faded from old age, sighed, and dejectedly trudged along on his mat to the stove.
I was very sorry for the old dog, and sometimes I still went hunting with him, but not for my own, but for his pleasure.
Jack had long lost his sense of smell and could no longer find any game. But on the other hand, he made excellent racks for all kinds of birds, and when a bird took off, he rushed headlong after her, trying to catch.
He made racks not only for birds, but even for butterflies, dragonflies, frogs - in general, for all living things that he came across. Of course, I did not take a gun for such a “hunt”.
We wandered around until Jack was tired, and then we returned home, - true, without game, but very pleased with the day spent.

Free eBook available here Jack the author whose name is Skrebitsky Georgy Alekseevich. In the library ACTIVELY WITHOUT TV you can download the book Jack for free in RTF, TXT, FB2 and EPUB formats or read online book Skrebitsky Georgy Alekseevich - Jack without registration and without SMS.

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Georgy Skrebitsky
Jack
My brother Seryozha and I went to bed. Suddenly the door opened and dad came in, followed by a big beautiful dog, white with dark brown spots on its sides. Her muzzle was also brown; huge ears hung down.
- Dad, where are you from? Will it be ours? What is her name? we shouted, jumping up from our beds and rushing to the dog.
The dog, a little embarrassed by such a stormy meeting, nevertheless wagged his tail in a friendly way and allowed himself to be stroked. He even sniffed my hand and licked it with his soft pink tongue.
“So we got a dog,” said dad. “Now march across the beds!” And then mom will come, she will see that you are running around in the same shirts, and she will ask us.
We climbed back into bed, and dad sat down on a chair.
“Jack, sit down, sit down here,” he told the dog, pointing to the floor.
Jack sat down next to his dad and gave him a paw.
“Hello,” said dad, shook his paw and took it off his knees, but Jack immediately gave it again.
So he "hello", probably ten times in a row. Dad pretended to be angry - he took off his paw, Jack served again, and we laughed.
"That's enough," Dad finally said. - Lie down.
Jack obediently lay down at his feet and only looked askance at his dad and lightly tapped his tail on the floor.
Jack's coat was short, shiny, smooth, and strong muscles showed from under it. Dad said it was a hunting dog, a pointer. With pointing dogs, you can only hunt for game - for different birds, but you can’t hunt hares or foxes.
- When August comes, the time for hunting comes, we will go with him to shoot ducks. Well, it's time for bed, it's already late.
Dad called the dog and left the room with him.
The next morning we got up early, drank our tea quickly, and went for a walk with Jack.
He merrily ran through the tall, thick grass, between the bushes, wagged his tail, caressed us, and generally felt at home in his new place.
Having run enough, we decided to go play "hunters".
Jack also followed us. We made two bows from a hoop from a barrel, cut out arrows and went on a “hunt”.
There was a small stump in the middle of the grass garden. From a distance, he looked very much like a hare. Two twigs protruded from his sides, like ears.
Seryozha shot him first. The arrow hit a stump, bounced off and fell into the grass. At the same moment, Jack rushed to the arrow, grabbed it in his teeth and, wagging his tail, brought it and gave it to us. We were very pleased with this. They shot the arrow again, and Jack brought it back.
Since then, the dog took part in our shooting every day and gave us arrows.
Very soon we learned that Jack gives not only arrows, but also any thing that you throw at him: a stick, a hat, a ball ... And sometimes he brought things that no one asked him to do. For example, he will run into the house and bring a galosh from the front.
- Why did you bring it - it's completely dry! Bring it back! we laughed.
Jack gallops around, puts a galosh in his hands and, apparently, is not at all going to carry it back to its place. I had to carry it myself.
Jack really liked to go swimming with us. It happened, as soon as we started to get ready, and he was already right there - jumping, spinning, as if in a hurry to us.
The river in the place where we swam was shallow near the shore. We floundered in the water with laughter and squeals, splashed, chased each other. And Jack, too, climbed into the water, rushed along with us; if they threw a stick into the river, he rushed after it, swam, then took it in his teeth and returned to the shore. Often, in a fit of merriment, he grabbed something from our clothes and started running, while we chased him across the meadow, trying to take away our cap or shirt.
And one time, that's what happened.
We swam in the river with my dad. Dad swam very well. He swam to the other side and began to call Jack to him. The dog was playing with us at that time. But, as soon as he heard his father's voice, he immediately became alert, rushed into the water, then unexpectedly returned, grabbed his father's clothes in his teeth, and before we had time to come to our senses, he was already swimming to the other side. Behind him, inflating like a big white bubble, a shirt dragged along the water, and the trousers were already completely wet, disappeared under the water and Jack barely held them with his teeth at the very tip. We just froze in place, afraid that he would miss the clothes and she would drown. However, Jack did not lose anything and safely swam to the other side.
Dad had to swim back, holding clothes in his hand. Of course, she didn’t have time to dry, and when we returned home, mom, seeing dad, gasped:
- What's happened? Why are you like this? Did you fall into the river? - But, having learned what was the matter, then she laughed with us for a long time.
We got used to Jack very much, did not part with him for whole days and kept dreaming about when August would come and dad and Jack would go hunting. Dad promised that he would take us with him too.
Every morning we first ran to the tear-off calendar, tore off the old sheet and counted how many more sheets were left until August.
Finally, there was only one left.
On this day, dad, as soon as he returned from work and had lunch, looked meaningfully at us and said:
- Well, who wants to go with me to prepare for tomorrow's hunt?
Of course, there was no need to repeat the invitation. Seryozha and I rushed as fast as we could into the office and sat down near the desk.
Dad took out all the hunting supplies from the box: gunpowder, shot, shells, wads - and began to fill the cartridges.
We watched these preparations with bated breath. Finally, the cartridges were filled and neatly inserted into a wide belt with narrow pockets for each cartridge. Such a belt is called a "bandolier".
Having hung the cartridge belt on a nail, dad took out a case from the closet and slowly took out the most interesting thing - a gun. It was double-barreled, that is, with two trunks.
A cartridge was inserted into each barrel, so that such a gun can be fired twice: first from one barrel, and if you miss, then, without reloading, now from the other. The gun was very beautiful, with golden decorations.
We gently touched it and even tried to aim, but it turned out to be too heavy.
When dad filled the cartridges, Jack calmly lay in a corner on his rug. But as soon as he saw the gun, he jumped up, began to jump, jump around dad and showed with his whole appearance that he was immediately ready to go hunting. Then, not knowing how else to express his joy, he rushed off to the dining room, dragged a pillow from the sofa and began to shake it so that only fluff flew in all directions.
- What is going on with you? - Mom was surprised, entering the office.
She took the pillow from Jack and carried it to the place.
The next day was Sunday. We got up early, got dressed quickly and were no longer a step behind dad. And he, as if on purpose, dressed and ate breakfast very slowly.
Finally, my father got ready. He put on a jacket, high boots, girded himself with a bandolier and picked up a gun.
Jack, who had been spinning under his feet all the time, flew out into the yard like a bullet and, squealing with joy, began to rush around the harnessed horse. And then, with all his might, he jumped onto the cart and sat down.
Dad and we also climbed onto the cart and set off.
- Goodbye, look empty-handed, do not return! - Laughing, my mother shouted after us, standing on the porch.
Ten minutes later we had already left our town and rolled along a smooth country road, through a field, through a forest - to where the river still gleamed from afar and a mill lined with willows could be seen.
From this mill, reeds grew thickly up along the river bank and a wide swamp stretched. There were wild ducks, long-nosed marsh waders - snipes - and other game.
Arriving at the mill, dad left the horse, and we went to the swamp.
As we walked along the road to the swamp, Jack stayed close to dad and kept looking at him, as if asking if it was time to run ahead.
Finally we came to the swamp itself. Then dad stopped, pulled up his boots, loaded his gun, lit a cigarette, and then only ordered:
Jack, go ahead!
The dog, apparently, was just waiting for this. He threw himself into the swamp with all his might, so that the spray flew in all directions. Having run twenty paces, Jack stopped and began to run first to the right, then to the left, sniffing at something.
He was looking for game. Dad slowly, loudly slapping his boots on the water, followed the dog. And we walked behind, behind dad.
Suddenly, Jack became agitated, ran faster, and then immediately somehow all stretched out and slowly, slowly began to move forward. So he took a few steps and stopped. He stood motionless, like a dead man, all stretched out in a string. Even the tail was stretched out, and only the tip of it was trembling finely from the strong tension.
Papa quickly approached the dog, raised his gun and commanded:
- Forward!
Jack took a step back and stopped again.
- Go-go! Dad ordered again.
Jack took another step, another ... Suddenly, in front of him, something rustled in the reeds, clapped, a large wild duck flew out from there.
Dad raised his gun and fired.
The duck somehow immediately leaned forward, rolled over in the air and plopped heavily into the water.
And Jack stood still, as if frozen.
- Give it, give it here! - Daddy shouted to him cheerfully.
Here Jack immediately came to life. He rushed through the swamp straight into the river and swam after the duck.
Here she is right next to me. Jack opened his mouth to grab her. Suddenly a splash of water - and there is no duck! Jack looked around in surprise: where did she go?
- I dived! Wounded, that is! Dad exclaimed in annoyance. - Now it will hide in the reeds, you will not find it.
At this time, the duck surfaced a few steps from Jack. The dog quickly swam towards her, but as soon as he approached, the duck dived again. This was repeated several times.
We stood in the swamp, at the very edge of the water, and could do nothing to help Jack. Dad was afraid to shoot the duck again, so as not to shoot Jack by accident. And he could not catch the dodgy bird on the water. But he did not let her near the dense thickets of reeds, but squeezed her farther and farther, into clear water.
At last the duck surfaced at the very nose of Jack and immediately disappeared again under the water. At that moment, Jack also disappeared.

A second later, he again appeared on the surface, holding a caught duck in his mouth, and swam to the shore. We rushed to him in order to quickly take the prey from him. But Jack squinted angrily at us, even grunted, and, running around, gave the duck to dad right into his hands.
- Well done, well done! Papa praised, taking the game from him. - Look, guys, how carefully he brought it - not a single feather was crushed!
We ran up to dad and began to examine the duck. She was alive and even almost not injured. The shot only slightly caught her wing, which is why she could not fly further.
“Daddy, can I take her home?” Let us live! we asked.
- Well, take it. Just be careful so that it doesn't break out of you.
We went further. Jack climbed through the swamp, looking for game, and dad shot. But we weren't that interested anymore. I wanted to get home as soon as possible to arrange our captive.
When we returned from the hunt, we immediately began to arrange a room for her. We fenced off a corner in the barn, put a basin of water there and planted a duck.
The first days she was shy. She sat, huddled in a corner, ate almost nothing and did not bathe. But gradually our duck began to get used to it. She no longer ran and hid when we entered the barn, but, on the contrary, even walked towards us and willingly ate the soaked bread that we brought her.
Soon the duck became completely tame. She walked around the yard with domestic ducks, was not afraid of anyone and was not shy. Only one Jack immediately disliked the duck, probably because he was chasing her through the swamp. When Jack happened to pass by, the duck spread its feathers, hissed angrily, and kept trying to pinch his paw or tail.
But Jack ignored her. After she settled in the barn and walked around the yard with domestic ducks, for Jack she ceased to be a game and lost all interest.
In general, Jack was not at all interested in poultry. But on the hunt I was looking for game with great enthusiasm. He could roam the fields tirelessly for whole days in the heat and rain, looking for quails, or in late autumn, in the cold, climb through the swamp for ducks and, it seemed, never got tired.
Jack was an excellent hunting dog. He lived with us for a very long time, to a ripe old age. First, my father hunted with him, and then my brother and I.
When Jack was quite old and could not look for game, he was replaced by another hunting dog. By that time, Jack was already seeing and hearing poorly, and his once brown muzzle had become completely gray.
Most of the day he slept lying in the sun on his bed or near the stove.
Jack perked up only when we were going to hunt: we put on boots, hunting jackets, took guns. Here old Jack became agitated. He began to senselessly fuss and run, also, probably, as in the old days, going hunting. But no one took him.
- At home, at home, old man, stay! - Papa said affectionately to him and stroked his graying head.
Jack seemed to understand what he was being told. He looked at papa with his intelligent eyes, faded from old age, sighed, and dejectedly trudged along on his mat to the stove.
I was very sorry for the old dog, and sometimes I still went hunting with him, but not for my own, but for his pleasure.
Jack had recently lost his sense of smell and could no longer find any game. But on the other hand, he made excellent racks for all kinds of birds, and when a bird took off, he rushed headlong after her, trying to catch.
He made racks not only for birds, but even for butterflies, dragonflies, frogs - in general, for all living things that he came across. Of course, I did not take a gun for such a “hunt”.
We wandered until Jack was tired, and then returned home - though without game, but very pleased with the day.

Here is the e-book Jack author Skrebitsky Georgy Alekseevich. In the library site you can download the book Jack for free in TXT (RTF) format, or in FB2 (EPUB) format, or read online e-book Skrebitsky Georgy Alekseevich - Jack without registration and without SMS.

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Georgy Skrebitsky
Jack

My brother Seryozha and I went to bed. Suddenly the door opened and dad came in, followed by a big beautiful dog, white with dark brown spots on its sides. Her muzzle was also brown; huge ears hung down.
- Dad, where are you from? Will it be ours? What is her name? we shouted, jumping up from our beds and rushing to the dog.
The dog, a little embarrassed by such a stormy meeting, nevertheless wagged his tail in a friendly way and allowed himself to be stroked. He even sniffed my hand and licked it with his soft pink tongue.
“So we got a dog,” said dad. “Now march across the beds!” And then mom will come, she will see that you are running around in the same shirts, and she will ask us.
We climbed back into bed, and dad sat down on a chair.
“Jack, sit down, sit down here,” he told the dog, pointing to the floor.
Jack sat down next to his dad and gave him a paw.
“Hello,” said dad, shook his paw and took it off his knees, but Jack immediately gave it again.
So he "hello", probably ten times in a row. Dad pretended to be angry - he took off his paw, Jack served again, and we laughed.
"That's enough," Dad finally said. - Lie down.
Jack obediently lay down at his feet and only looked askance at his dad and lightly tapped his tail on the floor.
Jack's coat was short, shiny, smooth, and strong muscles showed from under it. Dad said it was a hunting dog, a pointer. With pointing dogs, you can only hunt for game - for different birds, but you can’t hunt hares or foxes.
- When August comes, the time for hunting comes, we will go with him to shoot ducks. Well, it's time for bed, it's already late.
Dad called the dog and left the room with him.
The next morning we got up early, drank our tea quickly, and went for a walk with Jack.
He merrily ran through the tall, thick grass, between the bushes, wagged his tail, caressed us, and generally felt at home in his new place.
Having run enough, we decided to go play "hunters".
Jack also followed us. We made two bows from a hoop from a barrel, cut out arrows and went on a “hunt”.
There was a small stump in the middle of the grass garden. From a distance, he looked very much like a hare. Two twigs protruded from his sides, like ears.
Seryozha shot him first. The arrow hit a stump, bounced off and fell into the grass. At the same moment, Jack rushed to the arrow, grabbed it in his teeth and, wagging his tail, brought it and gave it to us. We were very pleased with this. They shot the arrow again, and Jack brought it back.
Since then, the dog took part in our shooting every day and gave us arrows.
Very soon we learned that Jack gives not only arrows, but also any thing that you throw at him: a stick, a hat, a ball ... And sometimes he brought things that no one asked him to do. For example, he will run into the house and bring a galosh from the front.
- Why did you bring it - it's completely dry! Bring it back! we laughed.
Jack gallops around, puts a galosh in his hands and, apparently, is not at all going to carry it back to its place. I had to carry it myself.
Jack really liked to go swimming with us. It happened, as soon as we started to get ready, and he was already right there - jumping, spinning, as if in a hurry to us.
The river in the place where we swam was shallow near the shore. We floundered in the water with laughter and squeals, splashed, chased each other. And Jack, too, climbed into the water, rushed along with us; if they threw a stick into the river, he rushed after it, swam, then took it in his teeth and returned to the shore. Often, in a fit of merriment, he grabbed something from our clothes and started running, while we chased him across the meadow, trying to take away our cap or shirt.
And one time, that's what happened.
We swam in the river with my dad. Dad swam very well. He swam to the other side and began to call Jack to him. The dog was playing with us at that time. But, as soon as he heard his father's voice, he immediately became alert, rushed into the water, then unexpectedly returned, grabbed his father's clothes in his teeth, and before we had time to come to our senses, he was already swimming to the other side. Behind him, inflating like a big white bubble, a shirt dragged along the water, and the trousers were already completely wet, disappeared under the water and Jack barely held them with his teeth at the very tip. We just froze in place, afraid that he would miss the clothes and she would drown. However, Jack did not lose anything and safely swam to the other side.
Dad had to swim back, holding clothes in his hand. Of course, she didn’t have time to dry, and when we returned home, mom, seeing dad, gasped:
- What's happened? Why are you like this? Did you fall into the river? - But, having learned what was the matter, then she laughed with us for a long time.
We got used to Jack very much, did not part with him for whole days and kept dreaming about when August would come and dad and Jack would go hunting. Dad promised that he would take us with him too.
Every morning we first ran to the tear-off calendar, tore off the old sheet and counted how many more sheets were left until August.
Finally, there was only one left.
On this day, dad, as soon as he returned from work and had lunch, looked meaningfully at us and said:
- Well, who wants to go with me to prepare for tomorrow's hunt?
Of course, there was no need to repeat the invitation. Seryozha and I rushed as fast as we could into the office and sat down near the desk.
Dad took out all the hunting supplies from the box: gunpowder, shot, shells, wads - and began to fill the cartridges.
We watched these preparations with bated breath. Finally, the cartridges were filled and neatly inserted into a wide belt with narrow pockets for each cartridge. Such a belt is called a "bandolier".
Having hung the cartridge belt on a nail, dad took out a case from the closet and slowly took out the most interesting thing - a gun. It was double-barreled, that is, with two trunks.
A cartridge was inserted into each barrel, so that such a gun can be fired twice: first from one barrel, and if you miss, then, without reloading, now from the other. The gun was very beautiful, with golden decorations.
We gently touched it and even tried to aim, but it turned out to be too heavy.
When dad filled the cartridges, Jack calmly lay in a corner on his rug. But as soon as he saw the gun, he jumped up, began to jump, jump around dad and showed with his whole appearance that he was immediately ready to go hunting. Then, not knowing how else to express his joy, he rushed off to the dining room, dragged a pillow from the sofa and began to shake it so that only fluff flew in all directions.
- What is going on with you? - Mom was surprised, entering the office.
She took the pillow from Jack and carried it to the place.
The next day was Sunday. We got up early, got dressed quickly and were no longer a step behind dad. And he, as if on purpose, dressed and ate breakfast very slowly.
Finally, my father got ready. He put on a jacket, high boots, girded himself with a bandolier and picked up a gun.
Jack, who had been spinning under his feet all the time, flew out into the yard like a bullet and, squealing with joy, began to rush around the harnessed horse. And then, with all his might, he jumped onto the cart and sat down.
Dad and we also climbed onto the cart and set off.
- Goodbye, look empty-handed, do not return! - Laughing, my mother shouted after us, standing on the porch.
Ten minutes later we had already left our town and rolled along a smooth country road, through a field, through a forest - to where the river still gleamed from afar and a mill lined with willows could be seen.
From this mill, reeds grew thickly up along the river bank and a wide swamp stretched. There were wild ducks, long-nosed marsh waders - snipes - and other game.
Arriving at the mill, dad left the horse, and we went to the swamp.
As we walked along the road to the swamp, Jack stayed close to dad and kept looking at him, as if asking if it was time to run ahead.
Finally we came to the swamp itself. Then dad stopped, pulled up his boots, loaded his gun, lit a cigarette, and then only ordered:
Jack, go ahead!
The dog, apparently, was just waiting for this. He threw himself into the swamp with all his might, so that the spray flew in all directions. Having run twenty paces, Jack stopped and began to run first to the right, then to the left, sniffing at something.
He was looking for game. Dad slowly, loudly slapping his boots on the water, followed the dog. And we walked behind, behind dad.
Suddenly, Jack became agitated, ran faster, and then immediately somehow all stretched out and slowly, slowly began to move forward. So he took a few steps and stopped. He stood motionless, like a dead man, all stretched out in a string. Even the tail was stretched out, and only the tip of it was trembling finely from the strong tension.
Papa quickly approached the dog, raised his gun and commanded:
- Forward!
Jack took a step back and stopped again.
- Go-go! Dad ordered again.
Jack took another step, another ... Suddenly, in front of him, something rustled in the reeds, clapped, a large wild duck flew out from there.
Dad raised his gun and fired.
The duck somehow immediately leaned forward, rolled over in the air and plopped heavily into the water.
And Jack stood still, as if frozen.
- Give it, give it here! - Daddy shouted to him cheerfully.
Here Jack immediately came to life. He rushed through the swamp straight into the river and swam after the duck.
Here she is right next to me. Jack opened his mouth to grab her. Suddenly a splash of water - and there is no duck! Jack looked around in surprise: where did she go?
- I dived! Wounded, that is! Dad exclaimed in annoyance. - Now it will hide in the reeds, you will not find it.
At this time, the duck surfaced a few steps from Jack. The dog quickly swam towards her, but as soon as he approached, the duck dived again. This was repeated several times.
We stood in the swamp, at the very edge of the water, and could do nothing to help Jack. Dad was afraid to shoot the duck again, so as not to shoot Jack by accident. And he could not catch the dodgy bird on the water. But he did not let her near the dense thickets of reeds, but squeezed her farther and farther, into clear water.
At last the duck surfaced at the very nose of Jack and immediately disappeared again under the water. At that moment, Jack also disappeared.

Georgy Skrebitsky
Jack