Arcturus - hound dog
I
The history of his appearance in the city remained unknown. He came from somewhere in the spring and began to live. They said that he was abandoned by passing gypsies. Strange people - gypsies. In early spring they set off on their journey. Some travel by train, others on ships or rafts, others trudge along the roads in carts, looking with hostility at the cars rushing past. People with southern blood, they climb into the most remote northern corners. Suddenly they become a camp near the city, wander around the bazaar for several days, feel things, bargain, go from house to house, tell fortunes, swear, laugh - dark, beautiful, with earrings in their ears, in bright clothes. But then they leave the city, disappear as suddenly as they appeared, and you will never see them here. Others will come, but these will not be there. The world is wide, and they do not like to come to places they have already been to. So, many were convinced that the gypsies abandoned him in the spring. Others said that he sailed on an ice floe during the spring flood. He stood, black, among the blue and white crumble, alone motionless among the general movement. And swans flew above and shouted: “Clink-clank!” People are always excited to see swans. And when they arrive, when at dawn they rise from the floods with their great spring cry “klink-clank”, people follow them with their eyes, the blood begins to ring in their hearts, and they know then that spring has come. The ice rustled and muffledly burst along the river, swans screamed, and he stood on the ice floe, tail between his legs, wary, uncertain, sniffing and listening attentively to what was happening around him. When the ice floe approached the shore, he became agitated, jumped awkwardly, fell into the water, but quickly climbed ashore and, shaking himself off, disappeared among the stacks of timber. One way or another, but, having appeared in the spring, when the days are filled with the shine of the sun, the sound of streams and the smell of bark, he remained to live in the city. One can only guess about his past. He was probably born somewhere under the porch, on the straw. His mother, a purebred bitch from the Kostroma hound breed, short, with a long body, when the time came, disappeared under the porch to accomplish her great deed in secret. Her name was called, she did not respond and did not eat anything, all concentrated in herself, feeling that something was about to happen that was more important than anything in the world, more important even than hunting and people... He was born, like all puppies, blind, and was immediately licked by the mother and placed close to the warm belly, still tense in labor pains. And while he lay there, getting used to breathing, more and more brothers and sisters were added to him. They moved, grunted and tried to whine - just like him, smoky puppies with bare bellies and short, trembling tails. Soon it was all over, everyone found a nipple and fell silent; All that could be heard was the mother's sniffling, smacking and heavy breathing. This is how their life began. At one time, all the puppies opened their eyes, and they learned with delight that there was a world even greater than the one in which they had lived until now. His eyes were also opened, but he was never destined to see the light. He was blind, a thick gray film covering his pupils. For him, a blind man, a bitter and difficult life began. It would even be terrible if he could realize his blindness. But he did not know that he was blind, it was not given to him to know. He accepted life as it came to him. Somehow it happened that he was not drowned or killed, which would, of course, have been mercy towards a helpless puppy, unnecessary to people. He remained alive and endured great ordeals, which hardened and hardened him ahead of time. He did not have an owner who would give him shelter, feed him and take care of him as his friend. He became a homeless stray dog, sullen, awkward and distrustful. His mother, having fed him, soon lost all interest in him, as in his brothers. He learned to howl like a wolf, just as long, darkly and sadly. He was dirty, often sick, rummaged in landfills near canteens, received kicks and buckets of dirty water along with the same homeless and hungry dogs. He couldn't run fast; he didn't really need his legs, his strong legs. All the time it seemed to him that he was running towards something sharp and tough. When he fought with other dogs - and he fought many times in his life - he did not see his enemies, he bit and rushed, focusing on the sound of breathing, on growls and squeals, on the rustling of the earth under the paws of his enemies, and often rushed and bit in vain. It is not known what name his mother gave him at birth - for people he had no name. It is also unknown whether he would have stayed in the city, left, or died somewhere in a ravine, but a man intervened in his fate, and everything changed.
II
That summer I lived in a small northern town.
The city stood on the banks of the river. White steamships, dirty brown barges, long rafts, wide-cheeked carbas with sides stained with black tar floated along the river. There was a pier near the shore that smelled of matting, rope, damp rot and roach. Rarely did anyone go to this pier, except suburban collective farmers on market day and business travelers in gray raincoats who came from the region to the timber mill. Around the city, along low, gentle hills, forests stretched, mighty, untouched: the wood for rafting was cut down in the upper reaches of the river. In the forests there were large meadows and remote lakes with huge old pine trees along the banks. The pines made a quiet noise all the time. When a cool, damp wind blew from the Arctic Ocean, driving up clouds, the pines hummed menacingly and dropped their cones, which hit the ground hard. I rented a room on the outskirts, on top of an old house. My master, the doctor, was an always busy, silent man. He used to live with a large family, but his two sons were killed at the front, his wife died, his daughter went to Moscow, and the doctor now lived alone and treated children. He had one strange thing: he loved to sing. With the thinnest fistula, he pulled out all kinds of arias, sweetly fading on the high notes. He had three rooms downstairs, but he rarely went there, dined and slept on the terrace, and the rooms were gloomy, smelling of dust, a pharmacy and old wallpaper. The window of my room looked out onto a wild garden, overgrown with currants, raspberries, burdock and nettles along the fence. In the mornings, sparrows fussed outside the window, blackbirds came in clouds to peck currants - the doctor did not chase them away and did not pick berries. The neighbor's chickens and roosters sometimes flew up onto the fence. The rooster sang loudly, stretched his neck upward, shook his tail and looked curiously into the garden. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore, he flew down, and the chickens flew after him and hastily began to rummage around the currant bushes. Cats also wandered into the garden and, hiding near the burdock trees, watched the sparrows. I had been living in the city for two weeks already, but I still couldn’t get used to the quiet streets with wooden sidewalks with grass growing between the boards, to the creaky steps of the stairs, to the rare whistles of steamships at night. It was an unusual city. There were white nights there almost all summer. The embankment and its streets were quiet and thoughtful. At night, a distinct knocking sound could be heard near the houses - it was workers coming from the night shift. The steps and laughter of the lovers were heard by the sleeping people all night. It seemed that the houses had sensitive walls and that the city, hiding, listened to the steps of its inhabitants. At night our garden smelled of currants and dew, and the quiet snoring of the doctor could be heard from the terrace. And on the river a boat hummed with its engine and sang in a nasal voice: “Doo-doo-doo...” One day another inhabitant appeared in the house. Here's how it happened. Returning from duty one day, the doctor saw a blind dog. With a piece of rope around his neck, he sat huddled between the logs and trembled. The doctor had seen him several times before. Now he stopped, examined him in all details, smacked his lips, whistled, then took the rope and dragged the blind man to his home. At home, the doctor washed him with warm water and soap and fed him. Out of habit, the dog shuddered and twitched while eating. He ate greedily, was in a hurry and choked. His forehead and ears were covered with whitened scars. - Well, now go! - said the doctor when the dog had eaten, and pushed him off the terrace. The dog resisted and trembled. “Hm!” said the doctor and sat down in the rocking chair. Evening came, the sky darkened, but did not go out completely. The biggest stars lit up. The hound dog lay down on the terrace and dozed off. He was thin, his ribs protruded, his back was sharp, and his shoulder blades stood out straight up. Sometimes he opened his dead eyes, pricked his ears and moved his head, sniffing. Then he put his muzzle back on his paws and closed his eyes. And the doctor looked at him in confusion and fidgeted in the rocking chair, coming up with a name for him. What should I call it? Or is it better to get rid of it before it's too late? What does he need a dog for? The doctor looked up thoughtfully: low above the horizon, a large star shimmered with a blue shine. “Arcturus...” muttered the doctor. The dog moved his ears and opened his eyes. - Arcturus! - the doctor said again with his heart beating. The dog raised his head and shook his tail uncertainly. - Arcturus! Come here, Arcturus! - the doctor called with authority and joy. The dog stood up, walked over and carefully nuzzled his owner’s lap. The doctor laughed and put his hand on his head. Dogs are different, just like people. There are beggar dogs, beggars, there are free and gloomy tramps, there are stupidly enthusiastic liars. There are groveling, begging for handouts, crawling up to anyone who whistles at them. Wriggling, tail wagging, slavishly affectionate, they rush away with a panicked squeal if you hit them or even just swing them. I have seen many loyal dogs, submissive, capricious, proud, stoic, sneaky, indifferent, crafty and empty dogs. Arcturus was not like any of them. His feeling for his master was extraordinary and sublime. He loved him passionately and poetically, perhaps more than life itself. But he was chaste and rarely allowed himself to open up to the end. The owner was sometimes in a bad mood, sometimes he was indifferent, and often he smelled irritatingly of cologne - a smell never found in nature. But most often he was kind, and then Arcturus languished with love, his fur became fluffy, and his body pricked as if with needles. He wanted to jump up and run, choking on joyful barks. But he held back. His ears unfurled, his tail stopped, his body went limp and motionless, only his heart beat loudly and rapidly. When the owner began to push him, tickle him, stroke him and laugh with intermittent, cooing laughter, what a pleasure it was! The sounds of the owner’s voice were then drawn-out and short, gurgling and whispering, they were immediately similar to the ringing of water and the rustling of trees and were unlike anything else. Each sound gave rise to some sparks and vague smells, just as a drop gives rise to tremors of water, and it seemed to Arcturus that all this had already happened to him, it was so long ago that he could not remember where and when. Pages: 1
Yuri Kazakov - Arcturus - the hound dog
Yuri Pavlovich Kazakov
Arcturus - hound dog
In memory of M.M. Prishvin
1
The history of his appearance in the city remained unknown. He came from somewhere in the spring and began to live. He did not bother anyone, did not impose himself on anyone and did not obey anyone - he was free.
They said that he was abandoned by gypsies passing through in the spring. Strange people, gypsies! In early spring they set off on their journey. Some travel by train, others on ships or rafts, others trudge along the roads in carts, looking with hostility at the cars rushing past. People with southern blood, they climb into the most remote northern corners. Suddenly they become a camp near the city, wander around the bazaar for several days, feel things, bargain, go from house to house, tell fortunes, swear, laugh - dark, beautiful, with earrings in their ears, in bright clothes. But then they leave the city, disappear as suddenly as they appeared, and you will never see them here again. Others will come, but these will not be there. The world is wide, and they do not like to come to places they have already been to.
So, many were convinced that the gypsies abandoned him in the spring.
Others said that he sailed on an ice floe during the spring flood. He stood, black, among the blue and white crumble, alone motionless among the general movement. And swans flew above and shouted: “klink-clank!”
People are always excited to see swans. And when they arrive, when at dawn they rise from the floods with their great cry “clink-clank!” - people follow them with their eyes, the blood begins to ring in their hearts, and then they know that spring has come.
The ice rustled and muffledly burst along the river, swans screamed, and he stood on the ice floe, tail between his legs, wary, uncertain, sniffing and listening attentively to what was happening around him. When the ice floe approached the shore, he became agitated, jumped awkwardly, fell into the water, but quickly climbed ashore and, shaking himself off, disappeared among the stacks of timber.
One way or another, but, having appeared in the spring, when the days are filled with the shine of the sun, the sound of streams and the smell of bark, he remained to live in the city.
One can only guess about his past. He was probably born somewhere under the porch, on the straw. His mother, a purebred bitch from the Kostroma hound breed, short, with a long body, with a swollen belly, when the time came, disappeared under the porch to accomplish her great deed in secret. They called her, she did not respond and did not eat anything, completely concentrated in herself, feeling that something was about to happen that was more important than anything in the world, more important even than hunting and people - her rulers and gods.
He was born, like all puppies, blind, was immediately licked by his mother and placed close to the warm belly, still tense from birth pangs. And while he lay there, getting used to breathing, more and more brothers and sisters were added to him. They moved, grunted and tried to whine - just like him, smoky puppies with bare bellies and short, trembling tails. Soon it was all over, everyone found a nipple and fell silent - only the sniffling, smacking and heavy breathing of the mother could be heard. This is how their life began.
At one time, all the puppies opened their eyes, and they learned with delight that there was an even greater world than the one in which they had lived until now. His eyes also opened, but he was never destined to see the light. He was blind, a thick gray film covering his pupils. It was a bitter and difficult life for him. It would even be terrible if he could realize his blindness. But he did not know that he was blind, it was not given to him to know. He accepted life as it came to him.
Somehow it happened that he was not drowned or killed, which would, of course, have been mercy towards a helpless puppy, unnecessary to people. He remained to live and endured great ordeals, which ahead of time hardened and hardened his body and soul.
He did not have an owner who would give him shelter, feed him and take care of him as his friend. He became a homeless stray dog, gloomy, awkward and distrustful - his mother, having fed him, soon lost all interest in him, as well as in his brothers. He learned to howl like a wolf, just as long, darkly and sadly. He was dirty, often sick, rummaged in landfills near canteens, received kicks and buckets of dirty water along with other homeless and hungry dogs.
He couldn't run fast; he didn't really need his legs, his strong legs. All the time it seemed to him that he was running towards something sharp and cruel. When he fought with other dogs - and he fought many times in his life - he did not see his enemies, he bit and rushed at the sound of breathing, at the growls and squeals, at the rustling of the earth under the paws of his enemies, and often rushed and bit in vain.
It is unknown what name his mother gave him at birth, because a mother, even a dog, always knows her children by name. For people, he had no name... It is also unknown whether he would have stayed to live in the city, left, or died somewhere in a ravine, praying in anguish to his dog god. But a man intervened in his fate, and everything changed.
2
That summer I lived in a small northern town. The city stood on the banks of the river. White steamships, dirty brown barges, long rafts, wide-chine carbas with sides stained with black tar floated along the river. There was a pier near the shore that smelled of matting, rope, damp rot and roach. Rarely did anyone go to this pier, except suburban collective farmers on market day and sad business travelers in gray raincoats who came from the region to the timber mill.
Around the city, along low, gentle hills, forests stretched, mighty, untouched: the wood for rafting was cut down in the upper reaches of the river. In the forests there were large meadows and remote lakes with huge old pine trees along the banks. The pines made a quiet noise all the time. When a cool, damp wind blew from the Arctic Ocean, driving up the clouds, the pines hummed menacingly and dropped their cones, which hit the ground.
I rented a room on the outskirts, on top of an old house. My master, the doctor, was an always busy, silent man. He used to live with a large family. But his two sons were killed at the front, his wife died, his daughter went to Moscow, the doctor now lived alone and treated children. He had one strange thing: he loved to sing. With the finest falsetto, he pulled out all kinds of arias, sweetly fading on high notes. He had three rooms downstairs, but he rarely went there, dined and slept on the terrace, and the rooms were gloomy, smelling of dust, a pharmacy and old wallpaper.
The window of my room looked out onto a wild garden, overgrown with currants, raspberries, burdock and nettles along the fence. In the mornings, sparrows fussed outside the window, blackbirds came in clouds to peck currants, the doctor did not chase them away and did not pick berries. The neighbor's chickens and roosters sometimes flew up onto the fence. The rooster sang loudly, stretched his neck upward, shook his tail and looked curiously into the garden. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore, he flew down, and the chickens flew after him and hastily began to rummage around the currant bushes. Cats also wandered into the garden and, hiding near the burdock trees, watched the sparrows.
