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Orange Neck

Vitaly Valentinovich Bianchi
Orange Neck
What did the Lark see?
when he returned home
Between heaven and earth
The song is heard
A non-originating stream
Louder, louder it pours.
Puppeteer
The Wolf washed himself, and Kochetok sang. It was beginning to get light.
In the field between the clods of cold earth, the Lark woke up. He jumped to his feet, shook himself, looked around and flew up.
He flew and sang. And the higher he rose into the sky, the more joyful and loud his song flowed and shimmered.
Everything that he saw beneath him seemed unusually wonderful, beautiful and sweet to him. Of course: after all, this was his homeland, and he had not seen it for a long, long time!
He was born here last summer. And in the fall, with other migrants, he flew to distant countries. There he spent the whole winter warm - five whole months. And that's a long time when you're only ten months old. And now it’s been three days since he finally returned home. The first few days he rested from the road, but today he set about his work. And his job was to sing. The lark sang:
“The snow fields are below me. There are black and green spots on them.
Black spots are arable land. Green spots are seedlings of rye and wheat.
I remember: people sowed this rye and wheat in the fall. Soon young, cheerful greenery grew out of the ground. Then snow began to fall on them - and I flew away to foreign lands.
The greens did not freeze under the cold snow. Here they appear again, cheerfully and amicably stretching upward.
There are villages on the hills among the fields. This is the collective farm "Red Spark". The collective farmers have not yet woken up, the streets are still empty. The fields are also empty: the animals and birds of the field are still sleeping.
Behind the distant black forest I see the golden edge of the sun.
Wake up, wake up, get up everyone!
The morning is starting! Spring is beginning!"
The lark fell silent: he saw some gray spot on the white field. The spot moved. The lark flew down to see what was there.
Just above the spot, it stopped in the air, fluttering its wings.
- Eh, but this is the Big Herd! I see my good neighbors have arranged general meeting.
And indeed: it was a Large Flock of Blue Partridges - beautiful field cockerels and hens. They sat in a tight group. There were a lot of them: a hundred birds or maybe a thousand. The lark couldn't count.
They spent the night here in the snow: some were still shaking off the grainy snow from their wings from the night frost.
And one hen - apparently their eldest - sat in the middle on a hummock and spoke loudly.
"What is she talking about there?" - thought the Lark and went down even lower.
The older hen said:
- Today our little friend Lark woke us up with his song. So, really, spring has begun. The most difficult and hungry time has passed. Soon we will need to think about nests.
The time has come for all of us to part ways.
- It's time, it's time! - all the chickens clucked at once. - Who's going where, who's going where, who's going where!
- We're heading to the forest! We're behind the river! We're on the Red Stream! We're on Kostyanichnaya Hill! There, there, there, there!
When the clucking stopped, the older hen spoke again:
- Happy summer and good chicks to all of you! Bring them out more and raise them better. Remember: the hen who brings the most young partridges in the fall will have a great honor: this hen will lead the Big Flock all winter. And everyone will have to listen to her. Goodbye, goodbye, until autumn!
The older hen suddenly jumped high into the air, flapped her wings with a crash, and rushed away. And at the same moment, all the other partridges, how many there were - a hundred or a thousand - broke up into pairs and, with a crash, noise, chirping, splashed in all directions and disappeared from sight. The lark was upset: such good, affectionate neighbors flew away! When he returned, how they rejoiced at him! How much fun it was in their friendly family!
But he immediately realized: after all, he needs to quickly wake up all the other field birds and animals and all the people! He quickly began to flutter his wings and sang even more loudly than before:
- The Sun is rising! Wake up, everyone wake up, get to work cheerfully!
And, rising to the clouds, he saw thieving hares scattering from the villages, who had climbed into the gardens at night to devour the bark from the apple trees. I saw how, in a noisy gang, cawing, flocks of black rooks flocked to the arable land to pick out worms from the thawed earth with their noses; how people leave their houses.
People threw back their heads and, squinting from the bright sun, tried to see the little singer in the sky. But he disappeared into the cloud. Only his song remained over the fields, so ringing and joyful that people felt light in their souls and cheerfully got to work.
What was the Lark talking about?
with a field cockerel
The Lark worked all day: he flew into the sky and sang. He sang so that everyone knew that everything was fine and calm and that there was no evil hawk flying nearby. He sang so that the birds and animals of the field would rejoice. He sang to make people’s work more fun. I sang and sang and got tired. It was already evening. Sunset. All the animals and birds hid somewhere.
The lark descended onto the arable land. He wanted to chat with someone before going to bed about this and that. He didn't have a girlfriend.
He decided: “I’ll fly to the neighbors - the partridges.” But then I remembered that they flew away in the morning.
He felt sad again. He sighed heavily and began to go to bed in a hole between lumps of earth that had dried out during the day.
Suddenly a familiar voice reached him. The voice resembled the creaking of an ungreased gate or the chirping of a cricket, only it was stronger, louder. Someone pronounced one word loudly and joyfully:
- Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak!
“Oh, it’s Podkovkin!” the Lark was delighted. “That means not all the partridges flew away.”
- Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak! - rushed from the rye greens.
“Weirdo!” thought the Lark. “He found one worm and is screaming to the whole world.”
He knew that partridges eat grains and seeds of various herbs. For them, a worm is like a sweet for lunch. Lark himself knew how to find as many small worms as he wanted in the grass and ate his fill of them every day. It was funny to him that his neighbor was so happy about some worm.
“Well, now I’ll have someone to chat with,” thought the Lark and flew off to look for his neighbor.
It turned out to be very easy to find him: the cockerel was sitting openly on a hummock, among the short, green grass, and every now and then he gave a voice.
- Great, Podkovkin! - Lark shouted, flying up to him. - Did you stay for the whole summer?
The cockerel nodded his head welcomingly:
- Yes Yes. That's what Orange Neck, my wife, decided. Do you know her? Very smart chicken. You'll see, she'll definitely be leading the Big Herd this winter.
Having said this, the cockerel rolled out his blue chest with a delicious chocolate-colored horseshoe pattern. Then he stretched out his neck and shouted loudly three times:
- Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak!
- Where is the worm? - Lark was surprised. - Did you eat it?
Podkovkin was offended:
-Who do you take me for? I would be a good cockerel if I ate worms myself! Of course, I took it to Orange Neck.
- And she ate it?
- She ate it and said it was very tasty.
- So that's the end of it! Why are you shouting: “Worm! Worm!”?
- You do not understand anything! - Podkovkin became completely angry. - Firstly, I don’t scream at all, but I sing beautifully. Secondly, what is there to sing about if not about delicious worms?
Little gray Lark could tell a lot about what and how to sing. After all, he was from a famous family of singers, glorified by all poets. But there was no pride in him. And he did not at all want to offend Podkovkin, his good neighbor.
The lark hastened to say something pleasant to him.
- I know Orange Neck. She is so beautiful and gentle. How is her health?
Podkovkin immediately forgot the insult. He stuck out his chest and loudly blurted out three times: “Ferr-vyak!” - and only then he answered importantly:
- Thank you! Orange Neck is doing great. Come visit us.
- When can I arrive? - asked the Lark.
“Right now, you see, I’m very busy,” said Podkovkin. - During the day I look for food for Orange Neck, I keep guard so that the Fox or Hawk does not attack her. In the evenings I sing songs to her. And then you still have to fight with...
Podkovkin did not finish, stretched out on his legs and began to peer into the greenery.
- Wait a minute! No way, he again?..
The cockerel took off and flew like an arrow to where something was moving in the greenery.
Now the sound of a fight was heard from there: the knock of beak on beak, the flapping of wings, the rustle of rye. Pooh flew to the sky.
A few minutes later, the mottled back of a strange cockerel flashed over the greenery, and Podkovkin returned, all disheveled, with sparkling eyes. A broken feather protruded from his left wing.
- Wow!.. I hit him great! - he said, lowering himself onto a hummock. - He will know now...
- Who are you with? - Lark timidly asked. He himself had never fought with anyone and did not know how to fight.
- And with a neighbor, with Brovkin. He lives nearby, on Kostyanichnaya Hill. Stupid cockerel. I'll show him!..
Lark also knew Brovkin. All partridges have red eyebrows - and not only above the eyes, but even under the eyes. Brovkin's were especially large and red.
- Why are you fighting? - asked the Lark. - In the Big Herd, you and Brovkin were friends.
- In the Big Herd it’s a different matter. And now he’ll run into our field, and then I’ll inadvertently end up on Kostyanichnaya Hill. Here we really can’t help but fight. After all, we are roosters.
The lark still didn’t understand: why fight when you’re friends?
He asked again:
- When should I come?
- Maybe when Orange Neck sits down to hatch the children. Then maybe I can breathe more freely.
- Are you thinking about making a nest soon?
- Orange Neck says: “When thawed patches appear in the snowy fields and the Lark sings in the sky, the Big Herd will break into pairs and scatter in all directions. When people finish sowing and the winter rye grows up to a man’s knee, it will be time to build a nest.” Just look at what a cozy nest Orange Neck will make for itself - a sight for sore eyes! Will you remember? When people finish sowing, and the rye grows up to a man’s knees.
“I already remember,” said the Lark. - I’ll definitely fly. Well, good night!
And he flew to his bed.
What did people do when the snow melted from the fields?
and what a nest did Orange Neck make?
And so the Lark began to wait for people to start and finish sowing, and for the rye to grow up to a man’s knee.
Every morning he rose under the clouds and sang there about everything he saw below him.
He saw how the snow melted in the fields day by day, how the sun warmed more cheerfully and hotter every morning. I saw how the ice-breaking wagtails, thin birds with shaking tails, arrived - and how the next morning the river broke the ice. And as soon as the snow melted, people drove out on a tractor into the field.
"Now they will begin to sow!" - thought the Lark.
But he was mistaken: the people had not yet set out to sow, but only to prepare the land that had been plowed in the fall for sowing.
Rattling and snorting, the tractor crawled out into the field. He was dragging behind him a long iron bar with two wheels on the edges. Under the beam, wide, sharp steel paws cut and turned over the damp earth, loosened it, and broke up the compacted clods.
Several days passed like this. Then the people arrived on a caterpillar tractor, behind which were attached two long narrow boxes on wheels. Collective farmers stood on the board behind them. They opened the boxes, poured grain into them, and at the end of the field, when the tractor turned and turned the seeders behind it, they operated the levers and prevented the seed from spilling onto the road.
The first thing we did was sow oats. Oats were sown to feed horses and to make oatmeal, which was very healthy for children, from its seeds.
After oats, flax was sown. Flax was sown in order to make linseed oil from its seeds, and ropes, canvas and linen from its stems.
And the Lark thought - flax is sown so that it is convenient for the birds to hide in it.
After the flax, wheat was sown. Wheat was sown so that white flour could be made from it, and delicious white rolls could be baked from white flour.
Then they sowed rye, from which black bread would be made. Then barley - make barley cakes, pearl barley soup and barley porridge from it. And finally, buckwheat - cook buckwheat porridge from it - the same one that praises itself.
And the Lark thought that people sow oats, and wheat, and rye, and barley, and millet, from which millet porridge is cooked, and buckwheat - all just so that the birds have different grains to eat.
The collective farmers sowed buckwheat and left the field.
“Well,” thought Lark, “that’s the end of sowing! People won’t go out into the field anymore.”
And again I was wrong: the next morning, tractors with cunning potato planting machines made noise in the field again - and they planted potatoes in the ground. Everyone knows why people planted potatoes. Only Lark could not guess.
By that time the swallows had arrived, and it had become warm, and the winter rye had grown up to the people’s knees. The Lark saw this, was delighted and flew off to look for his friend - the cockerel Podkovkin.
Now it was not as easy to find it as a month ago: the rye had grown so much all around; The hummock was no longer visible; Podkovkin’s Lark found it with great effort.
- Is the nest ready? - he asked immediately.
- Ready, ready! - Podkovkin answered cheerfully. - And even all the eggs are laid. Do you know how much?
“But I can’t count,” said the Lark.
“I must admit, I can’t go beyond two,” Podkovkin sighed. - Yes, the Hunter passed here. He looked into the nest, counted the eggs and said: “Wow,” he said, “twenty-four, as many as two dozen!” he said, “there are no more eggs in gray partridges.”
- Oh-oh-oh, this is bad! - Lark was scared. - The hunter will take all the eggs and make scrambled eggs from them.
- What are you, what are you - scrambled eggs! - Podkovkin waved his wings at him. Orange Neck says: “It’s good that this is the Hunter. As long as it’s not boys.” She says: “The hunter will still guard our nest: he needs our chicks to grow up and become fat. Then be careful! Then he will come with a dog and bang-bang!..” Well, let’s go, I’ll take you to the Orange Neck.
Podkovkin jumped off the hummock and ran so fast in the rye that Lark had to catch up with him on his wings.
The partridge's nest was placed among the rye, in a depression between two hummocks. Orange Neck sat on the nest, feathers fluffed up.
Seeing the guest, she came down from the nest, smoothed her feathers and said affably:
- Please, please! Admire our nest. Isn't it cozy?
There was nothing special in her nest: like a basket with eggs. The edges are lined with partridge down and feathers.
The lark has seen more cunning than a nest.
Still, out of politeness, he said:
- Very cute nest.
- And the eggs? - asked Orange Neck. - Really, wonderful eggs?
The eggs were really good: like chicken eggs, only small, with a beautiful, even yellow-green color. There were a lot of them - a complete basket. And they all lay with their sharp ends inward, otherwise they probably wouldn’t have fit in the nest.
- What a beauty these eggs are! - Lark said from the bottom of his heart. - So clean, smooth, neat!
- How do you like the nests around? - asked Orange Neck. Beautiful?
The lark looked around. Flexible stems of young rye hung over the nest like a green tent.
“Beautiful,” agreed the Lark. “Only now...” and he faltered.
- What do you want to say? - Podkovkin was alarmed. - Or is our nest poorly hidden?
“Now it’s well hidden, even a hawk wouldn’t notice it.” But soon people will eat rye. And your nest will remain in the open.
- Will they cut the rye? - Podkovkin even flapped his wings. - You probably know this?
- I heard the collective farmers say that they will reap rye.
- This is terrible! - Podkovkin gasped. - What do we do?
But Orange Neck only winked cheerfully at her husband:
- Don't worry, don't worry. This is the safest place. No one will come here until our chicks hatch from their eggs. Take it from your nose: partridge chicks hatch from their eggs when the rye blooms.
- When will people come to reap it?
- And people will wait until the rye grows, heads, blooms, fades, pours and ripens.
- What did I tell you? - shouted the delighted Podkovkin. - You see how smart my wife is! She knows everything in advance.
“It’s not me who’s smart,” Orange Neck said modestly. - This is our partridge calendar. Each of our chickens knows it by heart.
Then she turned to the Lark, praised his songs and invited him to come and see how her chicks would emerge from their eggs.
Then the quail shouted loudly from the rye:
- Time to sleep! Time to sleep!
The lark said goodbye to his friends and flew home.
Before going to bed, he kept trying to remember: what did she say? First the rye will grow, then, then it will grow... no - it will grow... it will grow...
But he couldn’t pronounce this tricky word, he waved his paw and fell asleep.
How the Fox came
and what kind of children the Podkovkins had
The Lark couldn't wait to see how the little Horseshoes would emerge from the eggs. Every morning now, before rising into the clouds, he carefully examined the rye.
The rye rose quickly and soon became as tall as the tallest man. Then the ends of its stems began to thicken and swell. Then antennae grew out of them.
“These are the spikelets,” the Lark said to himself. - This is what’s called vyklolo... no - vykolo... no - vy-ko-lo-si-las.
This morning he sang especially well: he was glad that the rye would soon bloom and the Podkovkins would have chicks.
He looked down and saw that the crops had already risen in all the fields: barley, oats, flax, wheat, buckwheat, and potato leaves on even ridges.
In the bushes near the field where the Podkovkins’ nest was in the tall rye, he noticed a bright red stripe. I went down lower and saw: it was the Fox. She came out of the bushes and crept across the mown meadow towards the partridge field.
Lark's heart sank tightly. He was not afraid for himself: the Fox could not do anything to him in the air. But the terrible beast could find the nest of his friends, catch Orange Neck, and destroy her nest.
The Lark descended even lower and shouted with all his might:
- Podkovkin, Podkovkin! The fox is coming, save yourself!
The fox raised her head and clicked her teeth terribly. The lark was frightened, but continued to scream at the top of his lungs:
- Orange Neck! Fly away, fly away!
The fox went straight to the nest.
Suddenly Podkovkin jumped out of the rye. He looked terrible: his feathers were all ruffled, one wing was dragging on the ground.
“Trouble!” thought the Lark. “It’s true, the boys hit him with a stone. Now he too will disappear.”
And he shouted:
- Podkovkin, run, hide!
But it was too late: the Fox noticed the poor cockerel and rushed to him.
Podkovkin, limping and jumping, ran away from her. But where could he escape from the fleet-footed beast!
In three leaps the Fox was near him, and - smack! - Her teeth clanged at the very tail of the cockerel.
Podkovkin gathered all his strength and managed to fly in front of the beast’s nose.
But he flew very poorly, chirped desperately and soon fell to the ground, jumped up, and hobbled on. The fox rushed after him.
Lark saw how poor Podkovkin, either running or flying into the air, barely reached Kostyanichnaya Hill and disappeared into the bushes. The fox relentlessly chased him.
“Well, now the poor fellow is finished!” thought the Lark. “The fox drove him into the bushes and will catch him there quickly.”
The lark could do nothing more to help his friend. He didn’t want to hear the cockerel bones crunching on the Fox’s teeth, and he quickly flew away.
Several days passed and the rye was already in bloom. The lark did not fly these days over the field where the Podkovkins lived. He was sad about his dead friend and did not even want to look at the place where the bloody feathers of the cockerel lay.
Once the Lark was sitting in his field and snacking on worms. Suddenly he heard the crackling of wings and saw Podkovkin, alive and cheerful. Podkovkin sank down next to him.
-Where have you gone?! - the cockerel cried without saying hello. - After all, the rye is already blooming. I’m looking for you, I’m looking!.. Let’s fly to us as soon as possible: Orange Neck says that now our chicks will hatch from their eggs.
The lark stared at him:
“After all, the Fox ate you,” he said. - I myself saw how she drove you into the bushes.
- Fox? Me! - Podkovkin shouted. - Yes, it was I who took her away from our nest. He deliberately pretended to be sick in order to deceive her. She got so entangled in the bushes that she forgot the way to our field! And thank you for warning me about the danger. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have seen our chicks.
“Well... I just shouted,” Lark became embarrassed. - You’re clever! He even deceived me.
And the friends flew to the Orange Neck.
- Shh! Hush hush! - Orange Neck met them. - Don't bother me listening.
She was very preoccupied, stood over the nest and, bowing her head towards the eggs, listened carefully. Lark and Podkovkin stood next to each other, barely breathing.
Suddenly, Orange Neck quickly but carefully poked one of the eggs with her beak. A piece of the shell flew off, and immediately two black pin-like eyes flashed from the hole and the wet, tousled head of a chicken appeared. The mother poked it with her beak again, and then the whole chicken jumped out of the collapsed shell.
- Out, out! - Podkovkin shouted and jumped for joy.
- Do not scream! - Orange Neck said sternly. - Take the shells quickly and take them away from the nest.
Podkovkin grabbed half a shell with his beak and rushed headlong into the rye with it.
He returned for his other half very soon, but a whole pile of broken shells had already accumulated in the nest. The lark saw the chicks emerge from their eggs one after another. While Orange Neck was helping one, the other was already breaking the shell and climbing out of it.
Soon all twenty-four eggs were broken, all twenty-four chicks came out into the world - funny, wet, disheveled!
Orange Neck quickly threw out all the broken shells from the nest with her feet and beak and ordered Podkovkin to remove them. Then she turned to the chickens and said to them in a gentle voice: “Ko-ko-ko! Ko-ko!” - she became all fluffed up, spread her wings and sat on the nest. And all the chickens immediately disappeared under it, as if under a hat.
The lark began to help Podkovkin carry the shell. But his beak was small and weak, and he could only carry the lightest shells.
So they worked for a long time together with Podkovkin. They took the shells further into the bushes. It was impossible to leave it near the nest: people or animals could notice the shells and use them to find the nest. Finally the work was over and they could rest.
They sat down next to the nest and watched as curious noses poked out from under the wings of the Orange Neck, here and there, and quick eyes flashed.
“It’s amazing how...” said the Lark. - They were just born, and they are so nimble. And their eyes are open, and their bodies are covered in thick fluff.
“They already have small feathers,” said Orange Neck proudly. - On the wings.
- Tell me please! - Lark was surprised. - And among us, among songbirds, when the chicks leave the nest, they are blind, naked... They can only barely lift their heads and open their mouths.
- Oh, you’ll see something else now! - Orange Neck said cheerfully. - Just let me warm them up a little more with my warmth to dry them thoroughly... and we’ll open the playground right away.
What kind of playground did the Porshas have?
and what were they doing there
They chatted some more, then Orange Neck asked:
- Podkovkin, where you can now find small green caterpillars and soft snails nearby.
“Here, here nearby,” Podkovkin hurried, “two steps away, in our own field.” I've already had my eye on it.
“Our children,” said Orange Neck, “in the first days need the most tender food.” They will learn to eat grains later. Well, Podkovkin, show the way, we will follow you.
- And the chicks? - Lark was alarmed. - Are you really going to leave the little ones alone?
“The little ones will come with us,” Orange Neck said calmly. - Here, look.
She carefully stepped down from the nest and called in a gentle voice:
- Ko-kko! Ko-ko-kko!
And all twenty-four chicks jumped to their feet, jumped out of the little nest and rolled after their mother in cheerful spools.
Podkovkin went ahead, followed by Orange Neck with the chickens, and behind everyone was Lark.
The chickens squealed, the mother said “ko-kko,” and Podkovkin himself was silent and walked, sticking out his blue chest with a chocolate horseshoe, and proudly looked around. A minute later they came to a place where the rye was sparse and hummocks rose between its stems.
- Wonderful place! - Orange Neck approved. “We’ll set up a children’s playground here.”
And she and Podkovkin immediately began to look for green caterpillars and soft snails for their chicks.
The lark also wanted to feed the chickens. He found four caterpillars and called:
- Chick-chick-chick, run here!
The chickens finished what their parents gave them and rolled off to the Lark. They look, but there are no caterpillars! The lark was embarrassed and probably would have blushed if he had not had feathers on his face: after all, while he was waiting for the chickens, he somehow imperceptibly put all four caterpillars into his mouth.
But Orange Neck and Podkovkin did not swallow a single caterpillar, but took each one in their beak and deftly sent it into the open mouth of one of the chickens to everyone in turn.
“Now let’s get down to studying,” said Orange Neck when the chickens had eaten. - Kkok!
All twenty-four chickens stopped, whoever was where, and looked at their mother.
- Kkok! - this means: attention! - Orange Neck explained to the Lark. - Now I’ll call them to follow me - and look!.. Ko-kko! Ko-ko-kko!.. - she called in her most gentle voice and went to the hummocks.
All twenty-four chickens ran after her. Orange Neck jumped over the hummocks and, without stopping, moved on.
The chickens ran to the hummocks - and stop! They didn’t know what to do: after all, the hummocks in front of them were like high steep mountains or like three-story houses.

Page 1 of 6

What Lark saw when he returned to his homeland
Between heaven and earth
The song is heard
A non-originating stream
Louder, louder it pours.
Puppeteer
The Wolf washed himself, and Kochetok sang. It was beginning to get light.
In the field between the clods of cold earth, the Lark woke up. He jumped to his feet, shook himself, looked around and flew up.
He flew and sang. And the higher he rose into the sky, the more joyful and loud his song flowed and shimmered.
Everything that he saw beneath him seemed unusually wonderful, beautiful and sweet to him. Of course: after all, this was his homeland, and he had not seen it for a long, long time!
He was born here last summer. And in the fall, with other migrants, he flew to distant countries. There he spent the whole winter warm - five whole months. And that's a long time when you're only ten months old. And now it’s been three days since he finally returned home. The first few days he rested from the road, but today he set about his work. And his job was to sing. The lark sang:
“The snow fields are below me. There are black and green spots on them.
Black spots are arable land. Green spots are seedlings of rye and wheat.
I remember: people sowed this rye and wheat in the fall. Soon young, cheerful greenery grew out of the ground. Then snow began to fall on them - and I flew away to foreign lands.
The greens did not freeze under the cold snow. Here they appear again, cheerfully and amicably stretching upward.
There are villages on the hills among the fields. This is the collective farm "Red Spark". The collective farmers have not yet woken up, the streets are still empty. The fields are also empty: the animals and birds of the field are still sleeping.
Behind the distant black forest I see the golden edge of the sun.
Wake up, wake up, get up everyone!
The morning is starting! Spring is beginning!"
The lark fell silent: he saw some gray spot on the white field. The spot moved. The lark flew down to see what was there.
Just above the spot, it stopped in the air, fluttering its wings.
- Eh, but this is the Big Herd! I see that my good neighbors have held a general meeting.
And indeed: it was a Large Flock of Blue Partridges - beautiful field cockerels and hens. They sat in a tight group. There were a lot of them: a hundred birds or maybe a thousand. The lark couldn't count.
They spent the night here in the snow: some were still shaking off the grainy snow from their wings from the night frost.
And one hen - apparently their eldest - sat in the middle on a hummock and spoke loudly.
"What is she talking about there?" - thought the Lark and went down even lower.
The older hen said:
- Today our little friend Lark woke us up with his song. So, really, spring has begun. The most difficult and hungry time has passed. Soon we will need to think about nests.
The time has come for all of us to part ways.
- It's time, it's time! - all the chickens clucked at once. - Who's going where, who's going where, who's going where!
- We're heading to the forest! We're behind the river! We're on the Red Stream! We're on Kostyanichnaya Hill! There, there, there, there!
When the clucking stopped, the older hen spoke again:
- Happy summer and good chicks to all of you! Bring them out more and raise them better. Remember: the hen who brings the most young partridges in the fall will have a great honor: this hen will lead the Big Flock all winter. And everyone will have to listen to her. Goodbye, goodbye, until autumn!
The older hen suddenly jumped high into the air, flapped her wings with a crash, and rushed away. And at the same moment, all the other partridges, how many there were - a hundred or a thousand - broke up into pairs and, with a crash, noise, chirping, splashed in all directions and disappeared from sight. The lark was upset: such good, affectionate neighbors flew away! When he returned, how they rejoiced at him! How much fun it was in their friendly family!
But he immediately realized: after all, he needs to quickly wake up all the other field birds and animals and all the people! He quickly began to flutter his wings and sang even more loudly than before:
- The Sun is rising! Wake up, everyone wake up, get to work cheerfully!
And, rising to the clouds, he saw thieving hares scattering from the villages, who had climbed into the gardens at night to devour the bark from the apple trees. I saw flocks of black rooks flocking to the arable land in a noisy group, croaking, to pick out worms from the thawed earth with their noses; how people leave their houses.
People threw back their heads and, squinting from the bright sun, tried to see the little singer in the sky. But he disappeared into the cloud. Only his song remained over the fields, so ringing and joyful that people felt light in their souls and cheerfully got to work.

What was the Lark talking about with the field cockerel?

The Lark worked all day: he flew into the sky and sang. He sang so that everyone knew that everything was fine and calm and that there was no evil hawk flying nearby. He sang so that the birds and animals of the field would rejoice. He sang to make people’s work more fun. I sang and sang and got tired. It was already evening. Sunset. All the animals and birds hid somewhere.
The lark descended onto the arable land. He wanted to chat with someone before going to bed about this and that. He didn't have a girlfriend.
He decided: “I’ll fly to the neighbors - the partridges.” But then I remembered that they flew away in the morning.
He felt sad again. He sighed heavily and began to go to bed in a hole between lumps of earth that had dried out during the day.
Suddenly a familiar voice reached him. The voice resembled the creaking of an ungreased gate or the chirping of a cricket, only it was stronger, louder. Someone pronounced one word loudly and joyfully:
- Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak!
“Oh, it’s Podkovkin!” the Lark was delighted. “That means not all the partridges flew away.”
- Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak! - rushed from the rye greens.
“Weirdo!” thought the Lark. “He found one worm and is screaming to the whole world.”
He knew that partridges eat grains and seeds of various herbs. For them, a worm is like a sweet for lunch. Lark himself knew how to find as many small worms as he wanted in the grass and ate his fill of them every day. It was funny to him that his neighbor was so happy about some worm.
“Well, now I’ll have someone to chat with,” thought the Lark and flew off to look for his neighbor.
It turned out to be very easy to find him: the cockerel was sitting openly on a hummock, among the short, green grass, and every now and then he gave a voice.
- Great, Podkovkin! - Lark shouted, flying up to him. - Did you stay for the whole summer?
The cockerel nodded his head welcomingly:
- Yes Yes. That's what Orange Neck, my wife, decided. Do you know her? Very smart chicken. You'll see, she'll definitely be leading the Big Herd this winter.
Having said this, the cockerel rolled out his blue chest with a delicious chocolate-colored horseshoe pattern. Then he stretched out his neck and shouted loudly three times:
- Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak!
- Where is the worm? - Lark was surprised. - Did you eat it?
Podkovkin was offended:
-Who do you take me for? I would be a good cockerel if I ate worms myself! Of course, I took it to Orange Neck.
- And she ate it?
- She ate it and said it was very tasty.
- So that's the end of it! Why are you shouting: “Worm! Worm!”?
- You do not understand anything! - Podkovkin became completely angry. - Firstly, I don’t scream at all, but I sing beautifully. Secondly, what is there to sing about if not about delicious worms?
Little gray Lark could tell a lot about what and how to sing. After all, he was from a famous family of singers, glorified by all poets. But there was no pride in him. And he did not at all want to offend Podkovkin, his good neighbor.
The lark hastened to say something pleasant to him.
- I know Orange Neck. She is so beautiful and gentle. How is her health?
Podkovkin immediately forgot the insult. He stuck out his chest and loudly blurted out three times: “Ferr-vyak!” - and only then he answered importantly:
- Thank you! Orange Neck is doing great. Come visit us.
- When can I arrive? - asked the Lark.
“Right now, you see, I’m very busy,” said Podkovkin. - During the day I look for food for Orange Neck, I keep guard so that the Fox or Hawk does not attack her. In the evenings I sing songs to her. And then you still have to fight with...
Podkovkin did not finish, stretched out on his legs and began to peer into the greenery.
- Wait a minute! No way, he again?..
The cockerel took off and flew like an arrow to where something was moving in the greenery.

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Bianchi Vitaly
Orange Neck
Vitaly Valentinovich Bianchi
Orange Neck
What did the Lark see?
when he returned home
Between heaven and earth
The song is heard
A non-originating stream
Louder, louder it pours.
Puppeteer
The Wolf washed himself, and Kochetok sang. It was beginning to get light.
In the field between the clods of cold earth, the Lark woke up. He jumped to his feet, shook himself, looked around and flew up.
He flew and sang. And the higher he rose into the sky, the more joyful and loud his song flowed and shimmered.
Everything that he saw beneath him seemed unusually wonderful, beautiful and sweet to him. Of course: after all, this was his homeland, and he had not seen it for a long, long time!
He was born here last summer. And in the fall, with other migrants, he flew to distant countries. There he spent the whole winter warm - five whole months. And that's a long time when you're only ten months old. And now it’s been three days since he finally returned home. The first few days he rested from the road, but today he set about his work. And his job was to sing. The lark sang:
“The snow fields are below me. There are black and green spots on them.
Black spots are arable land. Green spots are seedlings of rye and wheat.
I remember: people sowed this rye and wheat in the fall. Soon young, cheerful greenery grew out of the ground. Then snow began to fall on them - and I flew away to foreign lands.
The greens did not freeze under the cold snow. Here they appear again, cheerfully and amicably stretching upward.
There are villages on the hills among the fields. This is the collective farm "Red Spark". The collective farmers have not yet woken up, the streets are still empty. The fields are also empty: the animals and birds of the field are still sleeping.
Behind the distant black forest I see the golden edge of the sun.
Wake up, wake up, get up everyone!
The morning is starting! Spring is beginning!"
The lark fell silent: he saw some gray spot on the white field. The spot moved. The lark flew down to see what was there.
Just above the spot, it stopped in the air, fluttering its wings.
- Eh, but this is the Big Herd! I see that my good neighbors have held a general meeting.
And indeed: it was a Large Flock of Blue Partridges - beautiful field cockerels and hens. They sat in a tight group. There were a lot of them: a hundred birds or maybe a thousand. The lark couldn't count.
They spent the night here in the snow: some were still shaking off the grainy snow from their wings from the night frost.
And one hen - apparently their eldest - sat in the middle on a hummock and spoke loudly.
"What is she talking about there?" - thought the Lark and went down even lower.
The older hen said:
- Today our little friend Lark woke us up with his song. So, really, spring has begun. The most difficult and hungry time has passed. Soon we will need to think about nests.
The time has come for all of us to part ways.
- It's time, it's time! - all the chickens clucked at once. - Who's going where, who's going where, who's going where!
- We're heading to the forest! We're behind the river! We're on the Red Stream! We're on Kostyanichnaya Hill! There, there, there, there!
When the clucking stopped, the older hen spoke again:
- Happy summer and good chicks to all of you! Bring them out more and raise them better. Remember: the hen who brings the most young partridges in the fall will have a great honor: this hen will lead the Big Flock all winter. And everyone will have to listen to her. Goodbye, goodbye, until autumn!
The older hen suddenly jumped high into the air, flapped her wings with a crash, and rushed away. And at the same moment, all the other partridges, how many there were - a hundred or a thousand - broke up into pairs and, with a crash, noise, chirping, splashed in all directions and disappeared from sight. The lark was upset: such good, affectionate neighbors flew away! When he returned, how they rejoiced at him! How much fun it was in their friendly family!
But he immediately realized: after all, he needs to quickly wake up all the other field birds and animals and all the people! He quickly began to flutter his wings and sang even more loudly than before:
- The Sun is rising! Wake up, everyone wake up, get to work cheerfully!
And, rising to the clouds, he saw thieving hares scattering from the villages, who had climbed into the gardens at night to devour the bark from the apple trees. I saw how, in a noisy gang, cawing, flocks of black rooks flocked to the arable land to pick out worms from the thawed earth with their noses; how people leave their houses.
People threw back their heads and, squinting from the bright sun, tried to see the little singer in the sky. But he disappeared into the cloud. Only his song remained over the fields, so ringing and joyful that people felt light in their souls and cheerfully got to work.
What was the Lark talking about?
with a field cockerel
The Lark worked all day: he flew into the sky and sang. He sang so that everyone knew that everything was fine and calm and that there was no evil hawk flying nearby. He sang so that the birds and animals of the field would rejoice. He sang to make people’s work more fun. I sang and sang and got tired. It was already evening. Sunset. All the animals and birds hid somewhere.
The lark descended onto the arable land. He wanted to chat with someone before going to bed about this and that. He didn't have a girlfriend.
He decided: “I’ll fly to the neighbors - the partridges.” But then I remembered that they flew away in the morning.
He felt sad again. He sighed heavily and began to go to bed in a hole between lumps of earth that had dried out during the day.
Suddenly a familiar voice reached him. The voice resembled the creaking of an ungreased gate or the chirping of a cricket, only it was stronger, louder. Someone pronounced one word loudly and joyfully:
- Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak!
“Oh, it’s Podkovkin!” the Lark was delighted. “That means not all the partridges flew away.”
- Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak! - rushed from the rye greens.
“Weirdo!” thought the Lark. “He found one worm and is screaming to the whole world.”
He knew that partridges eat grains and seeds of various herbs. For them, a worm is like a sweet for lunch. Lark himself knew how to find as many small worms as he wanted in the grass and ate his fill of them every day. It was funny to him that his neighbor was so happy about some worm.
“Well, now I’ll have someone to chat with,” thought the Lark and flew off to look for his neighbor.
It turned out to be very easy to find him: the cockerel was sitting openly on a hummock, among the short, green grass, and every now and then he gave a voice.
- Great, Podkovkin! - Lark shouted, flying up to him. - Did you stay for the whole summer?
The cockerel nodded his head welcomingly:
- Yes Yes. That's what Orange Neck, my wife, decided. Do you know her? Very smart chicken. You'll see, she'll definitely be leading the Big Herd this winter.
Having said this, the cockerel rolled out his blue chest with a delicious chocolate-colored horseshoe pattern. Then he stretched out his neck and shouted loudly three times:
- Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak! Cherr-vyak!
- Where is the worm? - Lark was surprised. - Did you eat it?
Podkovkin was offended:
-Who do you take me for? I would be a good cockerel if I ate worms myself! Of course, I took it to Orange Neck.
- And she ate it?
- She ate it and said it was very tasty.
- So that's the end of it! Why are you shouting: “Worm! Worm!”?
- You do not understand anything! - Podkovkin became completely angry. - Firstly, I don’t scream at all, but I sing beautifully. Secondly, what is there to sing about if not about delicious worms?
Little gray Lark could tell a lot about what and how to sing. After all, he was from a famous family of singers, glorified by all poets. But there was no pride in him. And he did not at all want to offend Podkovkin, his good neighbor.
The lark hastened to say something pleasant to him.
- I know Orange Neck. She is so beautiful and gentle. How is her health?
Podkovkin immediately forgot the insult. He stuck out his chest and loudly blurted out three times: “Ferr-vyak!” - and only then he answered importantly:
- Thank you! Orange Neck is doing great. Come visit us.
- When can I arrive? - asked the Lark.
“Right now, you see, I’m very busy,” said Podkovkin. - During the day I look for food for Orange Neck, I keep guard so that the Fox or Hawk does not attack her. In the evenings I sing songs to her. And then you still have to fight with...
Podkovkin did not finish, stretched out on his legs and began to peer into the greenery.
- Wait a minute! No way, he again?..
The cockerel took off and flew like an arrow to where something was moving in the greenery.
Now the sound of a fight was heard from there: the knock of beak on beak, the flapping of wings, the rustle of rye. Pooh flew to the sky.
A few minutes later, the mottled back of a strange cockerel flashed over the greenery, and Podkovkin returned, all disheveled, with sparkling eyes. A broken feather protruded from his left wing.
- Wow!.. I hit him great! - he said, lowering himself onto a hummock. - He will know now...
- Who are you with? - Lark timidly asked. He himself had never fought with anyone and did not know how to fight.
- And with a neighbor, with Brovkin. He lives nearby, on Kostyanichnaya Hill. Stupid cockerel. I'll show him!..
Lark also knew Brovkin. All partridges have red eyebrows - and not only above the eyes, but even under the eyes. Brovkin's were especially large and red.
- Why are you fighting? - asked the Lark. - In the Big Herd, you and Brovkin were friends.
- In the Big Herd it’s a different matter. And now he’ll run into our field, and then I’ll inadvertently end up on Kostyanichnaya Hill. Here we really can’t help but fight. After all, we are roosters.
The lark still didn’t understand: why fight when you’re friends?
He asked again:
- When should I come?
- Maybe when Orange Neck sits down to hatch the children. Then maybe I can breathe more freely.
- Are you thinking about making a nest soon?
- Orange Neck says: “When thawed patches appear in the snowy fields and the Lark sings in the sky, the Big Herd will break into pairs and scatter in all directions. When people finish sowing and the winter rye grows up to a man’s knee, it will be time to build a nest.” Just look at what a cozy nest Orange Neck will make for itself - a sight for sore eyes! Will you remember? When people finish sowing, and the rye grows up to a man’s knees.
“I already remember,” said the Lark. - I’ll definitely fly. Well, good night!
And he flew to his bed.
What did people do when the snow melted from the fields?
and what a nest did Orange Neck make?
And so the Lark began to wait for people to start and finish sowing, and for the rye to grow up to a man’s knee.
Every morning he rose under the clouds and sang there about everything he saw below him.
He saw how the snow melted in the fields day by day, how the sun warmed more cheerfully and hotter every morning. I saw how the ice-breaking wagtails, thin birds with shaking tails, arrived - and how the next morning the river broke the ice. And as soon as the snow melted, people drove out on a tractor into the field.
"Now they will begin to sow!" - thought the Lark.
But he was mistaken: the people had not yet set out to sow, but only to prepare the land that had been plowed in the fall for sowing.
Rattling and snorting, the tractor crawled out into the field. He was dragging behind him a long iron bar with two wheels on the edges. Under the beam, wide, sharp steel paws cut and turned over the damp earth, loosened it, and broke up the compacted clods.
Several days passed like this. Then the people arrived on a caterpillar tractor, behind which were attached two long narrow boxes on wheels. Collective farmers stood on the board behind them. They opened the boxes, poured grain into them, and at the end of the field, when the tractor turned and turned the seeders behind it, they operated the levers and prevented the seed from spilling onto the road.
The first thing we did was sow oats. Oats were sown to feed horses and to make oatmeal, which was very healthy for children, from its seeds.
After oats, flax was sown. Flax was sown in order to make linseed oil from its seeds, and ropes, canvas and linen from its stems.
And the Lark thought - flax is sown so that it is convenient for the birds to hide in it.
After the flax, wheat was sown. Wheat was sown so that white flour could be made from it, and delicious white rolls could be baked from white flour.
Then they sowed rye, from which black bread would be made. Then barley - make barley cakes, pearl barley soup and barley porridge from it. And finally, buckwheat - cook buckwheat porridge from it - the same one that praises itself.
And the Lark thought that people sow oats, and wheat, and rye, and barley, and millet, from which millet porridge is cooked, and buckwheat - all just so that the birds have different grains to eat.
The collective farmers sowed buckwheat and left the field.
“Well,” thought Lark, “that’s the end of sowing! People won’t go out into the field anymore.”
And again I was wrong: the next morning, tractors with cunning potato planting machines made noise in the field again - and they planted potatoes in the ground. Everyone knows why people planted potatoes. Only Lark could not guess.
By that time the swallows had arrived, and it had become warm, and the winter rye had grown up to the people’s knees. The Lark saw this, was delighted and flew off to look for his friend - the cockerel Podkovkin.
Now it was not as easy to find it as a month ago: the rye had grown so much all around; The hummock was no longer visible; Podkovkin’s Lark found it with great effort.
- Is the nest ready? - he asked immediately.
- Ready, ready! - Podkovkin answered cheerfully. - And even all the eggs are laid. Do you know how much?
“But I can’t count,” said the Lark.
“I must admit, I can’t go beyond two,” Podkovkin sighed. - Yes, the Hunter passed here. He looked into the nest, counted the eggs and said: “Wow,” he said, “twenty-four, as many as two dozen!” he said, “there are no more eggs in gray partridges.”
- Oh-oh-oh, this is bad! - Lark was scared. - The hunter will take all the eggs and make scrambled eggs from them.
- What are you, what are you - scrambled eggs! - Podkovkin waved his wings at him. Orange Neck says: “It’s good that this is the Hunter. As long as it’s not boys.” She says: “The hunter will still guard our nest: he needs our chicks to grow up and become fat. Then be careful! Then he will come with a dog and bang-bang!..” Well, let’s go, I’ll take you to the Orange Neck.
Podkovkin jumped off the hummock and ran so fast in the rye that Lark had to catch up with him on his wings.
The partridge's nest was placed among the rye, in a depression between two hummocks. Orange Neck sat on the nest, feathers fluffed up.
Seeing the guest, she came down from the nest, smoothed her feathers and said affably:
- Please, please! Admire our nest. Isn't it cozy?
There was nothing special in her nest: like a basket with eggs. The edges are lined with partridge down and feathers.
The lark has seen more cunning than a nest.
Still, out of politeness, he said:
- Very cute nest.
- And the eggs? - asked Orange Neck. - Really, wonderful eggs?
The eggs were really good: like chicken eggs, only small, with a beautiful, even yellow-green color. There were a lot of them - a complete basket. And they all lay with their sharp ends inward, otherwise they probably wouldn’t have fit in the nest.
- What a beauty these eggs are! - Lark said from the bottom of his heart. - So clean, smooth, neat!
- How do you like the nests around? - asked Orange Neck. Beautiful?
The lark looked around. Flexible stems of young rye hung over the nest like a green tent.
“Beautiful,” agreed the Lark. “Only now...” and he faltered.
- What do you want to say? - Podkovkin was alarmed. - Or is our nest poorly hidden?
“Now it’s well hidden, even a hawk wouldn’t notice it.” But soon people will eat rye. And your nest will remain in the open.
- Will they cut the rye? - Podkovkin even flapped his wings. - You probably know this?
- I heard the collective farmers say that they will reap rye.
- This is terrible! - Podkovkin gasped. - What do we do?
But Orange Neck only winked cheerfully at her husband:
- Don't worry, don't worry. This is the safest place. No one will come here until our chicks hatch from their eggs. Take it from your nose: partridge chicks hatch from their eggs when the rye blooms.
- When will people come to reap it?
- And people will wait until the rye grows, heads, blooms, fades, pours and ripens.
- What did I tell you? - shouted the delighted Podkovkin. - You see how smart my wife is! She knows everything in advance.

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Year: 1928 Genre: story

Main characters: partridge and lark

Like other Bianchi tales, this story tells of humanized animals and birds with all their natural coloring and human characters. The reader first recognizes the main character in the words of her husband as a “smart chicken.” Indeed, the heroine is wise, and besides, she strives to help other birds. The orange neck knows how and where to build a nest, how to deceive a fox or a hawk, how to raise its own chicks... and even strangers. Not without losses, but the birds survive all difficulties, thanks to the enthusiasm and intelligence of the chicken.

The main idea. A fairy tale about a kind and intelligent bird, Orange Neck, which, as rarely happens in nature, began to raise other people's chicks - orphans. And she successfully coped with this difficult task.

Read the summary of Bianchi Orange Neck

The fairy tale begins with the awakening of the lark. Awoke. He shook himself off, soared into the sky, and sang, welcoming spring, awakening everyone. The lark also warns forest inhabitants about danger.

The hero is adjacent to partridges. A familiar cockerel's name is Podkovkin. He is very happy when he finds the worm, which surprises the Lark. But, firstly, this is a rare catch for partridges, and secondly, Podkovkin is glad that he can treat his wife to Orange Neck.

This is a special bird. She understands what is safe for her nest, for the chicks. For example, she knows that collective farmers will not harvest rye until the fall, so the chicks are safer in this field. Together with her husband, they teach the chicks how to survive. Birds, it turns out, have a whole language in which they convey the most important information- commands for chicks. At this sound you need to shrink into a ball, and at another sound you need to run. And even you need to run, as they say, wisely. Parents, of course, take care of the chicks, feed them, and protect them.

One day a fox attacks a family of birds. The lark wants to warn his friend and sees that a predator has already found him. The unfortunate lark limps, falls on his paw, seems to be running away from the fox, but she is about to eat him. The frightened Lark realized that his friend was dead. What a surprise the hero was when he met the living and healthy Cockerel. It turned out that he was simply pretending to the fox, and with his comedy he was luring the fox away from the nest.

Another time, when a hawk attacked, such a game, unfortunately, did not help... A friend of the Podkovkin family, the cockerel Brovkin, and his wife died. What about the chicks? Lark meets Little Throat surrounded by her fluffy chicks, but there are too many of them. It turned out that she adopted the chicks of the dead chicken.

Birds in a fairy tale show the best human qualities.

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