This is a cute story about the friendship of a man and a hedgehog. In the story, the author says how affection and care can tame a wild animal. The hedgehog fell in love with home warmth, comfort and became completely tame. The story can be read to the smallest children.
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Once I was walking along the bank of our stream and noticed a hedgehog under a bush. He also noticed me, curled up and mumbled: knock-knock-knock. It was very similar, as if a car was moving in the distance. I touched him with the tip of my boot - he snorted terribly and pushed his needles into the boot.
Ah, you are so with me! - I said and pushed him into the stream with the tip of my boot.
Instantly, the hedgehog turned around in the water and swam to the shore like a small pig, only instead of bristles on its back there were needles. I took a stick, rolled the hedgehog into my hat and carried it home.
I have had many mice. I heard - the hedgehog catches them, and decided: let him live with me and catch mice.
So I put this prickly lump in the middle of the floor and sat down to write, while I myself looked at the hedgehog out of the corner of my eye. He did not lie motionless for a long time: as soon as I calmed down at the table, the hedgehog turned around, looked around, tried to go there, here, finally chose a place for himself under the bed and there it completely calmed down.
When it got dark, I lit the lamp, and - hello! - the hedgehog ran out from under the bed. He, of course, thought to the lamp that it was the moon that had risen in the forest: in the moonlight, hedgehogs like to run through the forest clearings.
And so he started running around the room, imagining that it was a forest clearing.
I picked up the pipe, lit a cigarette and let a cloud near the moon. It became just like in the forest: the moon and the cloud, and my legs were like tree trunks and, probably, the hedgehog really liked it: he darted between them, sniffing and scratching the backs of my boots with needles.
After reading the newspaper, I dropped it on the floor, went to bed and fell asleep.
I always sleep very lightly. I hear some rustling in my room. He struck a match, lit a candle, and only noticed how a hedgehog flashed under the bed. And the newspaper was no longer lying near the table, but in the middle of the room. So I left the candle burning and I myself do not sleep, thinking:
Why did the hedgehog need a newspaper?
Soon my tenant ran out from under the bed - and straight to the newspaper; he whirled around beside her, made a noise, and made a noise, finally contrived: somehow he put a corner of the newspaper on the thorns and dragged it, huge, into the corner.
Then I understood him: the newspaper was like dry leaves in the forest, he dragged it to himself for a nest. And it turned out to be true: soon the hedgehog all turned into a newspaper and made a real nest out of it. Having finished this important business, he went out of his dwelling and stood opposite the bed, looking at the candle-moon.
I let the clouds in and I ask:
What else do you need? The hedgehog was not afraid.
Do you want to drink?
I wake up. The hedgehog does not run.
I took a plate, put it on the floor, brought a bucket of water, and then I poured water into the plate, then poured it into the bucket again, and I made such a noise as if it were a brook splashing.
Come on, come on, I say. - You see, I arranged for you the moon and clouds, and here's water for you ...
I look like I'm moving forward. And I also moved my lake a little towards it. He will move, and I will move, and so they agreed.
Drink, - I say finally. He began to cry. And I so lightly ran my hand over the thorns, as if stroking, and I keep saying:
You are good, little one!
The hedgehog got drunk, I say:
Let's sleep. Lie down and blow out the candle.
I don’t know how much I slept, I hear: again I have work in my room.
I light a candle and what do you think? The hedgehog runs around the room, and he has an apple on his thorns. He ran to the nest, put it there and after another runs into the corner, and in the corner there was a bag of apples and collapsed. Here the hedgehog ran up, curled up near the apples, twitched and runs again, on the thorns he drags another apple into the nest.
And so the hedgehog got a job with me. And now I, like drinking tea, will certainly put it on my table and either I will pour milk into a saucer for him - he will drink it, then I will eat the ladies' buns.
The hedgehog tossed and turned on his side of the bed and could not sleep at all. The cactus lay nearby, showing no signs of life - he passed out as soon as his head touched the pillow. He always slept quietly, very quietly - it would be better if he snored, if only a lulling rhythm was created; the hedgehog, on the other hand, suffered from insomnia throughout his life, and most of all he was angry that someone nearby was sleeping peacefully and wonderfully.
Hedgehog painfully wanted to sleep. For two and a half hours he had been tossing and turning in bed, crumpling the pillow, wrapping himself up in the blanket. Cold sweat flowed in streams between the needles. Closing his eyes, he again and again saw a huge herd of terrible horses.
Put in front of the hedgehog 200 gr. ham and a piece of rolls. The hedgehog will definitely eat the ham and not touch the roll. As a rational being, he understands that overeating is harmful.
In a fit of rage, hedgehogs are capable of performing unthinkable feats. Use it instead of a bayonet to inflict physical and moral damage on the enemy. At one sight of a hedgehog hanging on the barrel of a weapon, bawling patriotic songs, the enemy is lost, realizing that nothing good is going to happen to him in this country.
The hedgehog is crazy. The fog creeps in with relentless tentacles, the little animal can hardly see itself anymore. Who knows what's behind the fog? And what are its real dimensions? Maybe you just need to stretch your hand through it, and you will already find yourself next to someone?
Somehow the hedgehog decided to ride down the hill. And he began to ride. I rode all day, and by the evening I was tired. An ant passed by and asked: “What are you doing, hedgehog?” “I’m rolling down the hill,” answered the hedgehog. "There it is!" - said the ant and went home thoughtfully. "Summer like" - he thought on the way.
The hedgehog has been sitting on the Internet for too long today, reading different stories, poems - good and bad. In addition to stories and other works, he also read comments on what was written. For the most part, critics offered the author of "Yad"
In the house of the hedgehog, Prishvin was roughly shaken out of his hat right on the floor. Curled up into a ball, he waited with horror that now the hedgehog would step on him and crush him. Prishvin wanted to roll under the bed, but from fear he could not even move. He could only peep at the hedgehog with the corner of his left eye, which was not fully covered by his outstretched palm. Hedgehog, meanwhile, for some reason took a table lamp.
Once upon a time, there was, as usual, a Hedgehog. Yeah. And somehow the Hedgehog slept. He slept, slept sweetly on his tummy, but suddenly in a dream he moved his left paw. Something, he thinks, is somehow empty nearby. He sleeps soundly, and he himself tries to feel something nearby on the bed with his paw.
Needles. Paws. Spout.
No, like this: gouging with a small letter and Hedgehog with a capital one. In.
Christmas tree, needles-needles, bumps-between-them-mice, pe-nek-honey, whack-whack! Hedgehog!
Here I am walking down the street. And towards - a hedgehog.
You can see in the face - a hedgehog!
So businesslike, all of himself, turned up his nose -
- The sun was getting dark...
- Yes, it's full! How can the sun get dark? Have you confused anything? It blew its nose, perhaps, but it was getting dark... Thank you!
- Exactly what was getting dark! The sun was getting dark.
I welcome you to lectures. Our topic today is "The process of hair removal in hedgehogs." Take empty seats.
First things first, self-respecting hedgehogs sharpen needles. Self-respecting hedgehogs do not sharpen needles, but mostly tongues among themselves. Tongues from this become sharper, but there are no needles.
The hedgehog fell into the clutches of the Holy Inquisition. For your beliefs. He liked to pick rotten apples in autumn. The Holy Inquisition is not.
Anyone who caught a hedgehog using this instruction, please inform the author for statistics. Anyone who has caught any other animal using this instruction, please do not inform the author.
Have you ever seen underwater hedgehogs? And I saw. Ordinary such hedgehogs - muzzle, paws, needles. Only underwater...
The hedgehog was walking through the forest. And he felt so bad after yesterday that he did not know where to go. Or rather, where to drink ...
Surrounded by his comrades, Alik proudly walked home, clutching the end of his shirt in his fist. Something moved in his shirt from time to time.
An international conference was held here recently. Various famous scientists talked about their modern measurement methods. Well, of course, as a specialist in my field, I also took part in it - I prepared a whole presentation. My topic "Weighing objects using the hedgehog method" was called.
The sun turned red, turned crimson, like an autumn leaf, and rolled towards the horizon. M imagined for a moment that it was not the sun, but a huge ripe apple with shining sides. If you bite into such an apple, it will splash with juice, from which the cheeks will become sticky.
The hedgehog sat at the table and drank strong tea in small sips. He really liked to drink tea like this - simply, always alone, looking at the setting sun through a small round window, near which there was a table, a stove and a cupboard with jam.
The underwater hedgehog (Ezshum Aquapodum) is nothing more than a variety of the common hedgehog, equipped with scuba gear and a propeller of a specific configuration.
Every morning the Hedgehog jumped out of his bed like a scalded. And there was something to jump up from: every morning his whole bed was studded with fresh hedgehog needles, which always did not stick well on the Hedgehog's body.
I have heard that some writers somehow derogatoryly treat hedgehogs, do not take them seriously, and if they write about them, then as about some kind of alcoholics, parasites or creatures in general, directly communicating with aliens, roofing felts with the afterlife the world.
"Interesting. Why is it believed that only bears are rods? After all, if they woke me up now, then I am a connecting rod? - thought the hedgehog Yevlampy, who woke up obviously earlier than spring.
Alexey Antonov
I stood at the window and looked beyond the horizon, where the sun was slowly setting. A crimson summer sunset slid along the black treetops, casting long shadows on the cracked asphalt. The ghosts of the abandoned city floated through the streets, lifting garbage into the air, spinning it in a slow dance. My thoughts were thrown back several decades ago. I saw these streets filled with people: a woman in a white headscarf hurried to the store for milk, there was a car in front of the house, under which a greasy peasant in a cap was rummaging, continuously smoking a cigarette. It was the eighties or early nineties, I couldn't say for sure. The kids ran noisily with the ball around the yard, with the same ball that is now pressed against the half-rotted fence, it has long since given up its last breath and has faded over the years. I struggled to understand what happened in this godforsaken place, to understand why the same ball was thrown here and forgotten.
Behind me there was a whistle of a boiling kettle, I turned and looked around the room, which became my shelter during my stay in this strange place. It was a real Klondike for a seeker like me. Despite the past decades, things and furnishings have retained their former appearance, except that the wallpaper has slightly faded and the wood of the shelves hanging on the walls has rotted. Books, dishes, furniture, clothes - everything was in its place, not touched, not looted, here was the spirit of the time when people left this place.
I went to the camping gas burner and turned it off, the whistle of the kettle immediately subsided, dissolving in the heavy air of the room. I took out a metal mug from the backpack, bought in the "Expedition", poured black tea into it and poured boiling water over it. The aroma of tea was soothing. To tell the truth, I was afraid of this place, and my fear increased with the onset of night. For the eighth day I wandered through the abandoned streets of the Hedgehog, and for eight nights I was overwhelmed by a panicky horror of the unknown, of what could have happened here twenty years ago.
I learned about a city with a strange name Ezh near Yekaterinburg, from a peasant working at a power plant. It was about three years ago, and then I treated his story with distrust. That year there was a fierce winter, frozen birds fell from the branches into the cold snow. Advertising inscriptions on trams they cracked from the frost and flew around like dry leaves. Cars and buses froze on the road, and people moved on a run, trying to be less on the street. I came with an economic check to a small regional town. At that time, the general director of the local power plant was suspected of not entirely expedient use of funds coming from the budget. My job was simple and extremely tedious - piles of papers, millions of figures and an accountant who played fools and fools. A couple of days later, I knew that Georgy Ivanovich was rowing money not with a shovel, but with a bucket of a small excavator into his own pocket.
On that significant day for me, I was sitting on the sixth floor of the administrative building - it was here that economic department and accounting of Gorelectro. The clock hand was inexorably approaching four o'clock in the afternoon, it was Wednesday - the day of issuing salaries to the workers of this glorious enterprise. On the floor, someone was staggering all the time, after dinner a crowd of suffering people filled the narrow corridor in front of the cash register. Most of them were women in their forties who loved to gossip, and the time for gossip turned out to be the most suitable. After a couple of hours, I already knew who and what lived at the station. The mood was, to put it mildly, non-working, and I decided to go to my hotel, where I was going to have dinner and drink a couple of glasses of cognac. I went out of the office into the noisy corridor, locked the door, and was about to head for the elevator when I was stopped by the only man hustling among the women.
Hello, boss! - His voice was with a pleasant hoarseness, but his face was drunk about ten years ago. Once bright blue eyes faded and failed, the face was completely covered with wrinkles. He was short, about a foot tall with two caps, dried up like an old log left in a shed.
Good afternoon! - I held out my hand to him and he shook it, the handshake was firm, and I realized that he looked much worse than he felt.
How is the test going, will we live?
You will still have plenty of life, but your general is unlikely. - I was about to turn my back to him to get closer to the elevators, but he again stopped me.
He stole, which means that rumors have been circulating here for a long time, this groom came from Eburg and ate all our gingerbread. I'll tell you this: people's money spoils, and everyone has known this for a long time, it is better to transfer money into alcohol - there is truth in it. He smiled sadly and looked at me. - Wait for me here, I'll be in a minute. - He turned abruptly and with a confident step went to the cash register through the line of women. He was greeted with dissatisfied exclamations, and I already thought that the peasant would be beaten, perhaps even with his feet, but by some miracle he made his way to the window, handed the cashier some kind of statement and in a couple of minutes received his hard-earned money.
I thought I wouldn’t get out, ”he said to me with a laugh,“ we have harsh women, they will stop the galloping elephant, and tie the trunk into a bow, I’m already silent about the hut, and they will build it, and they can take it apart to the last log. - He grabbed my hand, and we moved to the elevators, accompanied by exclamations of dissatisfaction with my new acquaintance. Twenty minutes later, with two bottles of cognac, which we bought at my insistence, we came to a small area enclosed by a flimsy and rare fence.
My hacienda, - commented my Susanin and, apparently, a drinking buddy for this evening. - My wife died four years ago - cancer. You see, the ecology here is to hell with me, I have this garden ... everything is done with my own hands ... but I blew everything, and I have no desire to poke around in the ground, I am a mechanic, not a plowman, and never have been. - He spoke somehow detachedly, without emotions, spoke about the past years without a hint of regret. Victor, that was the name of my new acquaintance, opened the gate and walked in front of me to a one-story house, sheltered at the far end of the once beautiful, but now withered garden, covered with a thick layer of uncleaned snow.
Here I have a bathhouse, - he waved vaguely to the right, I followed his gesture and saw a squat bathhouse made of a blackened log house from time to time, - we won’t heat today, we’ve prepared not enough firewood for the winter, but the toad is crushing me to buy, I go to it on schedule, to make it to spring.
We entered the house. It was an ordinary village house: long lurid "paths" in the corridors, a couple of carpets nailed to the walls in a large room that served as both a living room and a bedroom, an iron mesh bed by the stove, a large wooden table, obviously inherited from Victor's great-grandmother, by the curtained windows, and equally massive chairs around it.
Settle down, - Victor nodded at a chair, - you will lie down to sleep here (he pointed to the bed), - and I will take a nap on the stove, like in my grandmother's childhood. I like to sleep on the stove, I remember when I was six or seven years old, I often stayed with my grandmother, my parents worked at night. We will climb into the oven with her in winter, the fire crackles under you, and you are warm and comfortable, the grandmother starts snoring after five minutes, and you lie and think. You think about all sorts of nonsense, about how you covered up Marinka with a snowball in the afternoon so that she would pay attention to you, that in the summer they can buy you a bike, because in the summer it’s your birthday and for the second year your grandmother has been saving three rubles for him with her pensions. I regret my childhood, oh, how I regret it, Sanya, now I climb onto the stove and think about that time, about how good it was for me. - I saw a deeply tired man in front of me, it seemed that his wrinkles became even deeper, and his eyes turned completely white. Now he was somewhere very far away, where he would like to stay for the rest of his life.
Victor took out yesterday's potatoes from the refrigerator, we added to it the smoked sausage I bought and began to destroy the stock of cognac. Victor drank it and grimaced, scolding me for what the world is worth for the fact that I persuaded him to drink some kind of filth of overseas origin instead of "little white". He talked a lot about what is good for the Russian and that the foreigner is dead, and it would have been an ordinary evening that I spent in the company of a random drinking companion who loves to philosophize, if not
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Mikhail Mikhailovich Prishvin
Hedgehog
Once I was walking along the bank of our stream and noticed a hedgehog under a bush; he also noticed me, curled up and mumbled: knock-knock-knock. It was very similar, as if a car was moving in the distance. I touched it with the tip of my boot; he snorted terribly and jabbed his needles into his boot.
- Oh, you are so with me! - I said. And with the tip of his boot he pushed him into the stream. Instantly, the hedgehog turned around in the water and swam to the shore like a small pig, only instead of bristles on its back there were needles. I took a stick, rolled the hedgehog into my hat and carried it home.
I had a lot of mice, I heard - the hedgehog catches them, and decided: let him live with me and catch mice.
So I put this prickly lump in the middle of the floor and sat down to write, while I myself looked at the hedgehog out of the corner of my eye. He did not lie motionless for a long time: as soon as I calmed down at the table, the hedgehog turned around, looked around, tried to go there, here and finally chose a place for himself under the bed and there it completely calmed down.
When it got dark, I lit the lamp and - hello! The hedgehog ran out from under the bed. He, of course, thought to the lamp that it was the moon that had risen in the forest: in the moonlight, hedgehogs like to run through the forest clearings. And so he started running around the room, imagining that it was a forest clearing. I picked up the pipe, lit a cigarette and let a cloud near the moon. It became just like in the forest: the moon and the clouds, and my legs were like tree trunks and, probably, the hedgehog really liked it, he darted between them, sniffing and scratching the back of my boots with needles.
Once I was walking along the bank of our stream and noticed a hedgehog under a bush. He also noticed me, curled up and mumbled: knock-knock-knock. It was very similar, as if a car was moving in the distance. I touched him with the tip of my boot - he snorted terribly and pushed his needles into the boot. - Oh, you are so with me! I said, and with the tip of my boot shoved him into the stream. Instantly, the hedgehog turned around in the water and swam to the shore like a small pig, only instead of bristles on its back there were needles. I took a stick, rolled the hedgehog into my hat and carried it home.
I have had many mice. I heard that the hedgehog catches them, and I decided: let him live with me and catch mice.
So I put this prickly lump in the middle of the floor and sat down to write, while I myself looked at the hedgehog out of the corner of my eye. He did not lie motionless for a long time: as soon as I calmed down at the table, the hedgehog turned around, looked around, tried to go there, here, finally chose a place for himself under the bed and there completely calmed down.
When it got dark, I lit the lamp, and — hello! The hedgehog ran out from under the bed. He, of course, thought to the lamp that it was the moon that had risen in the forest: in the moonlight, hedgehogs like to run through the forest clearings. And so he started running around the room, imagining that it was a forest clearing.
I picked up the pipe, lit a cigarette and let a cloud near the moon. It became just like in the forest: both the moon and the cloud, and my legs were like tree trunks and, probably, the hedgehog really liked it: he darted between them, sniffing and scratching the backs of my boots with needles.
After reading the newspaper, I dropped it on the floor, went to bed and fell asleep. I always sleep very lightly. I hear some rustling in my room. He struck a match, lit a candle, and only noticed how a hedgehog flashed under the bed. And the newspaper was no longer lying near the table, but in the middle of the room. So I left the candle burning and I don’t sleep myself, thinking: “Why did the hedgehog need a newspaper?” Soon my tenant ran out from under the bed - and straight to the newspaper; he twirled around beside her, made noise, noise, and finally contrived: somehow he put a corner of the newspaper on the thorns and dragged her, huge, into the corner.
Then I understood him: the newspaper was like dry leaves in the forest, he dragged it for his nest. And it turned out, the truth: soon the hedgehog all turned into a newspaper and made a real nest out of it. Having finished this important business, he went out of his dwelling and stood opposite the bed, looking at the candle-moon.
I let the clouds in and I ask:
— What else do you need?
The hedgehog was not afraid.
- Do you want to drink?
I wake up. The hedgehog doesn't run.
I took a plate, put it on the floor, brought a bucket of water, and now I pour water into the plate, then pour it into the bucket again, and I make such a noise, as if it were a brook splashing.
“Well, go, go,” I say. “You see, I arranged for you the moon and the clouds, and here’s water for you:
I look like I'm moving forward. And I also moved my lake a little towards it. He will move - and I will move, and so they agreed.
“Drink,” I say finally.
He began to cry. And I so lightly ran my hand over the thorns, as if stroking, and I keep saying: - You are a good fellow, good!
The hedgehog got drunk, I say:
- Let's sleep.
Lie down and blow out the candle. I don’t know how much I slept, I hear: again I have work in my room. I light a candle - and what do you think? The hedgehog runs around the room, and on the thorns he has an apple. He ran to the nest, put it there and after another runs into the corner, and in the corner there was a bag of apples and collapsed. Here the hedgehog ran up, curled up near the apples, twitched and runs again - on the thorns he drags another apple into the nest.
And so the hedgehog got a job with me. And now, like drinking tea, I will certainly put it on my table and then pour milk into a saucer for him - he will drink it, then I will give the ladies buns - he will eat it.
Mikhail Prishvin
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