This is a cute story about the friendship between a man and a hedgehog. In the story, the author talks about how a wild animal can be tamed with affection and care. The hedgehog fell in love with the warmth and comfort of home and became completely tame. The story can be read to the youngest children.
Hedgehog's story download:
Read the Hedgehog's story
Once I was walking along the bank of our stream and noticed a hedgehog under a bush. He noticed me too, curled up and started tapping: knock-knock-knock. It was very similar, as if a car was walking in the distance. I touched him with the tip of my boot - he snorted terribly and pushed his needles into the boot.
Oh, you're like that 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 there were needles on its back. I took a stick, rolled the hedgehog into my hat and took it home.
I had a lot of 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 kept looking at the hedgehog out of the corner of my eye. He did not lie motionless for long: as soon as I quieted down at the table, the hedgehog turned around, looked around, tried to go this way, that way, finally chose a place under the bed and became completely quiet there.
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 the moon had risen in the forest: when there is a moon, hedgehogs love to run through forest clearings.
And so he started running around the room, imagining that it was a forest clearing.
I took the pipe, lit a cigarette and blew 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 them: 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 the candle and only noticed how the 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 did not sleep, thinking:
Why did the hedgehog need the newspaper?
Soon my tenant ran out from under the bed - and straight to the newspaper; he spun around around her, made noise, made noise, and finally managed to: somehow put a corner of a newspaper on his thorns and dragged it, huge, into the corner.
That’s when I understood him: the newspaper was like dry leaves in the forest to him, he was dragging it for his nest. And it turned out to be true: soon the hedgehog wrapped himself in newspaper and made himself a real nest out of it. Having finished this important task, he left his home and stood opposite the bed, looking at the moon candle.
I let the clouds in and 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 then poured water into the plate, then poured it into the bucket again, and made such a noise as if it was a stream splashing.
Well, go, go, I say. - You see, I made the moon for you, and sent the clouds, and here is water for you...
I look: it’s like he’s moved forward. And I also moved my lake a little towards it. He will move, and I will move, and that’s how we agreed.
Drink, I say finally. He began to cry. And I ran my hand over the thorns so lightly, as if I was stroking them, and I kept saying:
You're a good guy, you're a good guy!
The hedgehog got drunk, I say:
Let's sleep. He lay down and blew out the candle.
I don’t know how long I slept, but I hear: I have work in my room again.
I light a candle, and what do you think? A hedgehog is running around the room, and there is an apple on its thorns. He ran to the nest, put it there and ran into the corner after another, and in the corner there was a bag of apples and it fell over. The hedgehog ran up, curled up near the apples, twitched and ran again, dragging another apple on the thorns into the nest.
So the hedgehog settled down to live with me. And now, when drinking tea, I will certainly bring it to my table and either pour milk into a saucer for him to drink, or give him some buns for him to eat.
The hedgehog tossed and turned on his side of the bed and could not sleep. The cactus lay nearby, showing no signs of life - it passed out as soon as its head touched the pillow. He always slept very quietly - it would be better if he snored, at least the rhythm would create a soothing rhythm; The hedgehog suffered from insomnia throughout his life, and what angered him most was the fact that someone nearby was sleeping peacefully and wonderfully.
The hedgehog desperately wanted to sleep. For two and a half hours now he had been tossing and turning on the bed, crumpling his pillow, and wrapping his head in the blanket. Cold sweat flowed in streams between the needles. Closing his eyes, he saw again and again a huge herd of terrible horses.
Place 200 g in front of the hedgehog. ham and a piece of bread. The hedgehog will definitely eat the ham and not touch the bun. As an intelligent being, he understands that overeating is harmful.
In a fit of rage, hedgehogs are capable of performing unimaginable feats. Use it instead of a bayonet to inflict physical and mental damage on your enemy. At the mere sight of a hedgehog hanging on the barrel of a weapon, bawling patriotic songs, the enemy is lost, realizing that nothing good can happen to him in this country.
The hedgehog is fornicating. The fog creeps in with inexorable tentacles, the small animal can hardly see itself anymore. Who knows what's behind the fog? And what are its actual dimensions? Maybe you just have to stretch your hand through it, and you will already find yourself next to someone?
One day a hedgehog decided to go down the hill. And he began to ride. I rode all day, and by evening I was tired. An ant passed by and asked: “What are you doing, hedgehog?” “I’m rolling down the hill,” answered the hedgehog. “Look there it is!” - said the ant and went home thoughtfully. “It’s like summer,” he thought on the way.
The hedgehog spent too long on the Internet today, reading different stories, poems - good and bad. In addition to stories and other works, he also read commentaries on what was written. Most critics offered the author "Yad"
In the hedgehog's house, Prishvin was roughly shaken out of his hat directly onto the floor. Curled up in a ball, he waited in horror for the hedgehog to step on him and crush him. Prishvin wanted to roll under the bed, but from fear he could not even move. He could only peek at the hedgehog from the corner of his left eye, which was not completely covered by his outstretched palm. The hedgehog, meanwhile, for some reason took a table lamp.
Once upon a time, as usual, there lived a Hedgehog. Yeah. And somehow the Hedgehog was sleeping. He was sleeping, sleeping sweetly on his tummy, but suddenly in his sleep he moved his left paw. Something, he thinks, is somehow empty nearby. He's sleeping soundly, but he still tries to feel something on the bed with his paw.
Needles. Paws. Nose.
No, like this: gouge with a small letter and Hedgehog with a capital letter. In.
Christmas tree, pine-needles, pine-cones-mouses-between-them, stump-honeycomb, whack-whack! Hedgehog!
So I’m walking down the street. And towards me - a hedgehog.
You can see it from the face - a hedgehog!
So businesslike, all of himself, his nose turned up -
— The sun was getting dark...
- Yes, that’s enough! How can the sun get dark? Have you confused anything? It was blowing its nose, perhaps, but it was getting dark... Excuse me!
- Exactly what it was getting dark! The sun was getting dark.
Welcome to the lecture. Our topic today is “The process of hair removal in hedgehogs.” Take empty seats.
First of all, self-respecting hedgehogs sharpen their needles. Hedgehogs who do not respect themselves do not sharpen their needles, but mainly their tongues. This makes tongues sharper, but there are no needles.
The hedgehog fell into the clutches of the Holy Inquisition. For your beliefs. He loved to pick rotten apples in the fall. But the Holy Inquisition is not.
Anyone who catches a hedgehog using these instructions is asked to inform the author for statistics. Anyone who catches any other animal using these instructions, please do not inform the author.
Have you ever seen underwater hedgehogs? And I saw it. Common hedgehogs have a muzzle, paws, and needles. Only underwater...
A Hedgehog was walking through the forest. And he felt so bad after yesterday that he didn’t know where to go. Or rather, where to drink...
Surrounded by his comrades, Alik walked home proudly, clutching the end of his shirt in his fist. Something moved in his shirt from time to time.
An international conference was recently held here. Various famous scientists spoke about their modern measurement techniques. Well, of course, as a specialist in my field, I also took part in it - I prepared a whole presentation. My topic was called “Weighing objects using the hedgehog method”.
The sun turned red, filled with 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 spray with juice, which will make your cheeks sticky.
The hedgehog was sitting at the table and drinking strong tea in small sips. He really loved to have tea like this - simply, always alone, looking at the setting sun through a small round window, near which stood a table, a stove and a cupboard with preserves.
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 crib as if scalded. And there was something to jump out of: every morning his entire crib was covered with fresh hedgehog needles, which always did not stick well to the Hedgehog’s body.
I have received information that some writers have a derogatory attitude toward hedgehogs, do not take them seriously, and if they write about them, then as about some kind of alcoholics, parasites, or creatures in general who directly communicate either with aliens or with the afterlife. peace.
"Interesting. Why is it believed that only bears have connecting rods? After all, if they woke me up now, then I’m a crank?” - thought the hedgehog Evlampius, who clearly woke up earlier than spring.
Alexey Antonov
I stood at the window and looked over the horizon, to where the sun was slowly setting. The crimson summer sunset slid along the black treetops, casting long shadows on the cracked asphalt. Ghosts of an abandoned city floated through the streets, lifting garbage into the air, spinning it in a slow dance. My thoughts were thrown back several decades. I saw these streets filled with people: a woman in a white headscarf was hurrying to the store for milk; right next to the house there was a car, under which a greasy little man in a cap was rummaging around, continuously smoking a cigarette. It was the eighties or early nineties, I couldn’t say for sure. The children noisily ran around the yard with the ball, with the same ball that was now pressed against the half-rotted fence, it had long since given up its last air and faded over the years. I tried to understand what happened in this godforsaken place, to understand why that very ball was thrown here and forgotten.
Behind me I heard the whistle of a boiling kettle, I turned and looked around the room that became my shelter during my stay in this strange place. It was a real Klondike for a seeker like me. Despite the passing decades, things and furnishings have retained their former appearance, except that the wallpaper has faded slightly and the wood of the shelves hanging on the walls has rotted. Books, dishes, furniture, clothes - everything was in its place, untouched, not looted; the spirit of the time stood here when people left this place.
I went to the camp gas burner and turned it off, the whistling of the kettle immediately died down, dissolving into the heavy air of the room. From my backpack I took a metal mug bought at Expedition, poured black tea into it and poured boiling water over it. The aroma of tea was soothing. To be honest, I was afraid of this place, and my fear intensified as night fell. For the eighth day I wandered through the abandoned streets of Hedgehog, and for eight nights I was overcome by panicky horror of the unknown, of what could have happened here twenty years ago.
I learned about the city with the strange name Hedgehog near Yekaterinburg, from a peasant working at a power plant. This was three years ago, and then I treated his story with disbelief. That year there was a severe winter, frozen birds fell from the branches into the cold snow. Advertising signs on the trams they cracked from the frost and flew off like dry leaves. Cars and buses froze on the road, and people ran, trying to stay on the street as little as possible. I came with an economic audit to a small regional town. At that time, the general director of the local power plant was suspected of inappropriate use of funds coming from the budget. My job was simple and extremely tedious - piles of papers, millions of numbers and accountants who played fools and fools. A couple of days later, I knew that Georgy Ivanovich was shoveling money not with a shovel, but with the scoop 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 - this is where I was located economic department and accounting department of Gorelectro. The clock hand was inexorably approaching four o'clock in the afternoon; it was Wednesday - the day of payment of salaries to the workers of this glorious enterprise. Someone was always unsteady on the floor; after lunch, a crowd of sufferers filled the narrow corridor in front of the cash register. For the most part, these were women over forty who loved to gossip, and the time for gossip turned out to be just right. After a couple of hours, I already knew who lived at the station and what they did. I was in a non-working mood, to put it mildly, and I decided to go to my hotel, where I was going to have dinner and drink a couple of glasses of cognac. I left the office into the noisy corridor, locked the door, and was about to head to the elevator when I was stopped by the only man milling among the women.
Hello, boss! - His voice had a pleasant hoarseness, but his face was drunk ten years ago. The once bright blue eyes had faded and sunk, and the face was completely covered with wrinkles. He was short, a meter with two caps, dried out like an old log forgotten in a barn.
Good afternoon! “I extended my hand to him, and he shook it, the handshake was strong, and I realized that he looked much worse than he felt.
How is the check going, will we live?
You will still have plenty of time to live, but your general is unlikely to. “I was about to turn my back to him to get closer to the elevators, but he stopped me again.
He stole, which means we've had rumors around here for a long time, this sleek little guy came from Eburg and ate all our gingerbread. I'll tell you what: money spoils people, and everyone has known this for a long time, it is better to transfer money into alcohol - there is truth in it. “He smiled somehow sadly and looked at me. - Wait for me here, I'll be there in a minute. - He turned sharply and confidently walked towards the cash register through the line of women. He was greeted by dissatisfied exclamations, and I already thought that the peasant would be beaten, perhaps even kicked, but by some miracle he made his way to the window, handed the cashier some kind of statement and after a couple of minutes received his hard-earned money.
“I thought I wouldn’t get out,” he told me with a laugh, “our women are stern, they will stop an elephant at a gallop and tie its trunk in a bow, I’m already silent about the hut, and they will build it and dismantle it down to the last log.” - He grabbed me by the hand, and we moved towards the elevators, accompanied by dissatisfied exclamations addressed to my new acquaintance. About twenty minutes later, with two bottles of cognac, which we bought at my insistence, we approached a small area enclosed by a flimsy and sparse fence.
“My hacienda,” commented my Susanin and, apparently, drinking companion for this evening. - My wife died four years ago - cancer. You see, we don’t care about the environment here, I have this garden... everything with my own hands... but I’ve wasted everything, and I have no desire to dig into the ground, I’m a mechanic, not a plowman, and never have been. “He spoke somehow detachedly, without emotion, talking about the past years without a hint of regret. Victor, that was the name of my new acquaintance, opened the gate and walked ahead of me to a one-story house, nestled at the far end of a once beautiful, but now withered garden, covered with a thick layer of unplowed snow.
I have a bathhouse here,” he vaguely waved to the right, I followed his gesture and saw a squat bathhouse made from a log house blackened by time, “we won’t heat it today, I haven’t prepared enough firewood for the winter, but the toad is pressing me to buy, I go there on a schedule, to last until spring.
We entered the house. It was an ordinary village house: long, clumsy “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, apparently inherited from Victor’s great-grandmother, by the curtained windows, and equally massive chairs around it.
Make yourself comfortable,” Victor nodded to the chair, “you’ll go to sleep here (he pointed to the bed), “and I’ll take a nap on the stove, like when I was a child at my grandmother’s.” 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. In the winter, she and I will climb onto the stove, the fire crackles under you, and you feel warm and cozy, grandma starts snoring after five minutes, and you lie there and think. You think about all sorts of nonsense, about how you covered Marinka with a snowball during the day so that she would pay attention to you, about how they can buy you a bike in the summer, because in the summer it’s your birthday and your grandmother has been saving three rubles for it for the second year with hers. 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 completely turned white. Now he was somewhere very far away, where he would like to stay for the rest of his life.
Victor took yesterday's potatoes out of the refrigerator, we added the raw smoked sausage I had bought to it and began to destroy the stock of cognac. Victor drank it and winced, cursing me to the fullest for the fact that I persuaded him, instead of the “little white one,” to drink this kind of crap of overseas origin. He talked a lot about what is good for Russians and what is death for foreigners, and it would have been an ordinary evening, which I whiled away in the company of a random drinking companion who loved 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 began to sound: knock-knock-knock. It was very similar, as if a car was walking in the distance. I touched it with the tip of my boot; he snorted terribly and pushed his needles into his boot.
- Oh, you do this to 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 there were needles on its back. I took a stick, rolled the hedgehog into my hat and took it home.
I had a lot of mice, I heard that a 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 kept looking at the hedgehog out of the corner of my eye. He did not lie motionless for long: as soon as I quieted down at the table, the hedgehog turned around, looked around, tried to go there, here, and finally chose a place under the bed and became completely quiet there.
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 the moon had risen in the forest: when there is a moon, hedgehogs love to run through forest clearings. And so he started running around the room, imagining that it was a forest clearing. I took the pipe, lit a cigarette and blew a cloud near the moon. It felt just like being in the forest: the moon and the clouds, and my legs were like tree trunks and the hedgehog probably really liked them, he just 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 noticed me too, curled up and started tapping: knock-knock-knock. It was very similar, as if a car was walking in the distance. I touched him with the tip of my boot - he snorted terribly and pushed his needles into the boot. - Oh, you do this to 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 there were needles on its back. I took a stick, rolled the hedgehog into my hat and took it home.
I had a lot of 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 kept looking at the hedgehog out of the corner of my eye. He did not lie motionless for long: as soon as I quieted down at the table, the hedgehog turned around, looked around, tried to go this way, that way, finally chose a place under the bed and there completely fell silent.
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 the moon had risen in the forest: when there is a moon, hedgehogs love to run through forest clearings. And so he started running around the room, imagining that it was a forest clearing.
I took the pipe, lit a cigarette and blew 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 the hedgehog probably really liked them: he just darted between them, sniffing and scratching the backs of my boots with needles.
After reading the newspaper, I dropped it on the floor, moved to the bed and fell asleep. I always sleep very lightly. I hear some rustling in my room. He struck a match, lit the candle and only noticed how the 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 didn’t sleep myself, thinking: “Why did the hedgehog need the newspaper?” Soon my tenant ran out from under the bed - and straight to the newspaper; he hovered around her, made noise and noise, and finally managed to: somehow put a corner of a newspaper on his thorns and dragged it, huge, into the corner.
Then I understood him: the newspaper was like dry leaves in the forest to him, he was dragging it for his nest. And it turned out to be true: soon the hedgehog wrapped himself in newspaper and made himself a real nest out of it. Having finished this important task, he left his home and stood opposite the bed, looking at the moon candle.
I let the clouds in and ask:
- What else do you need?
The hedgehog was not afraid.
- Do you want something 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 then I poured water into the plate, then poured it into the bucket again, and made such a noise as if it was a stream splashing.
“Well, go, go,” I say. “You see, I made the moon for you, and sent up the clouds, and here is water for you:
I look: he seems to have moved forward. And I also moved my lake a little towards it. He moves, and I move, and that’s how we agreed.
“Drink,” I say finally.
He began to lament. And I ran my hand over the thorns so lightly, as if I was stroking them, and I kept saying: “You’re a good fellow, a good one!”
The hedgehog got drunk, I say:
- Let's sleep.
He lay down and blew out the candle. I don’t know how long I slept, but I hear: I have work in my room again. I light a candle - and what do you think? A hedgehog is running around the room, and there is an apple on its thorns. He ran to the nest, put it there and ran into the corner after another, and in the corner there was a bag of apples and it fell over. So the hedgehog ran up, curled up near the apples, twitched and ran again - on the thorns he dragged another apple into the nest.
So the hedgehog settled down to live with me. And now, when drinking tea, I will certainly bring it to my table and either pour milk into a saucer for him to drink, or give him some buns for him to eat.
Mikhail Prishvin
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