Works about birds for children 2. Stories about migratory birds for children

A selection of stories about wintering birds for preschool children and primary school(1st - 4th grade).

FLOCK OF BIRDS UNDER THE SNOW

A hare galloped through the swamp. From bump to bump, from bump to bump, yes - bang! - he fell into the snow up to his ears.

And he feels with his scythe: something living is moving under his feet. At that same moment, white partridges began to burst out from under the snow around him with a loud flapping of wings. The frightened hare ran back into the forest.

It turned out that a whole flock of white partridges lives in the snow in a swamp. During the day they fly out, walk through the swamp, and dig up cranberries. They bite - and again into the snow.

They are warm and safe there. Who will notice them under the snow?

V. Bianchi

Mother and nurse.

A huge old spruce tree grows in a forest clearing. Its top rose high above the other trees, as if looking through their heads somewhere into the distance, at the hills and valleys, at the fields and meadows... at the endless expanse of our native land. Who knows how old this tree is: maybe two hundred, three hundred, maybe more.

Once upon a time, this spruce was not alone in the middle of a clearing, but in a close family of young trees just like itself. They all grew up together, clinging tightly to each other.

Years passed like this. The spruces grew and matured. They could no longer be called young. Their trunks became coarse, covered with hard, rough bark, and the lower branches dried out and broke off, leaving behind knotty outgrowths.

But not all Christmas trees survived to this age. Many of them have long since withered away and died, but those that remained spread their branches wider and raised their tops higher and higher to the sky.

The branches of neighboring trees almost closed with each other, so there was always summer days, it was gloomy and cool. Neither grass nor flowers grew there, and the whole earth seemed to be covered with a carpet of wet moss.

Winter came.

The forest became hungry. Where can those who did not fly to southern countries and fall into deep sleep all winter get food?

A fluffy squirrel jumped out into a forest clearing and looked with a keen eye at the old spruce: “How many wonderful cones hang at the ends of its branches! They probably contain delicious seeds.” The squirrel instantly climbed up the tree, took the pine cone in its front paws and began to eat.

And the spotted woodpecker comes from the forest straight to the tall spruce - also in a hurry to get the cones. He chose which one was denser and more ruddy, plucked it with his strong beak and flew back into the forest to the treasured tree.

The woodpecker flew into the forest, and the spruce tree already had new guests. A whole flock of crossbills with cheerful cries landed on the branches of a tree.

Old spruce feeds many forest inhabitants in winter and brings great benefits to the forest. This means that it is not without reason that heavy clusters of ripened cones hang on its branches, and it is not without reason that tasty seeds are hidden under their scales. The old spruce is the nurse of many birds and animals.

According to G. Skrebitsky.

Bullfinch.

You know, many birds fly south with the onset of cold weather. And there are those who come to us only in winter. And they are called “bullfinches” because they appear with us along with the snow. What kind of strange desire is it to live here in winter, when it’s cold here and all the birds have been in the south for a long time? But the fact is that our forests are already “warm lands” for bullfinches: in the summer they live much further north, where there are very severe frosts.

Bullfinches are easy to recognize. Their red breasts, bluish-gray backs, black velvet caps and wings are clearly visible against the background of white snow.

Bullfinches are respectable birds. They slowly fly in small flocks from tree to tree, politely yielding the best bunches of rowan to the females (who are colored the same, only their breasts are brownish-gray).

When the song of the finch rings, the bullfinches will already be far in the north - in their homeland. They will build nests there, hatch and feed the chicks. A late autumn or at the beginning of winter their low, sonorous whistle will be heard again: “Ju... ju... ju... - we have arrived!”

Welcome! Guests are always welcome in our forest.

Yu. Dmitriev.

Towards spring.

It was the height of winter. In the forest, trees cracked from the frost. In the mornings the sun rose red, like a polished copper basin. It rose low above the horizon and hardly warmed the earth. The bushes and trees were covered with white sparkling frost, and the sky looked like blue frozen ice. And the silver tops of the trees were drawn even brighter on it.

In the enchanted kingdom of Santa Claus, everything was beautiful, but lifeless. The animals hid from the cold in holes, in lairs, insects climbed into deep crevices and fell asleep there in a deep sleep. Only the birds flew through the fields and forests, trying to find at least a little food. They ruffled their feathers and were silent.

But then one day, cheerful, noisy birds - crossbills - flew into the forest. They were larger than sparrows and dressed much more elegantly. The females had greenish feathers, while the males had an orange-red tint. But the most surprising thing that immediately struck me about the appearance of crossbills was their beaks.

U different birds beaks come in various shapes.

The tit's is as thin as a needle; With such a beak it is very convenient to pull bugs out of narrow cracks. The woodpecker has a strong, short beak; It’s good for them to chisel the bark, extract woodcutter beetles from under it, or peck at conifer cones. But a hawk or a kite has a sharp beak, curved down. This predator birds. With their hooked beak, they deftly grab prey and tear it into pieces.

The beaks of the crossbill birds had a completely amazing shape - also sharp, hooked, but only curved not downwards, but in different sides: The upper half of the beak is curved in one direction, and the lower half in a completely different direction. This unusual beak most closely resembled crooked tongs.

Oh, and noses! - they were surprised, looking at the crossbills, goldfinches and tits. - How can they peck food or peck something? Those are freaks!

But the crooked birds did not lose heart. On the contrary, in gloomy winter forest they felt as good as possible. They migrated to that forest from the distant North - from the taiga. There, in the taiga, it is even colder and there is even less food. Having flown to a new place, the crossbills first of all settled on the tops of pines and spruces.

“Oh, how many ripe cones there are here!” they rejoiced. “What delicious seeds they contain!” This is where the freedom is!

The crossbill birds lived well in the new forest: plenty of cones! So they stayed there for the winter.

According to G. Skrebitsky.

Carnation.

The forest sleeps in a winter slumber, enchanted by the cold and snow. And it emanates from him a light sadness and peace...

The swans flew far, far away. And the mighty eagles - the giants of the bird world - left the rocks and dead pines, from where they had been watching for prey. No wings will rustle, no clear voice will disturb the winter slumber...

But the kings stayed with us!

The little wren is like a dragonfly, yes coniferous spruce his home is his home.

The wren silently flutters along the branches, as if from floor to floor. He picks out the hanging moss, picks off scales from the branches, and the yellow feathers on his head are like a golden crown.

The wren is restless and active - it is not for nothing that it is popularly nicknamed the “carnation”. Really nails it: for every crack, wherever midges and spiders hide for the winter. It destroys a million forest pests a year.

The wind blows the kinglet from the tops of the fir trees, the blizzard covers it with snow, the frost penetrates through... The stubborn one does not give up, he keeps watch in the coniferous sea of ​​​​forests.

Stories about the life of birds. Birds are our friends.

Pink flamingo.

A bird from the order Flamingidae. The color of these birds is soft pink, the wings are purple-red.
The length of the tree is 130 cm, body weight is 3-4 kg. Pink flamingos usually live in large salt water lakes, sea lagoons.
They feed in shallow water, in hard-to-reach places.
The nests of these birds are cone-shaped (mound) made of clay and silt. Birds nest in colonies of up to a thousand pairs with each other. There are usually 1-3 eggs in a clutch. The lifespan of a flamingo is 83 years.

Eagle.

The eagle is a large bird of prey. Eagles have long, sharp claws and a strong beak. The color of eagles is dark brown and black. The tail and head have white color, beak and claws yellow color. The eagle has keen eyesight, thanks to which it looks out for small prey (snakes, mice, lizards) from a great height.
He flies high in the air, notices the smallest movements on the ground. If it sees something edible, it dives down for prey. Eagles live away from humans, choosing mountainous areas.

Owl.

One of my favorite birds is the owl. The owl is a very beautiful, unusual bird. The owl has large eyes and large ears, a curved beak, and sharp claws. Owls have different sizes from the smallest to the most large species birds. The smallest is the pygmy owl. The largest is the eagle owl. These birds are nocturnal and have acute vision and hearing. Owls are birds of prey. They feed on small animals: rats, voles, small snakes, fish and other birds. Owls also bring benefits, they destroy harmful insects and rodents.
They hatch their offspring once a year. The chicks hatch blind and deaf. Both parents feed the chicks. Owls never gather in flocks. Birds (owls) hear four times better than a cat.
I love these birds.

Bullfinch.

Pretty bullfinch small sizes, slightly larger than a sparrow. Length-15 cm, body weight-34 g. Bullfinches are dark gray in color, blue flowers, around the beak and eyes there are black feathers. The belly and sides are red. Bullfinches live in coniferous forests; you can see them in city parks and gardens. Bullfinches are shy birds. Birds feed on buds, plant seeds, and berries. Life expectancy is 2-4 years.

STORK

This is an old friend of ours:
He lives on the roof of the house -
Long-legged, long-nosed,
Long-necked, voiceless.
He flies to hunt
For frogs to the swamp.
Since ancient times, people have considered white storks to be a symbol of good luck and success. If storks have built a nest on the roof of a house, this should certainly bring happiness to its owner.
People have composed many legends about storks. According to one of them, storks bring newborn babies to parents, and according to another, storks often throw gems into chimneys chimneys, on which they built a nest. On Annunciation, cookies with the image of a stork were baked for the arrival of storks. Children threw cookies up and asked the stork to bring a good harvest.
From time immemorial, storks have settled next to humans. A male stork chooses a girlfriend with whom he lives his whole life. A pair of storks howling big nest from branches, which usually settles on trees or rocks, but more often on man-made structures: houses, tall factory chimneys or on power line supports.
The nest is used for storks a cozy home many years. Every year, returning from warm countries in the spring, storks repair the nest and weave new branches into it.
In mid-spring, the female lays 3 to 8 eggs. They are incubated by both parents. After 4–6 weeks, the eggs hatch into small storks. After another two months, the chicks begin to learn to fly and go on their first hunt with their parents.
Storks feed on frogs and lizards, as well as mollusks, worms, insects and their larvae.
MYSTERY
This white-winged bird
It doesn't fit in the zoo.
To make people smile
Flies towards them with a package... (stork)
(N. Kindness) FOLK SIGNS A flying stork portends to those who see it health and harvest, marriage and health; motionless stork - illness, drought, celibacy. Money in your pocket when meeting a stork promises wealth, and empty pockets promise losses.

HERON

Stands on one leg
He looks intently into the water,
Pokes his beak at random -
Looking for frogs in the river.
(A. Picture)
You, of course, guessed that these poems are dedicated to the heron. Herons live on the banks of ponds and swamps on all continents of our planet, except Antarctica.
Herons' favorite food is small fish and frogs. When stalking prey, a heron can for a long time stand in one place motionless, sometimes leaning on one leg. Seeing a fish approaching, the heron makes a sharp movement of its head and grabs the prey. The special structure of the neck allows the heron to make very fast and sharp lunges with its head.
Frogs only see moving objects, so they simply do not notice a stationary heron. And the heron lures the fish by moving in the water long fingers legs The fish think that worms are crawling along the bottom and swim straight into the heron’s beak.
Herons live in large families, making nests in trees, or even just on the ground. The female lays large greenish eggs, from which chicks hatch after about a month. They are completely naked and helpless. The chicks are constantly asking for food, and the male heron is forced to spend the whole day looking for food. The female remains in the nest. When the chicks grow up a little, the female goes hunting with the male.
It's interesting to watch herons fly. While most other birds stretch their necks and heads forward, herons, on the contrary, draw their necks deep into their shoulders.
Some species of heron have a distinctive mane of long feathers on their head, neck or back.
PUZZLES
This bird has
The beak is like two spokes.
She walks on the water
Every now and then my nose gets wet.
(Heron)
* * *
This is who is standing in the swamp
On one leg in a nap?
Who has a drop on his beak?
Well, of course it is... (heron)

SPARROW

Little Sparrows,
Little gray feathers!
Peck, peck the crumbs
From the palm of my hand!
(S. Egorov)
Sparrows are long-time neighbors of humans. They build their nests next to people's houses, and sometimes right on them - under the roof, in cracks in walls or behind the eaves of windows and doors. Sparrows are surprisingly unpretentious. They eat any food and help gardeners by destroying harmful insects. But on occasion they can also harm crops by pecking out grains. “Beat the thief!” - the peasants shouted in the old days when they saw a flock of small birds in their fields. This is where the name sparrow comes from.
There are city and field sparrows. City sparrows are small, gray birds, while field sparrows are brighter in color - they have a brown cap on their heads and two light stripes on their wings.
Daring Sparrow
Shown from the asphalt
In front of a flock of pigeons
And a jump and a somersault.
(Yu. Parfenov)
Sparrows communicate with each other by loudly chirping, reporting feeding locations or that a predator is creeping up on the flock. Together it is easier to find food and avoid danger. Sometimes a flock of sparrows fought back even a formidable hawk!
During the warm season, a sparrow manages to lay eggs 2–3 times and hatch offspring. Scientists have calculated that with such fertility, sparrows should have already displaced all other birds from our planet. But this does not happen, because not all chicks survive, dying in the claws and beaks of predatory animals and birds.
MYSTERY
Little boy
In a gray army jacket
Snooping around the yards
Collects crumbs.
(Sparrow) PROVERBS AND SAYINGS
A hungry sparrow sits on the chaff.
And the sparrow chirps at the cat.
You can't fool an old sparrow with chaff.

MARTIN

The sun is warming up hot,
Streams are babbling in the yard,
And at our window
A flock of swallows is calling.
They flew up... Hush, hush...
They hover around the porch screaming.
These are swallows under the roof
They build nests for chicks.
(N. Zabila)
One of the fastest birds is swallows. Their body shape is ideally suited for flight, with arrow-shaped wings and a forked tail. Externally, swallows look like swifts.
Swallows' legs are weak and it is difficult for them to support their body. That's why swallows never walk on the ground. They fly all the time, and when they get tired, they sit on tree branches or telegraph wires. Swallows even drink on the fly, scooping up water from the river with their beaks.
Like other migratory birds, with the onset of cold weather, swallows fly south to warm countries for the winter. In the spring they always return to their native places.
You can predict the weather by the behavior of swallows. If swallows are circling high in the sky, it will be warm and dry. But they fly almost close to the ground, which means it will rain soon. Why is that? It turns out that before the rain, insects that are exposed to moisture from the atmosphere descend to the surface of the earth. Swallow hunters also rush after them.
Swallows build nests from lumps of clay, joining them with saliva. For the barn swallow, the entrance to the nest is located at the top, and for the city swallow, it is on the side. The inside of the nest is lined with down and feathers. Shore swallows dig holes in the slopes of steep river banks.
MYSTERY
Comes to us with warmth,
It's been a long journey.
Builds a house under the window
Made from grass and clay.
(Swallow) FOLK SIGNS
Early swallows - for a happy harvest year.
The swallow begins the day, the nightingale ends the evening.
Swallows fly high in the sky - it means good weather, and if they fly low - it means rain.
The cuckoo brings news of summer, the swallow brings warm days.

In one pretty Little Russian village there were so many gardens that the whole place seemed like one big garden. The trees were blooming and fragrant in the spring, and in the dense greenery of their branches many birds fluttered, filling the surrounding area with ringing songs and cheerful chirping; in the fall a lot of pink apples were already appearing between the leaves, yellow pears and blue-purple plums. But several evil boys gathered in a crowd and destroyed the birds' nests. The poor birds left the gardens and never returned to them. Autumn and winter have passed, a new spring has come; but in the gardens it was quiet and sad. The harmful caterpillars, which birds had previously exterminated by the thousands, now bred unhindered and devoured not only flowers but also leaves on the trees: and now the naked trees in the middle of summer looked sad, as if in winter. Autumn came, but there were no pink apples, yellow pears, or purple plums in the gardens; cheerful birds did not flutter on the branches; the village was not filled with their sonorous songs.

Cuckoo

The gray cuckoo is a homeless sloth: it doesn’t build nests, it lays its eggs in other people’s nests, it gives its cuckoo chicks to be raised, and it even makes fun of it and boasts to its hubby

- “Hee-hee-hee! Ha-ha-ha! Look, hubby, how I laid an egg to the delight of the oatmeal.”

And the tailed hubby is sitting on a birch tree, his tail unfurled, his wings lowered, his neck stretched out, swaying from side to side, calculating the years, counting out stupid people.

Martin

In the fall, the boy wanted to destroy the swallow’s nest stuck under the roof, in which the owners were no longer there: sensing the approach of cold weather, they flew away.
“Don’t ruin the nest,” the father said to the boy, “in the spring the swallow will fly again, and she will be pleased to find her old house.”
The boy obeyed his father.
Winter passed, and at the end of April a pair of sharp-winged, beautiful birds, cheerful and chirping, flew in and began to fly around the old nest.
Work was in full swing; The swallows carried clay and silt from a nearby stream in their noses, and soon the nest, which had deteriorated a little over the winter, was redecorated. Then the swallows began to carry either fluff, then a feather, or a stalk of moss into the nest.
A few more days passed, and the boy noticed that only one swallow was flying out of the nest, and the other remained in it constantly.
“Apparently, she put on the testicles and is now sitting on them,” the boy thought.
In fact, after three weeks, tiny heads began to peek out of the nest. How glad the boy was now that he had not ruined the nest!
Sitting on the porch, he spent hours watching how caring birds flew through the air and caught flies, mosquitoes and midges. How quickly they scurried back and forth, how tirelessly they obtained food for their children!
The boy marveled at how the swallows did not get tired of flying all day long, without sitting down for almost a single minute, and expressed his surprise to his father. The father took out a stuffed swallow and showed it to his son:
- Look how long, large wings and tail the swallow has in comparison with its small, light body and such tiny legs that it has almost nothing to sit on; that's why she can fly so fast and for a long time. If the swallow could speak, then she would tell you such wonders - about the southern Russian steppes, about Crimean mountains covered with grapes, about the stormy Black Sea, which she had to fly through without sitting down even once, about Asia Minor, where everything was blooming and green when we already had snow, about the blue Mediterranean Sea, where she had to rest once or twice the islands, about Africa, where she built her nest and caught midges when we had Epiphany* frosts.
* (Epiphany. Epiphany is an ancient winter holiday. Usually there were severe frosts at Epiphany.)
“I didn’t think swallows fly so far,” said the boy.
“And not only swallows,” continued the father, “larks, quails, blackbirds, cuckoos, wild ducks, geese and many other birds, which are called migratory, also fly away from us to warm countries for the winter. For some, the warmth that happens in winter is enough. southern Germany and France, others need to fly over high snowy mountains to take refuge for the winter in the blooming lemon and orange groves of Italy and Greece; the third needs to fly even further, to fly across the entire Mediterranean Sea.
“Why don’t they stay in warm countries for a whole year,” the boy asked, “if it’s so good there?”
- Apparently they don’t have enough food for the children or maybe it’s too hot. But marvel at this: how do swallows, flying thousands of four miles, find their way to the very house where they have built their nest?

Eagle

The blue-winged eagle is the king of all birds. He builds nests on rocks and on old oak trees; flies high, sees far, does not blink at the sun.

The eagle has a sickle nose, hooked claws; the wings are long; bulging chest - well done.

An eagle flies through the clouds, looking for prey from above.

He will fly at a pintail duck, a red-footed goose, a deceiver cuckoo, only feathers will fall down.

Woodpecker

Knock-Knock! In a deep forest, a black woodpecker is carpentering on a pine tree.

It clings with its paws, rests its tail, taps its nose, and scares away ants and boogers from behind the bark; He will run around the trunk, not overlook anyone.

The ants got scared:

“These arrangements are not good!”

They squirm in fear, hide behind the bark, and don’t want to go out.

Knock-Knock! The black woodpecker knocks with its nose, gouges the bark, and launches its long tongue into holes: it creates goosebumps, as if dragging a fish.

Goose and crane

A goose swims on the pond and talks loudly to itself:
- What an amazing bird I really am! And I walk on the ground, and swim on the water, and fly through the air: there is no other bird like this in the world! I am the king of all birds!
The crane overheard the goose and said to him:
- You stupid bird, goose! Well, can you swim like a pike, run like a deer, or fly like an eagle? It’s better to know one thing, but it’s good, than everything, but it’s bad.

Goblin

The inhabitants of one secluded village were in great anxiety, especially the women and children. In their favorite nearby forest, where boys and girls were constantly snooping, now for berries, now for mushrooms, there was a goblin. As soon as night falls, laughter, whistling, meowing will go through the forest, and from time to time terrible screams are heard, as if someone is being strangled. When he starts screaming and laughing, his hair stands on end. Children, not only at night, but also during the day, were afraid to go to their favorite forest, where previously all they could hear was the singing of nightingales and the lingering cries of orioles. At the same time, young chickens, ducks and goslings began to disappear around the village more often than before.

One young peasant, Yegor, finally got tired of it.
“Wait, women,” he said, “I’ll bring you the devil alive.”

Yegor waited until evening, took a bag and a gun and went into the forest, despite the requests of his cowardly wife. He wandered in the forest all night, his wife did not sleep all night and listened in horror as the goblin laughed and howled until daylight.

Only in the morning did Yegor appear from the forest. He was carrying something large and living in a bag, one of Yegor’s hands was wrapped in a rag, and blood was visible on the rag. The whole village ran to the brave peasant’s yard and watched, not without fear, as he shook out of a bag some unprecedented bird, shaggy, with ears, with big red eyes. She clicks her crooked beak, moves her eyes, and tears at the ground with sharp claws; As soon as the crows, magpies and jackdaws saw the monster, they began to fly over it, raising a terrible cry and uproar.

Owl! - one old man shouted here. - After all, I told you, stupid ones, that this is all an owl playing pranks.

Leo Tolstoy's story "Swans"

Swans flew in a herd from cold side V warm lands. They flew across the sea. They flew day and night, and another day and another night, without resting, they flew over the water. There was a full month in the sky, and the swans saw blue water far below them. All the swans were exhausted, flapping their wings; but they did not stop and flew on. Old, strong swans flew in front, and those who were younger and weaker flew behind. One young swan flew behind everyone. His strength weakened. He flapped his wings and could not fly any further. Then he, spreading his wings, went down. He descended closer and closer to the water; and his comrades further and further became whiter in the monthly light. The swan descended onto the water and folded its wings. The sea rose beneath him and rocked him. A flock of swans was barely visible as a white line in the light sky. And in the silence you could barely hear the sound of their wings ringing. When they were completely out of sight, the swan bent its neck back and closed its eyes. He did not move, and only the sea, rising and falling in a wide strip, raised and lowered him. Before dawn, a light breeze began to sway the sea. And the water splashed into the white chest of the swan. The swan opened his eyes. The dawn reddened in the east, and the moon and stars became paler. The swan sighed, stretched out its neck and flapped its wings, rose up and flew, clinging to the water with its wings. He rose higher and higher and flew alone over the dark, rippling waves.

Leo Tolstoy's story "Bird"

It was Seryozha’s birthday, and they gave him many different gifts: tops, horses, and pictures. But the most valuable gift of all was Uncle Seryozha’s gift of a net to catch birds.

The mesh is made in such a way that a board is attached to the frame and the mesh is folded back. Place the seed on a board and place it in the yard. A bird will fly in, sit on the board, the board will turn up, and the net will slam shut on its own.

Seryozha was delighted and ran to his mother to show the net. Mother says:

- Not a good toy. What do you need birds for? Why are you going to torture them?

- I'll put them in cages. They will sing and I will feed them!

Seryozha took out a seed, sprinkled it on a board and placed the net in the garden. And still he stood there, waiting for the birds to fly. But the birds were afraid of him and did not fly to the net.

Seryozha went to lunch and left the net. I looked after lunch, the net slammed shut, and a bird was beating under the net. Seryozha was delighted, caught the bird and took it home.

- Mother! Look, I caught a bird, it must be a nightingale! And how his heart beats.

Mother said:

- This is a siskin. Look, don’t torment him, but rather let him go.

- No, I will feed and water him.

Seryozha put the siskin in a cage and for two days he poured seed into it, and put water in it, and cleaned the cage. On the third day he forgot about the siskin and did not change its water. His mother says to him:

- You see, you forgot about your bird, it’s better to let it go.

- No, I won’t forget, I’ll put some water on now and clean the cage.

Seryozha put his hand into the cage and began to clean it, but the little siskin got scared and hit the cage. Seryozha cleaned the cage and went to get water.

His mother saw that he forgot to close the cage and shouted to him:

- Seryozha, close the cage, otherwise your bird will fly out and kill itself!

Before she had time to say anything, the little siskin found the door, was delighted, spread its wings and flew through the room to the window, but did not see the glass, hit the glass and fell on the windowsill.

Seryozha came running, took the bird, and carried it into the cage. The little siskin was still alive, but he was lying on his chest, his wings outstretched, and breathing heavily. Seryozha looked and looked and began to cry:

- Mother! What should I do now?

- Now you can't do anything.

Seryozha did not leave the cage all day and kept looking at the little siskin, and the little siskin still lay on his chest and breathed heavily and quickly. When Seryozha went to bed, the little siskin was still alive. Seryozha could not fall asleep for a long time; Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined the little siskin, how it lay and breathed.

In the morning, when Seryozha approached the cage, he saw that the siskin was already lying on its back, curled its paws and stiffened.

Since then, Seryozha has never caught birds.

Ivan Turgenev's story "Sparrow"

I was returning from hunting and walking along the garden alley. The dog ran ahead of me.

Suddenly she slowed down her steps and began to sneak, as if sensing game in front of her.

I looked along the alley and saw a young sparrow with yellowness around its beak and down on its head. He fell from the nest (the wind strongly shook the birch trees of the alley) and sat motionless, helplessly spreading his barely sprouted wings.

My dog ​​was slowly approaching him, when suddenly, falling from a nearby tree, an old black-breasted sparrow fell like a stone in front of her muzzle - and, all disheveled, distorted, with a desperate and pitiful squeak, he jumped a couple of times in the direction of the toothy open mouth.

He rushed to save, he shielded his brainchild... but his whole small body trembled with horror, his voice grew wild and hoarse, he froze, he sacrificed himself!

What a huge monster the dog must have seemed to him! And yet he could not sit on his high, safe branch... A force stronger than his will threw him out of there.

My Trezor stopped, backed away... Apparently, he recognized this power.

I hastened to call the embarrassed dog back and left in awe.

Yes; do not laugh. I was in awe of that little heroic bird, of her loving impulse.

Love, I thought, is stronger than death and the fear of death. Only by her, only by love does life hold and move.

Ivan Turgenev's story "Pigeons"

I stood on the top of a gentle hill; in front of me - now a golden, now a silvered sea - ripe rye spread out and was colorful.

But there were no swells running through this sea; the stuffy air did not flow: a great thunderstorm was brewing.

The sun was still shining near me - hot and dim; but there, behind the rye, not too far away, a dark blue cloud lay in a heavy bulk on the entire half of the sky.

Everything hid... everything languished under the ominous shine of the last sun rays. Not to hear, not to see a single bird; Even the sparrows hid. Only somewhere nearby persistently whispered and clapped a lonely large leaf burdock.

How strongly the wormwood smells on the borders! I looked at the blue mass... and my soul was confused. Well, hurry up, hurry up! - I thought, - sparkle, golden snake, tremble, thunder! Move, roll, spill, evil cloud, stop the melancholy languor!

But the cloud did not move. She still crushed the silent earth... and only seemed to swell and darken.

And then something flashed evenly and smoothly across its monochromatic blue; neither give nor take a white handkerchief or a snowball. Then a white dove flew from the direction of the village.

It flew and flew - straight, straight... and sank behind the forest.

Several moments passed - there was the same cruel silence... But look! Already two scarves are flashing, two lumps are rushing back: then two white doves are flying home in an even flight.

And then, finally, the storm broke - and the fun began!

I barely made it home. The wind is screeching, rushing like mad, red clouds are rushing, low, as if torn to shreds, everything is spinning, mixed up, overwhelmed, zealous downpour is swaying in sheer columns, lightning is blinding with fiery green, abrupt thunder shoots like from a cannon, there is a smell of sulfur...

But under the canopy of the roof, on the very edge dormer window, two white doves are sitting side by side - both the one who flew after his comrade, and the one whom he brought and, perhaps, saved.

Both ruffled their feathers, and each felt his neighbor’s wing with his wing...

Good for them! And I feel good, looking at them... Even though I’m alone... alone, as always.

Mikhail Prishvin's story “The Forest Doctor”

We wandered in the forest in the spring and observed the life of hollow birds: woodpeckers, owls. Suddenly, in the direction where we had previously planned interesting tree, we heard the sound of a saw. It was, as we were told, the collection of firewood from dead wood for a glass factory. We were afraid for our tree, hurried to the sound of the saw, but it was too late: our aspen lay, and there were many empty fir cones around its stump. The woodpecker peeled all this off over the long winter, collected it, carried it to this aspen tree, laid it between two branches of his workshop and chiseled it. Near the stump, on our cut aspen, two boys were resting. All these two boys were doing was sawing the wood.

- Oh, you pranksters! - we said and pointed them to the cut aspen. “You were ordered to cut dead trees, but what did you do?”

“The woodpecker made a hole,” the guys answered. “We took a look and, of course, we cut it down.” It will still be lost.

Everyone began to examine the tree together. It was completely fresh, and only in a small space, no more than a meter in length, did a worm pass inside the trunk. The woodpecker obviously listened to the aspen like a doctor: he tapped it with his beak, realized the emptiness left by the worm, and began the operation of extracting the worm. And the second time, and the third, and the fourth... The thin trunk of the aspen looked like a pipe with valves. The “surgeon” made seven holes and only on the eighth he caught the worm, pulled out and saved the aspen. We cut this piece out as a wonderful exhibit for a museum.

“You see,” we told the guys, “the woodpecker is a forest doctor, he saved the aspen, and it would live and live, and you cut it down.”

The boys were amazed.

Mikhail Prishvin “Conversation between birds and animals”

Hunting foxes with flags is fun! They will go around the fox, recognize its bed, and by the bushes a mile or two around the sleeping one they will hang a rope with red flags. The fox is very afraid of colored flags and the smell of red, frightened, looking for a way out of the terrible circle. They leave her a way out, and a hunter is waiting for her near this place under the cover of a Christmas tree.

Such a hunt with flags is much more productive than with hounds. And this winter was so snowy, with such loose snow, that the dog drowned up to its ears, and it became impossible to chase foxes with the dog. One day, having exhausted myself and the dog, I said to the huntsman Michal Mikhalych:

- Let's leave the dogs, let's get flags - after all, with flags you can kill every fox.

- How is it each? - asked Michal Mikhalych.

“It’s so simple,” I replied. - After the powder, we’ll take a fresh trail, go around, cover the circle with flags, and the fox will be ours.

“That was in the old days,” said the huntsman. “It used to be that a fox would sit for three days and not dare to go beyond the flags.” What a fox! The wolves sat for two days! Now the animals have become smarter, often rutting right under the flags, and goodbye.

“I understand,” I answered, “that seasoned animals, who have been in trouble more than once, have become wiser and go under the flags, but there are relatively few of them, the majority, especially young people, have never seen flags.”

- We haven’t seen it! They don't even need to see. They are having a conversation.

- What kind of conversation?

- Ordinary conversation. It happens that you set a trap, an old, smart animal will visit you, he won’t like it and will move away. And then others won’t come far. Well, tell me, how will they find out?

- What do you think?

“I think,” answered Michal Mikhalych, “animals read.”

- Do they read?

- Well, yes, they read with their noses. This can be seen in dogs as well. It is known how they leave their notes everywhere on posts, on bushes, others then go and take everything apart. So the fox and the wolf constantly read; We have eyes, they have noses. The second thing in animals and birds, I think, is their voice. A raven flies and screams, at least we have something. And the fox pricked up its ears in the bushes and hurried into the field. The raven flies and screams above, and below, following the cry of the raven, the fox rushes at full speed. The raven descends on the carrion, and the fox is right there. What a fox! Haven’t you ever guessed something from a magpie’s cry?

Of course, like any hunter, I had to use the magpie’s ticking, but Michal Mikhalych told a special case. Once his dogs broke during the hare rutting. The hare suddenly seemed to fall through the ground. Then a magpie began to cackle in a completely different direction. The huntsman stealthily approaches the magpie so that it does not notice him. And this was in winter, when all the hares had already turned white, only all the snow had melted, and the white ones on the ground became far visible. The huntsman looked under the tree on which the magpie was chattering, and saw: a white midge was simply lying on a green one, and its little eyes, black as two bobbins, were looking...

The magpie betrayed the hare, but it also betrays a person to the hare and to any animal, as long as it wants to notice whom it notices first.

“You know,” said Michal Mikhalych, “there is a small yellow marsh bunting.” When you enter the swamp for ducks, you begin to quietly sneak away. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this same yellow bird lands on the reed in front of you, swings on it and squeaks. You go further, and it flies to another reed and squeaks and squeaks. This is what she lets the entire swamp population know; you look - there the ducks guessed that the hunter was approaching and flew away, and there the cranes flapped their wings, there the snipes began to escape. And it’s all her, it’s all her. Birds say this differently, but animals read tracks more.

Mikhail Prishvin “Birds under the snow”

The hazel grouse has two salvations in the snow: the first is to sleep warmly under the snow, and the second is that the snow drags with it to the ground from the trees various seeds for the hazel grouse to eat. Under the snow, the hazel grouse looks for seeds, makes passages there and opens upward for air. Sometimes you go skiing in the forest, you look - a head appears and hides: it’s a hazel grouse. There are not even two, but three salvations for a hazel grouse under the snow: warmth, food, and you can hide from a hawk.

The black grouse does not run under the snow, it just needs to hide from the bad weather.

Grouse do not have large passages, like hazel grouse under the snow, but the arrangement of the apartment is also neat: in the back there is a latrine, in front there is a hole above the head for air.

Our gray partridge does not like to burrow in the snow and flies to the village to spend the night on the threshing floor. A partridge spends the night in the village with the men and in the morning flies to the same place to feed. The partridge, according to my signs, has either lost its wildness, or is naturally stupid. The hawk notices her flights, and sometimes she is just about to fly out, and the hawk is already waiting for her on the tree.

The black grouse, I think, is much smarter than the partridge. Once it happened to me in the forest.

I'm going skiing; Red day, good frost. A large clearing opens up in front of me, in the clearing there are tall birches, and on the birches black grouse feed on buds. I admired it for a long time, but suddenly all the black grouse rushed down and buried themselves in the snow under the birches. At the same moment, a hawk appeared, hit the place where the black grouse had buried itself, and entered. But he walks right above the black grouse, but he can’t figure out how to dig with his foot and grab it. I was very curious about this, I thought: “If he walks, it means he feels them under him, and the hawk has a great mind, but he doesn’t have enough to guess and dig with his paw an inch or two in the snow, which means it’s not for him.” given."

He walks and walks.

I wanted to help the black grouse, and I began to steal the hawk. The snow is soft, the ski does not make any noise, but as soon as I started to go around the clearing with bushes, I suddenly fell into the juniper up to my ear. I climbed out of the hole, of course, not without noise and thought: “The hawk heard this and flew away.” I got out and don’t even think about the hawk, and when I drove around the clearing and looked out from behind a tree, a hawk right in front of me was walking for a short shot at the black grouse overhead. I fired. He lay down. And the black grouse were so frightened by the hawk that they weren’t even afraid of a shot. I approached them, swung my ski, and one after another they began to fly out from under the snow; whoever has never seen it will die.

I’ve seen a lot of things in the forest, it’s all simple for me, but I’m still amazed at the hawk: so smart, but in this place he turned out to be such a fool. But I think the partridge is the stupidest of all. She got spoiled among people on the threshing floors, she doesn’t have, like a black grouse, so that when she sees a hawk, she can rush into the snow with all her might. The partridge will only hide its head in the snow from the hawk, but its entire tail will be visible. The hawk takes her by the tail and drags her like a cook in a frying pan.

Vitaly Bianki “Forest houses”

High above the river, over a steep cliff, young bank swallows were flying. They chased each other with squeals and squeaks: they played tag. There was one little Beregovushka in their flock, so agile: there was no way to catch up with her - she dodged everyone. A little tag will chase after her, and she will rush here, here, down, up, to the side, and as soon as she starts to fly - only her wings flicker.

Suddenly - out of nowhere - Cheglok-Falcon rushes. The sharp curved wings just whistle.

The swallows were alarmed: they all scattered, in all directions, and instantly the whole flock scattered.

And the nimble Beregovushka leaves him without looking back across the river, above the forest, and across the lake!

A very scary little tag Cheglok-Falcon.

Beregovushka flew and flew and was exhausted.

I turned around and there was no one behind me. I looked around - and the place was completely unfamiliar. I looked down and the river was flowing below. Only not your own - some kind of someone else's.

Beregovushka was scared.

She didn’t remember the way home: how could she remember when she was running unconscious from fear!

And it was already evening - night was soon. How can we be here?

Little Beregovushka felt terrible. She flew down, sat down on the shore and cried bitterly.

Suddenly she sees a yellow bird with a black tie around its neck running past her on the sand.

Beregovushka was delighted and asked the yellow bird:

— Tell me, please, how can I get home?

Whose are you? - asks the yellow bird.

“I don’t know,” Beregovushka answers.

- It will be difficult for you to find your home! - says the yellow bird. — Soon the sun will set, it will become dark. It's better to stay overnight with me. My name is Zuyok. And my house is right here, nearby.

The plovers ran a few steps and pointed at the sand with its beak. Then he bowed, swayed on his thin legs and said:

- This is my home. Come in!

Beregovushka looked - there was sand and pebbles all around, but there was no house.

- Don't you see? - Zuyok was surprised. - Look here, where the eggs lie between the stones.

With great effort Beregovushka saw: four eggs with brown specks lying side by side right on the sand among the pebbles.

- Well, what are you doing? - asks Zuyok. - Don't you like my house?

Beregovushka doesn’t know what to say: if you say that he doesn’t have a home, the owner will be offended. So she says to him:

- I'm not used to clean air sleep on bare sand, without bedding...

- It's a pity that I'm not used to it! - says Zuyok. “Then fly to that spruce forest over there.” Ask the pigeon there, named Vityuten. His house has a floor. Spend the night with him.

- Well, thank you! - Beregovushka was delighted.

And flew into the spruce forest.

There she soon found the forest pigeon Vityutny and asked to spend the night with him.

“Spend the night if you like my house,” says Vityuten.

What kind of house is Vityutnya's? One floor, and even that one is like a sieve, full of holes. The twigs were just thrown haphazardly onto the branches. White pigeon eggs lie on the twigs. You can see them from below: they shine through the holey floor. Beregovushka was surprised.

“Your house,” she says to Vityutny, “has only one floor, not even walls.” How can you sleep in it?

“Well,” says Vityuten, “if you need a house with walls, fly and find Oriole.” You'll like her.

And Vityuten told Beregovushka the address of Oriole: in the grove, on the most beautiful birch tree.

Beregovushka flew into the grove.

And in the grove of birches, each one is more beautiful than the other. I searched and searched for Ivolgin’s house and finally saw it: a tiny light house. Such cozy house, and looks like a rose made from thin sheets of gray paper.

“What a small house Oriole has! - thought Beregovushka. “Even I can’t fit in it.” Just as she was about to knock, wasps suddenly flew out of the gray house.

They whirled, buzzed - now they'll sting! Beregovushka got scared and quickly flew away.

Rushing among the green foliage.

Something gold and black flashed before her eyes.

She flew closer and saw: a golden bird with black wings was sitting on a branch.

-Where are you going, little one? - the golden bird shouts to Beregovushka.

“I’m looking for Ivolgin’s house,” Beregovushka answers.

“The Oriole is me,” says the golden bird. “And my home is here, on this beautiful birch tree.”

Beregovushka stopped and looked where Oriole was pointing to her. At first she could not distinguish anything: everything was just green leaves and white birch branches.

And when I looked closely, I gasped.

A light wicker basket is suspended from a branch high above the ground. And Beregovushka sees that this is indeed a house. It is intricately made from hemp and stems, hairs and hairs and thin birch peel.

- Wow! - Beregovushka says to Oriole. “There’s no way I’ll stay in this shaky building!” She sways, and everything is spinning and spinning before my eyes... Just look, the wind will blow her to the ground. And you don't have a roof.

- Go to Penochka! - the golden Oriole tells her offendedly. “If you’re afraid to sleep in the open air, then you’ll probably like it in her hut under the roof.”

Beregovushka flew to Little Penchka.

A little yellow warbler lived in the grass just under the very birch tree where Ivolgin’s airy cradle hung. Beregovushka really liked her hut made of dry grass and moss.

“That’s great! - she was happy. “There’s a floor, and walls, and a roof, and a bed of soft feathers!” Just like at home!”

Affectionate Penochka began to put her to bed. Suddenly the ground beneath them began to tremble and hum. Beregovushka perked up, listened, and Penochka said to her:

- These are horses galloping into the grove.

“Will your roof stand,” asks Beregovushka, “if a horse steps on it?”

The little foam just shook her head sadly and didn’t answer her anything.

- Oh, how scary it is here! - Beregovushka said and instantly fluttered out of the hut. “I won’t close my eyes here all night: I’ll keep thinking that I’ll be crushed.” It’s calm at home: no one will step on you or throw you to the ground.

“So, that’s right, you have a house like Great Grebe,” Penochka guessed. - Her house is not on a Tree - the wind will not blow it away, and not on the ground - no one will crush it. Would you like me to take you there?

- Want! - says Beregovushka.

They flew to the Great Grebe.

They flew to the lake and saw: a large-headed bird sitting in the middle of the water on a reed island. On the bird's head the feathers stand up like horns.

Then Little Penchka said goodbye to Beregovushka and told her to ask this horned bird to spend the night.

Beregovushka flew and sat down on the island. He sits and is surprised: the island, it turns out, is floating. A pile of dry reeds floats on the lake. There is a hole in the middle of the heap, and the bottom of the hole is covered with soft marsh grass. Chomga's eggs lie on the grass, covered with light dry reeds.

And the Horned Great Grebe herself sits on the edge of the island, riding around in her little boat all over the lake.

Beregovushka told Chomga how she had been looking for and could not find a place to stay for the night, and asked to spend the night.

- Aren’t you afraid to sleep on the waves? - Grebe asks her.

- Isn’t your house moored to the shore for the night?

“My house is not a steamship,” says Great Grebe. “Wherever the wind blows it, that’s where it floats.” So we'll be rocking on the waves all night.

“I’m afraid...” whispered Beregovushka. - I want to go home, to my mother...

The great grebe got angry.

“Here,” he says, “she’s so picky!” There's no way to please you! Fly and find a home for yourself that you like.

The Great Grebe chased away Beregovushka, and she flew away.

It flies and cries without tears: birds cannot cry with tears.

And the night is coming: the sun has set, it’s getting dark. Beregovushka flew into dense forest, looks: a house is built on a tall spruce tree, on a thick branch.

It’s all made of branches, sticks, round, and warm, soft moss sticks out from the inside.

"Here good house“, she thinks, “strong and with a roof.”

Little Beregovushka flew up to big house, knocked on the wall with her beak and asked in a plaintive voice:

- Please let me in, hostess, to spend the night!

And suddenly a red animal face with protruding mustaches and yellow teeth pops out of the house! How the monster roars:

- Since when do birds knock at night and ask to spend the night in the squirrels’ house?

Beregovushka froze - her heart sank like a stone - She recoiled, soared over the forest and ran headlong, without looking back.

She flew and flew and was exhausted. I turned around and there was no one behind me. I looked around, and the place was familiar. I looked down and the river was flowing below. Your own river, dear!

She rushed like an arrow down to the river, and from there up, to the very edge of the steep bank.

And she disappeared.

And in the cliff there are holes, holes, holes. These are all swallow holes.

Beregovushka slipped into one of them. She darted and ran along the long, long, narrow narrow corridor. She ran to the end of it and fluttered into a spacious round room.

Her mother had been waiting here for a long time.

Tired little Beregovushka slept sweetly that night on her soft, warm bed made of blades of grass, horsehair and feathers...

Good night!

Vitaly Bianki “Fomka the Robber”

The ocean wave is moving widely. From ridge to ridge - two hundred meters. And below the water is dark, impenetrable.

Lots of fish in Arctic Ocean, but it's hard to catch.

White seagulls fly in a flock over the waves: they are fishing.

Spend hours on the wings, no time to sit down. They fixed their eyes on the water, watching to see if the dark back of a fish would flash somewhere.

The big fish is in the depths. The little one goes on horseback, in herds.

A seagull noticed a herd. She slid down. She plunged in, grabbed the fish across the body - and again into the air.

We saw other seagulls. They flew together. They tumble into the water. They grab it. They fight and scream.

It’s just a waste of time to quarrel: the fry are coming thick and fast. Enough for the whole artel.

And the wave rolls towards the shore.

The last time it rose up like a cliff, burst, and then the ridge went down.

It rattled the pebbles, threw up foam - and back into the sea.

And in the garden bed - on the sand, on the pebbles - there was a dead fish, a shell, a sea urchin, worms. Just don’t yawn here, grab it, otherwise a stray wave will wash it away. Easy pickings!

Fomka the robber is right there.

Look at him - like a seagull. And the same height, and webbed paws. Just all dark. But he doesn’t like to fish like other seagulls.

It’s downright shameful: he wanders along the shore on foot, subsisting on dead meat, like some kind of crow.

And he himself looks at the sea, then at the shore: is someone flying? Loves to fight.

That's why they called him a robber.

I saw oystercatchers gathered on the shore, collecting sea acorns from wet stones.

Go there now.

In an instant, he scared everyone away, dispersed them: everything is mine here, away.

A pied mouse flashed in the grass. A crowbar on the wings - and there you go. His wings are sharp and fast.

Pestrushka - run. Rolls like a ball and hurries towards the hole.

Did not make it! Fomka caught up and tapped him with his beak. The pied bird is out of breath.

He sat down and cut up the pestle. And again he goes to the shore, wanders around, picks up dead meat, looks out to sea at the white seagulls.

Here one separated from the flock and flies to the shore. There is a fish in the beak. Carries it to the children's nest. The little ones got hungry while their mother was fishing.

The seagull is getting closer and closer. A crowbar on the wings - and to it.

The seagull noticed, flapped its wings more often, side by side, took the side away.

Her beak is busy - she has nothing to defend herself from the robber.

Fomka is behind her.

The seagull is moving - and Fomka is moving.

The seagull is higher - and Fomka is higher.

Caught up! It struck from above like a hawk.

The seagull screeched, but did not release the fish.

The crowbar goes up again.

The seagull goes here and there and rushes with all its might.

You can’t escape Fomka! He is fast and nimble, like a swift. Hanging from above again - it’s about to hit!..

The seagull couldn't stand it. She screamed in fear and released the fish.

That's all Fomka needs. He didn’t let the fish fall into the water - he caught it in the air and swallowed it on the fly.

Delicious fish!

The seagull screams and groans with resentment. What about Fomka? He knows that the seagull cannot catch him. And if she catches up, it’s worse for her.

He looks to see if another seagull is flying somewhere with prey?

The wait was not long: one after another, the seagulls pulled home - to the shore.

The crowbar won't let them down. He drives, tortures a bird, catches a fish from it - and that’s it!

The seagulls were exhausted. Look out for fish again and catch them!

And it's towards evening. It's time for Fomka to go home.

He got up and flew into the tundra. There he has a nest between the hummocks. The wife is raising the children.

He arrived at the place and looked: no wife, no nest! There is only fluff flying around and egg shells lying around.

I looked up, and there, in the distance, a black dot loomed slightly on a cloud: a white-tailed eagle was soaring.

Fomka realized then who had eaten his wife and destroyed his nest. He rushed up.

I chased and chased, but I couldn’t catch up with the eagle.

Fomka was already out of breath, and he was rising in circles, higher and higher, and just look, he would grab him from above.

Fomka returned to earth.

I spent the night alone in the tundra, on a hummock.

Nobody knows where the seagulls' home is. Such are the birds. All you see is: they fly in the air like flakes of snow, or they sit down to rest right on the waves, swaying on them like flakes of foam. So they live between the sky and the choppy waves, and they certainly aren’t supposed to have a home.

It’s a secret to everyone where they take their children, but not to Fomka.

The next morning, he woke up a little and flies to the place where a large river flows into the ocean.

Here, right at the mouth of the river, it looks like a huge white ice floe in the ocean.

But where does the ice come from in the summer?

Fomka has a keen eye: he sees that this is not an ice floe, but an island, and white seagulls are sitting on it. Hundreds of them, thousands on the island.

The island is sandy - the river has covered it with yellow sand, and from a distance it is all white with birds.

There is scream and noise above the island. Seagulls rise in a white cloud and fly off in different directions to fish. Flock after flock flies along the shore, artel after artel begins to catch fish.

Fomka sees: there are very few seagulls left on the island, and they have all gathered to one side. Apparently, the fish came to that edge.

The crowbar is sideways, sideways, just above the water - towards the island. He flew up and sat down on the sand.

The seagulls didn't notice him.

Fomka's eyes lit up. Jumped to one hole. There are eggs.

With the beak, the cook is one thing, the cook is another, the cook is the third! And he drank it all. Jumped to another hole. There are two eggs and a chick.

I didn’t regret even the little one. He grabbed it in his beak and wanted to swallow it. And how the little seagull squeaks!

In an instant the seagulls rushed over. Where did they come from - a whole flock! They screamed and rushed at the robber.

Fomka threw the little tea - and tore!

He was desperate, but then he chickened out: he knew that things wouldn’t go well. Seagulls will be able to stand up for their chicks.

He rushes to the shore, and across from him is another flock of seagulls.

Fomka is in trouble here! He fought bravely, and yet two long sharp feathers were plucked out of his tail by seagulls. I barely escaped.

Well, the fighter is no stranger to beatings.

I spent the night in the tundra, and in the morning I was drawn to the shore again. Why go hungry when there is lunch lying under your feet!

As soon as he arrived, he saw that something strange was going on on the island. Seagulls hover over him and scream shrilly. I didn’t have time to arrive, and what a fuss they made!

I was about to turn back, and lo and behold, a huge white-tailed eagle was flying towards the island. He spreads out his wide wings, but does not move them. Glides from a height straight towards the seagulls.

Fomka caught fire with anger: he recognized the enemy. He took off and headed to the island.

The seagulls groan with fear, soar higher and higher, so as not to get caught in their claws.

And below, in the sandy holes, there are small gulls. They huddled to the ground, afraid to die: they heard - alarm, and the spirit froze.

An eagle saw them. He marked three in one hole and unclenched his claws. The claws are long, squiggly, and will grab all three at once.

The eagle moved its wings just once - and flew steeply down, straight towards the chicks.

Seagulls scattered in front of him in all directions.

Only suddenly a dark shadow flashed in their white flock.

Fomka fell on the eagle like an arrow from above and hit it in the back with his beak as hard as he could.

The eagle quickly turned around. But he dodged even faster and Fomka took off. He fell again and hit his wide wing with his beak.

The eagle screamed in pain. He forgot the chachat - he has no time for them! He turned around in pursuit of Fomka. He flapped his heavy wings once and twice and rushed after the daring bully.

And Fomka has already circled in the air and is rushing towards the shore.

The seagulls huddled together again, screaming and laughing shrilly.

They saw how the white-tailed bird, without touching their chicks, chased Fomka.

A minute later, both birds - large and small - disappeared from their eyes.

And the next morning the seagulls saw Fomka again: safe and sound, he flew past the island - chasing a frightened crow.

Yuri Koval "Cloud and Jackdaws"

In the village of Tarakanovo there lives a horse, Tuchka, red as fire. Jackdaws love her.

Jackdaws do not pay attention to other horses, but when they see Tuchka, they immediately sit on her back and begin to pluck her fur.

“Her fur is warm, like a camel’s,” says the driver Agathon. — I could knit socks from this wool.

Jackdaws are jumping around wide back, and Tuchka snores, she enjoys the sound of jackdaws being plucked. The fur comes out on its own, and every now and then you have to scratch it against the fence. Having filled their beaks with warmth, the jackdaws fly under the roof, into the nest.

Cloud is a peaceful horse. She never kicks.

The driver Agathon too a kind person. He looks thoughtfully at the horse's tail.

If some impudent jackdaw had landed on his head, he probably wouldn’t have blinked an eye.