Hare's feet. Hare's feet Paustovsky rabbit's feet audiobook

Audio story Hare's feet work by Konstantin Paustovsky. The story can be listened to online or downloaded. The audiobook “Hare's Paws” is presented in mp3 format.

Audio story Hare's feet, contents:

Paustovsky’s touching and kind audio story “Hare Paws” begins with the fact that one boy came to the veterinarian and brought a bunny with burnt paws. The doctor was very angry - he did not want to treat such a patient! The boy was upset to the point of tears and the hare would have died if the merciful old woman had not advised him to take the poor gray creature to the city and show it to a pediatrician.

This is what the grandson and grandfather did. Taking the hare, they set off. The streets were covered in the summer heat, and passers-by did not know where the doctor lived. Only from the elderly owner of the pharmacy in pince-nez did they finally learn the address of the doctor to whom they had been going for so long!

At first the pediatrician was angry, but after hearing the heartbreaking story that thanks to this unfortunate hare the grandfather got out of the burning forest, the doctor got to work.

The furry patient was cured and soon this hare epic was forgotten. Only some professor in the capital kept sending letters to his grandfather for a long time, in which he tried to persuade him to sell him the famous hare, about which a large article was published in the capital’s newspaper. Of course, they didn’t give him the bunny!

At the very end of Paustovsky’s audio story, you will hear new details of this unusual online story.

Vanya Malyavin came to the veterinarian in our village from Lake Urzhenskoe and brought a small warm hare wrapped in a torn cotton jacket. The hare was crying and blinking his eyes red from tears often...

-Are you crazy? – the veterinarian shouted. “Soon you’ll be bringing mice to me, you bastard!”

“Don’t bark, this is a special hare,” Vanya said in a hoarse whisper. His grandfather sent him and ordered him to be treated.

- What to treat for?

- His paws are burned.

The veterinarian turned Vanya to face the door, pushed him in the back and shouted after him:

- Go ahead, go ahead! I don't know how to treat them. Fry it with onions and grandpa will have a snack.

Vanya didn’t answer. He went out into the hallway, blinked his eyes, sniffed and buried himself in the log wall. Tears flowed down the wall. The hare quietly trembled under his greasy jacket.

-What are you doing, little one? - the compassionate grandmother Anisya asked Vanya; she took her only goat to the vet. “Why are you two shedding tears, dear ones?” Oh what happened?

“He’s burned, grandfather’s hare,” Vanya said quietly. - On forest fire He burned his paws and can't run. Look, he's about to die.

“Don’t die, kid,” Anisya mumbled. “Tell your grandfather that if he really wants the hare to go out, let him take him to the city to see Karl Petrovich.”

Vanya wiped away his tears and walked home through the forests to Lake Urzhenskoe. He did not walk, but ran barefoot along the hot sandy road. A recent forest fire burned north near the lake. It smelled of burning and dry cloves. She large islands grew up in the meadows.

The hare moaned.

Vanya found fluffy leaves covered with soft silver hair along the way, tore them out, put them under a pine tree and turned the hare around. The hare looked at the leaves, buried his head in them and fell silent.

-What are you doing, gray? – Vanya asked quietly. - You should eat.

The hare was silent.

The hare moved his ragged ear and closed his eyes.

Vanya took him in his arms and ran straight through the forest - he had to quickly let the hare drink from the lake.

There was unheard-of heat over the forests that summer. In the morning, strings of white clouds floated in. At noon, the clouds quickly rushed upward, towards the zenith, and before our eyes they were carried away and disappeared somewhere beyond the boundaries of the sky. The hot hurricane had been blowing for two weeks without a break. The resin flowing down the pine trunks turned into amber stone.

The next morning the grandfather put on clean boots and new bast shoes, took a staff and a piece of bread and wandered into the city. Vanya carried the hare from behind. The hare became completely silent, only occasionally shuddering with his whole body and sighing convulsively.

The dry wind blew up a cloud of dust over the city, soft as flour. Chicken fluff, dry leaves and straw were flying in it. From a distance it seemed as if a quiet fire was smoking over the city.

The market square was very empty and hot; The carriage horses were dozing near the water shed, and they had straw hats on their heads. Grandfather crossed himself.

- It’s either a horse or a bride - the jester will sort them out! - he said and spat.

They asked passersby for a long time about Karl Petrovich, but no one really answered anything. We went to the pharmacy. Thick an old man wearing pince-nez and a short white robe, he shrugged his shoulders angrily and said:

- I like it! Quite a strange question! Karl Petrovich Korsh, a specialist in childhood diseases, has stopped seeing patients for three years now. Why do you need it?

The grandfather, stuttering from respect for the pharmacist and from timidity, told about the hare.

- I like it! - said the pharmacist. – There are some interesting patients in our city. I like this great!

He nervously took off his pince-nez, wiped it, put it back on his nose and stared at his grandfather. Grandfather was silent and stood still. The pharmacist was also silent. The silence became painful.

– Poshtovaya street, three! – the pharmacist suddenly shouted in anger and slammed some disheveled thick book shut. - Three!

Grandfather and Vanya made it to Pochtovaya Street just in time - Oka was coming in from behind high thunderstorm. Lazy thunder stretched across the horizon, like a sleepy strongman straightening his shoulders and reluctantly shaking the ground. Gray ripples went down the river. Silent lightning surreptitiously, but swiftly and strongly struck the meadows; Far beyond the Glades, a haystack that they had lit was already burning. Large drops of rain fell on the dusty road, and soon it became like the surface of the moon: each drop left a small crater in the dust.

Karl Petrovich was playing something sad and melodic on the piano when his grandfather’s disheveled beard appeared in the window.

A minute later Karl Petrovich was already angry.

“I’m not a veterinarian,” he said and slammed the lid of the piano. Immediately thunder roared in the meadows. “All my life I’ve been treating children, not hares.”

“A child and a hare are all the same,” the grandfather muttered stubbornly. - It’s all the same! Heal, show mercy! Our veterinarian has no jurisdiction over such matters. He horse-rided for us. This hare, one might say, is my savior: I owe him my life, I must show gratitude, but you say - quit!

A minute later, Karl Petrovich, an old man with gray ruffled eyebrows, worriedly listened to his grandfather’s stumbling story.

Karl Petrovich eventually agreed to treat the hare. The next morning, the grandfather went to the lake, and left Vanya with Karl Petrovich to go after the hare.

A day later, the entire Pochtovaya Street, overgrown with goose grass, already knew that Karl Petrovich was treating a hare that had been burned in a terrible forest fire and had saved some old man. Two days later everyone already knew about it Small town, and on the third day a tall young man in a felt hat came to Karl Petrovich, introduced himself as an employee of a Moscow newspaper and asked for a conversation about the hare.

The hare was cured. Vanya wrapped him in cotton rags and carried him home. Soon the story about the hare was forgotten, and only some Moscow professor spent a long time trying to get his grandfather to sell him the hare. He even sent letters with stamps in response. But the grandfather did not give up. Under his dictation, Vanya wrote a letter to the professor:

The hare is not for sale, alive soul, let him live in freedom. At the same time, I remain Larion Malyavin.

This fall I spent the night with Grandfather Larion on Lake Urzhenskoe. Constellations, cold as grains of ice, floated in the water. The dry reeds rustled. The ducks shivered in the thickets and quacked pitifully all night.

Grandfather couldn't sleep. He sat by the stove and mended a torn fishing net. Then he put on the samovar - it immediately fogged up the windows in the hut and the stars turned from fiery points into cloudy balls. Murzik was barking in the yard. He jumped into the darkness, flashed his teeth and jumped back - he fought with the impenetrable October night. The hare slept in the hallway and occasionally, in his sleep, loudly tapped his hind paw on the rotten floorboard.

We drank tea at night, waiting for the distant and hesitant dawn, and over tea my grandfather finally told me the story about the hare.

In August, my grandfather went hunting on the northern shore of the lake. The forests were as dry as gunpowder. Grandfather came across a little hare with a torn left ear. The grandfather shot at him with an old gun tied with wire, but missed. The hare ran away.

The grandfather realized that a forest fire had started and the fire was coming straight towards him. The wind turned into a hurricane. The fire raced across the ground at an unheard of speed. According to the grandfather, even a train could not escape such a fire. Grandfather was right: during the hurricane, the fire moved at a speed of thirty kilometers per hour.

Grandfather ran over the bumps, stumbled, fell, the smoke ate his eyes, and behind him a wide roar and crackle of flames could already be heard.

Death overtook the grandfather, grabbed him by the shoulders, and at that time a hare jumped out from under the grandfather’s feet. He ran slowly and dragged his hind legs. Then only the grandfather noticed that the hare’s hair was burnt.

The grandfather was delighted with the hare, as if it were his own. As an old forest dweller, grandfather knew that animals are much more better than man they sense where the fire is coming from and always escape. They die only in those rare cases when fire surrounds them.

Grandfather ran after the hare. He ran, cried with fear and shouted: “Wait, honey, don’t run so fast!”

The hare brought the grandfather out of the fire. When they ran out of the forest to the lake, the hare and grandfather both fell from fatigue. Grandfather picked up the hare and took it home. The hare's hind legs and stomach were singed. Then his grandfather cured him and kept him with him.

“Yes,” said the grandfather, looking at the samovar so angrily, as if the samovar was to blame for everything, “yes, but before that hare, it turns out that I was very guilty, dear man.”

-What have you done wrong?

- And you go out, look at the hare, at my savior, then you will know. Take a flashlight!

I took the lantern from the table and went out into the hallway. The hare was sleeping. I bent over him with a flashlight and noticed that the hare’s left ear was torn. Then I understood everything.

Books enlighten the soul, elevate and strengthen a person, awaken in him the best aspirations, sharpen his mind and soften his heart.

William Thackeray, English satirist

A book is a huge force.

Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, Soviet revolutionary

Without books, we can now neither live, nor fight, nor suffer, nor rejoice and win, nor confidently move towards that reasonable and beautiful future in which we unshakably believe.

Many thousands of years ago, the book, in the hands of the best representatives of humanity, became one of the main weapons in their struggle for truth and justice, and it was this weapon that gave these people terrible strength.

Nikolai Rubakin, Russian bibliologist, bibliographer.

A book is a working tool. But not only. It introduces people to the lives and struggles of other people, makes it possible to understand their experiences, their thoughts, their aspirations; it makes it possible to compare, understand the environment and transform it.

Stanislav Strumilin, academician of the USSR Academy of Sciences

No the best remedy to refresh the mind, like reading the ancient classics; As soon as you take one of them in your hands, even for half an hour, you immediately feel refreshed, lightened and cleansed, lifted and strengthened, as if you had refreshed yourself by bathing in a clean spring.

Arthur Schopenhauer, German philosopher

Anyone who was not familiar with the creations of the ancients lived without knowing beauty.

Georg Hegel, German philosopher

No failures of history and blind spaces of time are able to destroy human thought, enshrined in hundreds, thousands and millions of manuscripts and books.

Konstantin Paustovsky, Russian Soviet writer

The book is a magician. The book transformed the world. There's a memory in it human race, she is the mouthpiece of human thought. A world without a book is a world of savages.

Nikolai Morozov, creator of modern scientific chronology

Books are a spiritual testament from one generation to another, advice from a dying old man to a young man beginning to live, an order passed on to a sentry going on vacation to a sentry taking his place.

Empty without books human life. The book is not only our friend, but also our constant, eternal companion.

Demyan Bedny, Russian Soviet writer, poet, publicist

A book is a powerful tool of communication, labor, and struggle. It equips a person with the experience of life and struggle of humanity, expands his horizon, gives him knowledge with the help of which he can force the forces of nature to serve him.

Nadezhda Krupskaya, Russian revolutionary, Soviet party, public and cultural figure.

Reading good books is a conversation with the most the best people past times, and, moreover, such a conversation when they tell us only their best thoughts.

René Descartes, French philosopher, mathematician, physicist and physiologist

Reading is one of the sources of thinking and mental development.

Vasily Sukhomlinsky, an outstanding Soviet teacher-innovator.

Reading for the mind is the same as physical exercise for body.

Joseph Addison, English poet and satirist

Good book- exactly a conversation with smart person. The reader receives from her knowledge and a generalization of reality, the ability to understand life.

Alexei Tolstoy, Russian Soviet writer and public figure

Do not forget that the most colossal weapon of multifaceted education is reading.

Alexander Herzen, Russian publicist, writer, philosopher

Without reading there is no real education, there is no and there can be no taste, no words, no multifaceted breadth of understanding; Goethe and Shakespeare are equal to a whole university. By reading a person survives centuries.

Alexander Herzen, Russian publicist, writer, philosopher

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