From the author: A fairy tale is a lie, but there is a hint in it! And this is not a lie, it’s a true story about a very intelligent dog. But also, with a hint. Based on materials from Svetlana Oskolkova’s author’s blog “Your Psychologist” In ancient, still socialist times, there lived one dog. Moderately cheerful, quite cute, quite well-fed and, most importantly, cunning. The dog had a breed, although it was not entirely pure. Perhaps a little with some dvorterrier admixtures. But then people believed each other’s word more, so they did not require passports to confirm the purity of the blood of their four-legged friends. I’m not even sure that that dog was bought, most likely he was given to his future owners completely free of charge. As an obvious sycophant, but with petty dirty overtones. What else to say? The dog was not tall at the withers, no higher than forty centimeters. Mostly white, with brownish-piebald spots. The muzzle is long and wide, the nose is black, mobile and constantly wet. The dog was absolutely nuts and didn’t grieve about it. He was supposed to be like this, with long, floppy and therefore constantly dirty ears. The owners did not tie them in a knot at the back of the head, even when the dog ate from the bowl. The tail is short, docked in deep puppyhood. The eyes are sad and lyrical, captivatingly understanding everything. At the ends of the paws there were funny furry little things that prevented him from falling through when moving through the snow and swampy places. Because, purely theoretically, the dog was a hunting dog. For small feathered swamp game. Well, there are all sorts of ducks, woodcocks or even partridges. His ancestors were bred specifically for this. They are called Russian spaniels. The owner of the dog dreamed of becoming a hunter. As Father. After the death of his father-prosecutor, the owner inherited a collectible gun with cartridges included. Smoothbore. Therefore, he was also forced to join the hunters’ union, pay dues and periodically communicate with the police. He showed that he kept the weapon in a safe and separately from ammunition. Sometimes I read specialized literature. In general, this man had all the prerequisites for hunting. And a dog and a gun with cartridges, and a hunting license. But I never went to the swamps. Something didn't work out. Therefore, all prerequisites were idle. Some rusted. That dog’s name was completely unconventional. Bassoon. Most likely, in honor of the wind instrument. True, the lop-eared man’s voice was ordinary, like a dog’s, loud and not musical. It is possible that the nickname was literary - after the famous Bulgakov hero in a cracked pince-nez. Some, especially enlightened ones, even in those stagnant Brezhnev times were familiar with The Master and Margarita. Although why give a dog an almost demonic nickname? Strange. My mother, an English teacher, even suggested her own version. The dog's name was actually Fogot. Or rather – Forgot, from the English verb “to forget” in the past tense. Meaning “to forget” This version was most liked by Fagot’s owner, although he himself claimed that he chose the dog’s name simply because of its sonority. Without delving into the meaning of the nickname. We met Fagot and his owner quite rarely, only in the summer and only in the garden. Because they were neighbors in the area. Good neighbors. Diagonal. By the way, I didn’t even know what this guy’s name was. Son of a prosecutor, owner of Fagot. He worked as some kind of functionary, a boss, but what and how he led was unclear. He assigned his neighbor to this position - his father. He grew almost nothing in the garden, did not repair the garden house, and why he came to the site at all is not clear. Most often he was neither seen nor heard. Such an extremely inarticulate neighbor. Sometimes the neighbor was attacked by ideas. And then he cut down bushes in places, brought boards, bought cages and tried to breed rabbits. But the energy of change did not last long. The bushes grew again, hornets and tits took up residence in the boards, and the rabbits ran away due to inattention. Actually, this is what I want to talk about. About the search for lost eared property. Apparently the neighbor was very sorry for the money spent. Although I didn’t know exactly why I bought the rabbits. Someone advised me to dorabbit breeding, so he fell for it. I’m not sure that a neighbor would be able to slaughter an animal raised for its skin and meat. It's not that he seemed overly peaceful or very kind. No. He was extremely uninterested in any result. I’m telling you, he was some kind of inarticulate person. Indifferent. But for some reason the loss of money bothered him. Therefore, he decided to organize a hunt for the escaped lagomorphs. At the same time, train the dog for a future fight with birds on the real swamps of Udmurtia. The dream of becoming a hunter never left him. Of course, the neighbor did not bring a gun to the garden and start shooting at everything that moved in the grass. No nets or traps were set. This is illegal. And it would require too much effort that he was not capable of. The whole rabbit hunt of the freethinkers consisted of our diagonal neighbor letting the Russian spaniel Fagot off his leash and loudly shouting after him: “Look-shh-shh, Fagot, look!” And the dog began to rush around the areas like mad. Very intently searching with his nose everything along the way. Paws flashed, ears dangled. A rustling and crackling sound was created. The work was going on. There were no rabbits, however. Apparently they scattered to the sides from the dog’s zeal and the owner’s commands. After running in circles for five to ten minutes, having fulfilled his initial dog duty of obedience, Fagot taxied to our site. He was quietly walking along. The dog knew his master quite well. And he understood that for him form is much more important than content. In the meantime, as long as the owner is confident that his order is being zealously carried out, it’s possible to filibuster. Rabbits have been doing this for a long time, so why try? And then what should he, Fagot, do if he suddenly stumbles upon the big-eared one? The dog does not know how to kill himself. He should only bring the hunter already killed game. The task was initially impossible. So the spaniel lay down to rest among our Victoria bushes. So that it cannot be seen from the outside. The muzzle acquired a philosophical expression. The dog dreamed of his canine. He even allowed himself to be stroked at this time. He quietly glanced sideways at me and asked with his gaze: “Don’t give it away.” The dog’s fur was silk, burrs hung on his ears, and the stump of his tail wagged gratefully in the grass. He loved it when people talked to him respectfully and praised him for his diligence. This rest lasted for different periods of time. But then the owner cried out again: “Look for Bassoon, look!” Search well. And the dog ran off for another round of false searches. Well, you have to earn your bread sometime! I suspect that he rested in the Fagot shelter not only on our site. Sometimes the owner of the spaniel came to us, on the same Victoria beds, and talked with my father. On different topics. One day my dad pawned his dog. He talked about the ostentatiousness of the Bassoon's efforts. It turned out that the owner is aware that his dog is lazy and a pretender. That's why it repeats the search command often. Like, Fagot prefers to sit and sleep at home, so let him run around in the garden. Moreover, both of them still can’t get together to go hunting. I remember laughing. Fogot was not present at this conversation. I was looking for rabbit meat. The most interesting thing is that a third interested party also visited us. When Fagot and the owner were absent from the site, these damned runaway “almost hares” wandered into the site. They ate Victoria and carrots. Very calm and brazen. Once I managed to grab one who was gaping by the paws. What I mean is that the rabbits were quite real and not too quick. Domesticated, only a little wild. It seems that all three "teams" had an unspoken conspiracy. For a waste of time. One seems to lead and train, the second seems to obey and look for something. Still others seem to be hiding. And everyone succeeds. What all three corners of one triangle actively rejoice at. Each in his own way. And even after a long winter, the next gardening season, the owner continued to force Fagot to look for the same long-eared fugitives. Although they certainly were not alive. The dog carried out the commands obviously formally, and hidden hostility settled in his eyes. Like, you're a fool, master. Okay, I know.