Sladov's stories for extracurricular reading. Sladkov Nikolay

Nikolai Sladkov was born on January 5, 1920 in Moscow. During the war, he volunteered to go to the front and became a military topographer. IN peacetime retained the same specialty.

In his youth he was fond of hunting, but later abandoned this activity, considering sport hunting to be barbaric. Instead, he began to engage in photo hunting and put forward the call “Don’t take a gun into the forest, take a photo gun into the forest.”
He wrote his first book, “Silver Tail,” in 1953. In total, he wrote more than 60 books. Together with Vitaly Bianchi he produced the radio program “News from the Forest”. He traveled a lot, usually alone, these travels are reflected in books.

In total, during his adventure-filled life, Nikolai Ivanovich wrote more than 60 books. Among the most famous are such publications as “The Corner of the Eye”, “Behind the Feather of a Bluebird”, “The Invisible Aspen”, “Underwater Newspaper”, “The Land Above the Clouds”, “The Whistle of Wild Wings” and many other wonderful books... For The book "Underwater Newspaper" Nikolai Ivanovich was awarded the State Prize named after N.K. Krupskaya.

Such a gift - to talk about forest inhabitants with sincere love and a warm smile, as well as with the meticulousness of a professional zoologist - is given to very few. And very few of them can become real writers - such as Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov, who unusually organically combined in his work the talent of an excellent storyteller and the truly boundless erudition of a scientist, managing to discover something of his own in nature, unknown to others, and tell his grateful people about it readers...

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Yesterday's snow

Who needs yesterday's snow? Yes, to those who need yesterday: only yesterday’s snow can be used to return to the past. And how to live it again. I did just that, following the old trail of the lynx on its yesterday.
...Before dawn, the lynx emerged from the gloomy spruce forest into the moonlit moss swamp. She floated like a gray cloud between the gnarled pines, silently stepping with her wide paws. Ears with tassels are tense, curved mustaches bristle at the lips, and the moon zigzags in the black eyes.
A hare rolled diagonally, rustling the snow. The lynx rushed after him with greedy, swift leaps, but was too late. After hesitating, the gray cloud smoothly floated on, leaving behind a dot of round traces.
In the clearing, the lynx turned towards the holes of the black grouse, but the holes were cold, like the day before yesterday. She smelled hazel grouse sleeping under the snow by the stream, but the hazel grouse, even in their sleep, heard her quiet creeping steps on the roof of their snowy bedroom and fluttered out into the gap, as if through an attic window.
Only in the blind predawn light did the lynx manage to grab a squirrel, which for some reason had descended onto the snow. It was trampled and twisted here - snow pounding. She ate the whole squirrel, leaving a fluffy tail.
Then she went on, followed the hare's tracks, and rolled around in the snow. She walked further and dug a hole near the pine tree with her paw - snow walls in the grooves of her claws. But she didn’t like something here, she abandoned the hole, jumped onto a snow mound, turned around, trampled and lay down. And she dozed like a lazy cat on a warm bed all last day.
And now I’m sitting on her mound, listening to the forest. The wind rolls over the pines, and the tops are dusted with snow. In the depths of the forest, a woodpecker secretly taps. The powder rustles with pine scales like a mouse with a piece of paper.
The lynx heard all this yesterday. Yesterday's snow told everything.

Dried stones

A bear came out into the clearing. There are gray stones in the clearing. Maybe they've been lying there for a thousand years. But then the bear came and took over them. I tampered with the paws and turned them over - the stone immediately became two-colored. There was only one dry top visible, and now there is a damp dark bottom. The bear sniffed the two-colored stone and continued. The second stone was turned upside down with its wet bottom. Then the third. Fourth.
He walked around the entire clearing, turning over all the stones. All the stones have their wet bottoms facing the sun.
And the sun is burning. The wet stones began to smoke and steam came from them. Drying.
I look at the bear and don’t understand anything. Why does he dry the stones like mushrooms in the sun? Why does he need dry stones?
I'd be afraid to ask. Bears are weak-sighted. He still can’t see who’s asking. It will crush you blindly.
I look silent. And I see: the bear approached the last, largest stone. He grabbed it, leaned on it and turned it over too. And quickly head into the hole.
Well, there’s no need to ask. And so everything is clear. Not the stones beast
drying, and looking for a place to live under the stones! Bugs, slugs, mice. The stones are smoking. The bear is chomping.
His life is not easy! How many stones did you turn over? You got one mouse. How long does it take to turn over to fill your belly? No, not a single stone in the forest can lie for a thousand years without moving.
The bear chomps and paws right at me. Maybe I seemed like a stone to him too? Well, wait, now I’ll talk to you in my own way! I sneezed, coughed, whistled, and knocked my butt on the wood.
The bear groaned and went to break the bushes.
I and the dried stones were left in the clearing.

Three eggs lay in the seagull's nest: two were motionless, and the third was moving. The third one was impatient, it even whistled! If it had been his will, it would have jumped out of the nest and, like a bun, would have rolled along the bank!
The testicle fiddled and fidgeted and began to crunch softly. A hole crumbled at the blunt end. And through the hole, like in a window, a bird’s nose stuck out.

A bird's nose is also a mouth. The mouth opened in surprise. Of course: the egg suddenly became light and fresh. Hitherto muffled sounds began to sound powerful and loud. An unfamiliar world burst into the cozy and hidden home of the chick. And the little seagull became shy for a moment: maybe it’s not worth poking your nose into this unknown world?

But the sun warmed gently, my eyes got used to the bright light. Green blades of grass swayed and lazy waves splashed.

The little seagull rested its paws on the floor and its head on the ceiling, pressed, and the shell shattered. The little gull was so frightened that he shouted loudly at the top of his lungs: “Mom!”

So in our world there is one more seagull. In the chorus of voices, voices and little voices, a new voice began to sound. He was timid and quiet, like the squeak of a mosquito. But it sounded and everyone heard it.
The little seagull stood on trembling legs, fidgeted with the hairs of its wings and boldly stepped forward: water is water!

Will he avoid the menacing pikes and otters? Or his path will end in the teeth of the first sly fox?
The wings of his mother, a seagull, spread out over him, like hands ready to protect him from adversity.
The fluffy bun rolled into life.

Serious bird

There is a colony of herons in the forest near the swamp. There are so many herons! Large and small: white, gray, red. Both daytime and nighttime.

Herons vary in height and color, but all are very important and serious. And most important and serious of all is the heron.

The heron is nocturnal. During the day she rests on the nest, and at night she catches frogs and fish fry in the swamp.

At night in the swamp she feels good - it's cool. But during the day there is trouble on the nest.

The forest is stuffy, the sun is hot. The night heron sits on the edge of the nest, in the very heat. It opened its beak from the heat, hung its wide wings - completely softened. And he breathes heavily, with wheezing.

I was amazed: a serious-looking bird, but so stupid! To hide in the shadows is not enough for that. And she built the nest somehow - the chicks’ legs fall through the cracks.

Heat. A night heron wheezes in the heat, with its beak agape. The sun moves slowly across the sky. A night heron slowly moves along the edge of the nest...

And suddenly the blood hit my face - I felt so ashamed. After all, the night heron shielded its chicks from the burning sun with its body!

The chicks are neither cold nor hot: there is shade above, and the breeze blows from below in the crack of the nest. They added long noses theirs one on top of the other, their legs dangling in the crack and sleeping. And when they wake up and ask for food, the night heron will fly to the swamp to catch frogs and fry. He will feed the chicks and sit on the nest again. He moves his nose around - he is on guard.

Serious bird!

Great titmouse

Our loud-voiced and white-cheeked tit is called the great or common tit. That it is big, I agree with this: it is larger than other tits - plumes, tits, blue tits. But I cannot agree with that that she is ordinary!

She amazed me from the very first meeting. And that was a long time ago. She fell into my trap. I took her in my hand, and she... died! Just now she was alive and playful, pinching her fingers with twists and turns - and then she died. I unclenched my hand in confusion. The titmouse lay motionless on the open palm with its paws up, and its eyes were filled with white. I held it, held it, and put it on a tree stump. And as soon as he pulled his hand away, the titmouse screamed and flew away!
How ordinary she is if she is such an extraordinary deceiver! If he wants, he will die, if he wants, he will be resurrected.
Then I learned that many birds fall into some kind of strange stupor if they are placed with their backs down. But the titmouse does it better than anyone and often saves it from captivity.

Whistlers.

How much can you whistle? I came to the swamp in the dark, at one thirty at night. On the side of the road, two cranes were already whistling - who would win? They whispered like whips: “Here! Whoa!” Exactly like that - once a second. When I count to five, I hear five “twots,” and when I count to ten, I hear ten. At least check your stopwatch!
But it’s only customary to say that it goes in one ear and comes out the other. Where is it - it gets stuck!
Before dawn, these little craps were whistling all over my ears. Although they fell silent early: at three thirty minutes.
Now let's count.
The cranes whistled for exactly two hours, that’s 120 minutes, or 7200 seconds. That is 14,400 seconds for two, 14,400 whistles! Without ceasing. And they were whistling even before I arrived, maybe for more than an hour!
And they didn’t become hoarse, didn’t grow hoarse, and didn’t lose their voices. That's how much you can whistle if it's spring...

N.I. Sladkov (1920 - 1996) was not a writer by profession. He was engaged in topography, that is, he created maps and plans of various areas. And if so, I spent a lot of time in nature. Knowing how to observe, N. Sladkov comes to the idea that everything interesting should be written down. This is how a writer appeared who created stories and fairy tales that were interesting to both children and adults.

Life of a traveler and writer

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born in the capital, and lived in Leningrad all his life. He became interested in natural life early on. IN elementary school I already kept a diary. The boy wrote down the most interesting observations in it. He became a youth. V.V. Bianchi, a wonderful naturalist, became his teacher and then his friend. When N. Sladkov became older, he became interested in hunting. But he quickly realized that he could not kill animals and birds. Then he picked up a camera and wandered through the fields and forests, looking for interesting shots. The profession contributed to Nikolai Ivanovich seeing our vast world. When he discovered the Caucasus and Tien Shan, he fell in love with them forever. The mountains attracted him, despite the dangers that awaited him. In the Caucasus he was looking for a snow leopard.

This rare animal lives in hard-to-reach places. N. Sladkov climbed onto a small flat section of the mountain and accidentally brought down a block of stone on it. He found himself in a tiny closed area where there was only a golden eagle nest. He lived there for more than a week, thinking about how to get out of there, and eating the food that the adult birds brought to the chicks. Then he wove something like a rope from the branches of the nest and climbed down. Nikolai Ivanovich visited both the cold White Sea and ancient india, and in hot Africa, was engaged, as they say now, in diving, admiring underwater world. He brought from everywhere notebooks and photographs. They meant a lot to him. Re-reading them, he again plunged into the world of wanderings, when his age no longer allowed him to go far. “Silver Tail” was the name of the first book composed of Sladkov’s stories. It came out in 1953. After this there will be many more books, which will be discussed below.

The Story of the Fox with the Silver Tail

Suddenly at night winter came to the mountains. She descended from the heights, and the heart of the hunter and naturalist trembled. He did not sit at home and went on the road. All the paths were so covered up that you couldn’t recognize familiar places. And suddenly - a miracle: a white butterfly flutters over the snow. I noticed an attentive look and light traces of affection. She, falling through, walked through the snow, occasionally sticking out her chocolate nose. Made a great move. And here is a frog, brown but alive, sitting in the snow, basking in the sun. And suddenly, in the sun, through the snow, where it’s impossible to see because of the bright light, someone runs. The hunter took a closer look, and it was a mountain fox.

Only her tail is completely unprecedented - silver. He runs a bit far, and the shot was taken at random. Past! And the fox leaves, only his tail sparkles in the sun. So she went around the bend in the river while the gun was reloading, and carried away her incredible silver tail. These are the stories of Sladkov that began to be published. It seems simple, but full of observations of all living things that live in the mountains, forests, and fields.

About mushrooms

Someone who didn't grow up in mushroom edges, doesn’t know mushrooms and may, if he goes into the forest alone, without an experienced person, pick toadstools instead good mushrooms. The story for an inexperienced mushroom picker is called “Fedot, but the wrong one!” It shows all the differences porcini mushroom from bilious or And what is the difference between the one who brings certain death and delicious champignon. Sladkov's stories about mushrooms are both useful and funny. Here is a story about forest strongmen. After the rain, boletus, boletus and mossy mushrooms competed. The boletus picked up a birch leaf and a snail on its cap. The boletus strained and picked up 3 aspen leaves and a frog. And the flywheel crawled out from under the moss and decided to pick up a whole branch. But nothing worked out for him. The cap split in half. And who became the champion? Of course, the boletus deserves a bright champion’s hat!

Who eats what

A forest animal asked a riddle to the naturalist. He offered to guess who he is if he told me what he eats. And it turned out that he loves beetles, ants, wasps, bumblebees, mice, lizards, chicks, tree buds, nuts, berries, mushrooms. The naturalist didn’t guess who they were to him tricky riddles makes a wish.

It turned out to be a squirrel. These are the unusual stories of Sladkov that the reader unravels with him.

A little about forest life

The forest is beautiful at any time of the year. And in winter, and spring, and summer, and autumn it is quiet and secret life. But it is open to scrutiny. But not everyone knows how to look at it closely. Sladkov teaches this. Stories about the life of the forest during each month of the year make it possible to find out why, for example, a bear turns over in its den. Every forest animal, every bird knows that if the bear turns to the other side, then winter will turn to summer. The severe frosts will go away, the days will lengthen, and the sun will begin to warm up. And the bear is fast asleep. And everything went forest animals wake up the bear and ask him to roll over. Only the bear refuses everyone. He's warmed up on his side, he's sleeping sweetly, and he's not going to roll over, even though everyone asks him to. And what did N. Sladkov spy? Stories say that a tiny mouse stuck out from under the snow and squeaked that it would quickly turn couch potato. She ran over his furry skin, tickled him, bit him slightly with her sharp teeth. The bear could not stand it and turned over, and behind him the sun turned towards warmth and summer.

Summer in the gorge

It's stuffy in the sun and in the shade. Even lizards look for a tight corner where they can hide from the scorching sun. There is silence. Suddenly, around the bend, Nikolai Sladkov hears a ringing squeak. The stories, if you read them in detail, took us back to the mountains. The naturalist defeated the hunter in man, who had his eye on the mountain goat. The goat will wait. Why does the nuthatch bird scream so desperately? It turned out that along a completely steep rock, where there was nothing to grab onto, a viper, as thick as a man’s hand, was crawling towards the nest. She leans on her tail, and with her head she feels for an invisible ledge, clings to it and, shimmering like mercury, rises higher and higher. The chicks in the nest are alarmed and squeak pitifully.

The snake is about to get to them. She has already raised her head and is taking aim. But the brave little nuthatch pecked the villainess on the head. He shook her with his paws and hit her with her whole body. And the snake could not stay on the rock. A weak blow was enough for her to fall to the bottom of the gorge. And the goat that the man was hunting for had long since galloped away. But it doesn't matter. The main thing is what the naturalist saw.

In the forest

How much knowledge is needed to understand the behavior of bears! Sladkov has them. Stories about animals are proof of this. Who would know, mother bears are very strict with their babies. And the cubs are curious and naughty. While mom is dozing, they will take it and wander into the thicket. It's interesting there. The little bear already knows that tasty insects are hiding under the stone. You just need to turn it over. And the little bear turned the stone over, and the stone pressed his paw - it hurt, and the insects ran away. The bear sees a mushroom and wants to eat it, but by the smell he understands - it’s impossible, it’s poisonous. The baby got angry at him and hit him with his paw. The mushroom burst, and yellow dust flew into the bear’s nose, and the cub sneezed. I sneezed, looked around and saw a frog. I was delighted: here it is - a delicacy. He caught it and started throwing it and catching it. I played and lost.

And here mom is looking from behind a bush. How nice it is to meet your mother! She will now caress him and catch him a tasty frog. How could his mother give him such a slap in the face that the baby would roll? He became incredibly angry with his mother and barked at her menacingly. And again he rolled from the slap. The bear got up and ran through the bushes, and mom followed him. Only blows were heard. “This is how caution is taught,” thought the naturalist, who sat quietly by the stream and observed the relationships in the bear family. Sladkov's stories about nature teach the reader to carefully look at everything that surrounds him. Don't miss the flight of a bird, the whirling of a butterfly, or the play of fish in the water.

The bug who can sing

Yes, yes, some people can sing. Be surprised if you didn't know about this. It is called a bedbug and swims on its stomach, and not like other bugs - on its back. And he can sing even under water! It chirps almost like a grasshopper when it rubs its nose with its paws. This is how you get a gentle singing.

Why are tails needed?

Not for beauty at all. It could be a rudder for a fish, an oar for a crayfish, a support for a woodpecker, a snag for a fox. Why does a newt need a tail? But for everything that has already been said, and in addition, it absorbs air from the water with its tail. That’s why it can sit under it without rising to the surface for almost four days. Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov knows a lot. His stories never cease to amaze.

Sauna for wild boar

Everyone loves to wash themselves, but the forest pig does it in a special way. In the summer he will find a dirty puddle with thick slurry at the bottom and lie down. And let's roll around in it and smear ourselves with this mud. Until the boar collects all the dirt on itself, it will never get out of the puddle. And when he came out, he was a handsome, handsome man - all sticky, black and brown with dirt. In the sun and wind it will crust over him, and then he will not be afraid of either midges or horseflies. It is he who saves himself from them with such an original bathhouse. In summer his fur is sparse, and evil bloodsuckers bite through his skin. And through the mud crust no one will bite him.

Why did Nikolai Sladkov write?

Most of all, he wanted to protect her from us, people mindlessly picking flowers that would fade on the way home.

Then nettles will grow in their place. Every frog and butterfly feels pain, and you should not catch them or hurt them. Everything living, be it a fungus, a flower, a bird, can and should be observed with love. And you should be afraid of ruining something. Destroy an anthill, for example. It’s better to take a closer look at his life and see with your own eyes how cunningly it is arranged. Our Earth is very small, and all of it must be protected. And it seems to the writer that the main task of nature is to make our lives more interesting and happier.

Before you dive into fascinating world forest nature, we will tell you about the author of these works.

Biography of Nikolai Sladkov

Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born in 1920 in Moscow, but his whole life was spent in Leningrad and Tsarskoye Selo, famous for its magnificent parks. Here Nikolai discovered the beautiful and unique life of nature, which became main theme his creativity.

While still a schoolboy, he began to keep a diary, where he wrote down his impressions and observations. In addition, he began studying in the youth group at the Leningrad Zoological Institute. Here he met the famous naturalist writer Vitaly Bianchi, who called this circle the “Columbus Club.” In the summer, the children came to Bianki in the Novgorod region to study the secrets of the forest and comprehend nature. Bianchi's books had a great influence on Nikolai, correspondence began between them, and it was Sladkov who considered him his teacher. Subsequently, Bianchi became a true friend of Sladkov.

When did the Great Patriotic War, Nikolai volunteered to go to the front and became a military topographer. He worked in the same specialty in peacetime.

Sladkov wrote his first book, “Silver Tail,” in 1953 (and there are more than 60 of them in total). Together with Vitaly Bianchi, he prepared the radio program “News from the Forest” and answered numerous letters from listeners. Traveled a lot, visited India and Africa. As in childhood, he recorded his impressions in notebooks, which later became the source of the plots of his books.

In 2010, Sladkov would have turned 90 years old.

Nikolai Sladkov. How crossbills made squirrels jump in the snow

Squirrels don't really like to jump on the ground. If you leave a trace, the hunter and his dog will find you! It's much safer in the trees. From a trunk to a twig, from a twig to a branch. From birch to pine, from pine to Christmas tree.

They'll gnaw buds there, cones there. That's how they live.

A hunter walks with a dog through the forest, looking at his feet. There are no squirrel tracks in the snow! But you won’t see any traces on spruce paws! There are only cones and crossbills on the spruce paws.

These crossbills are beautiful! Males are purple, females are yellow-green. And great masters peel the cones! The crossbill will tear off a cone with its beak, press it with its paw, and use its crooked nose to bend back the scales and remove the seeds. He will bend back the scale, bend the second one and throw the cone. There are a lot of cones, why feel sorry for them! The crossbills fly away - a whole pile of cones remains under the tree. Hunters call such cones crossbill carrion.

Time passes. Crossbills tear everything down and rip cones off the trees. There are very few cones on the fir trees in the forest. The squirrels are hungry. Whether you like it or not, you have to go down to the ground and walk downstairs, digging out crossbill carrion from under the snow.

A squirrel walks below and leaves a trail. There's a dog on the trail. The hunter is after the dog.

“Thanks to the crossbills,” says the hunter, “they let the squirrel down!”

By spring, the last seeds will spill out of all the cones on the spruce trees. Squirrels now have only one salvation - carrion. All seeds in the carrion are intact. Throughout the hungry spring, squirrels pick up and peel crossbill carrion. Now I would like to say thank you to the crossbills, but the squirrels don’t say anything. They cannot forget how crossbills made them jump in the snow in winter!

Nikolai Sladkov. How the bear was turned over

The birds and animals have suffered through a hard winter. Every day there is a snowstorm, every night there is frost. Winter has no end in sight. The Bear fell asleep in his den. He probably forgot that it was time for him to turn over to the other side.

There is a forest sign: when the Bear turns over on its other side, the sun will turn towards summer.

The birds and animals have run out of patience.

Let's go wake up the Bear:

- Hey, Bear, it's time! Everyone is tired of winter!

We miss the sun. Roll over, roll over, maybe you'll get bed sores?

The bear didn’t answer at all: he didn’t move, he didn’t move. Know he's snoring.

- Eh, I should hit him in the back of the head! - exclaimed the Woodpecker. - I suppose he would move right away!

“No,” mumbled Elk, “you have to be respectful and respectful with him.” Hey, Mikhailo Potapych! Hear us, we tearfully ask and beg you - turn over, at least slowly, on the other side! Life is not sweet. We, elk, stand in the aspen forest like cows in a stall - we cannot take a step to the side. There's a lot of snow in the forest! It's a disaster if the wolves sniff us out.

The bear moved his ear and grumbled through his teeth:

- What do I care about you moose! Deep snow is only good for me: it’s warm and I can sleep peacefully.

Here the White Partridge began to lament:

- Aren’t you ashamed, Bear? The snow covered all the berries, all the bushes with buds - what do you want us to peck? Well, why should you turn over on the other side and hurry up the winter? Hop - and you're done!

And the Bear has his:

- It’s even funny! You're tired of winter, but I'm turning over from side to side! Well, what do I care about buds and berries? I have a reserve of lard under my skin.

The squirrel endured and endured, but could not bear it:

- Oh, you shaggy mattress, he’s too lazy to turn over, you see! But you would jump on the branches with ice cream, you would skin your paws until they bleed, like me!.. Turn over, couch potato, I count to three: one, two, three!

- Four, five, six! - the Bear taunts. - I scared you! Well, shoot off! You're preventing me from sleeping.

The animals tucked their tails, the birds hung their noses, and began to disperse. And then the Mouse suddenly stuck out of the snow and squeaked:

- They’re so big, but you’re scared? Is it really necessary to talk to him, the bobtail, like that? He doesn’t understand either for good or for bad. You have to deal with him like us, like a mouse. If you ask me, I’ll turn it over in an instant!

- Are you a Bear?! - the animals gasped.

- With one left paw! - the Mouse boasts.

The Mouse darted into the den - let's tickle the Bear. Runs all over it, scratches it with its claws, bites it with its teeth. The Bear twitched, squealed like a pig, and kicked his legs.

- Oh, I can’t! - howls. - Oh, I’ll roll over, just don’t tickle me! Oh-ho-ho-ho! A-ha-ha-ha!

And the steam from the den is like smoke from a chimney.

The mouse stuck out and squeaked:

— He turned over like a cute little thing! They would have told me a long time ago.

Well, as soon as the Bear turned over on the other side, the sun immediately turned to summer.

Every day the sun is higher, every day spring is closer. Every day is brighter and more fun in the forest!

Nikolai Sladkov. How long is the hare

How long is the hare? Well, this is for whom? The beast is small for a human - about the size of a birch log. But for a fox, a hare is two kilometers long? Because for the fox, the hare begins not when she grabs him, but when she smells the scent. A short trail - two or three jumps - and the hare is small.

And if the hare managed to follow and loop, then it becomes longer than the longest animal on earth. It’s not easy for such a big guy to hide in the forest.

This makes the hare very unhappy: live in eternal fear, don’t gain extra fat.

And so the hare tries with all his might to become shorter. It drowns its footprint in the swamp, tears its footprint in two - it keeps shortening itself. All he thinks about is how to run away from his trail, hide, how to break it, shorten it or drown it.

The hare's dream is to finally become himself, the size of a birch log.

The life of a hare is special. Rain and snowstorms bring little joy to everyone, but they are good for the hare: they wash away and cover the trail. And it’s worse when the weather is calm and warm: the trail is hot, the smell lasts a long time. No matter what thicket you get into, there is no peace: maybe the fox is two kilometers behind - now it’s already holding you by the tail!

So it’s hard to say how long the hare is. Which is more cunning - shorter, stupid - longer. In calm weather, the smart one stretches out, in a snowstorm and downpour, the stupid one shortens.

Every day, the length of the hare is different.

And very rarely, when he is really lucky, there is a hare of the same length - as long as a birch log - as a person knows him.

Everyone whose nose works better than their eyes knows about this. The wolves know. Foxes know. You should know too.

Nikolai Sladkov. Bureau of Forest Services

Cold February arrived in the forest. He made snowdrifts on the bushes and covered the trees with frost. And although the sun is shining, it is not warming.

Ferret says:

- Save yourself as best you can!

And Magpie chirps:

-Everyone for himself again? Alone again? No, so that we can work together against a common misfortune! And that’s what everyone says about us, that we only peck and squabble in the forest. It's even a shame...

Here the Hare got involved:

- That's right, the Magpie is chirping. There is safety in numbers. I propose to create a Bureau of Forest Services. For example, I can help partridges. Every day I tear the snow on the winter fields to the ground, let them peck the seeds and greens there after me - I don’t mind. Write me, Soroka, to the Bureau as number one!

- There is still a smart head in our forest! - Soroka was happy. - Who's next?

- We're next! - the crossbills shouted. “We peel the cones on the trees and drop half of the cones whole.” Use it, voles and mice, don’t mind!

“The hare is a digger, crossbills are throwers,” wrote Magpie.

- Who's next?

“Sign us up,” the beavers grumbled from their hut. “We piled so many aspen trees in the fall—there’s enough for everyone.” Come to us, moose, roe deer, hares, gnaw on the juicy aspen bark and branches!

And it went, and it went!

Woodpeckers offer their hollows for the night, crows invite them to carrion, crows promise to show them their dumps. Soroka barely has time to write down.

The Wolf also trotted out at the noise. He straightened his ears, looked up with his eyes and said:

- Sign me up for the Bureau too!

The magpie almost fell from the tree:

- Are you, Volka, at the Service Bureau? What do you want to do in it?

“I will serve as a watchman,” answers the Wolf.

-Who can you guard?

- I can guard everyone! Hares, moose and roe deer near the aspen trees, partridges in the greens, beavers in the huts. I'm an experienced watchman. He guarded the sheep in the sheepfold, the chickens in the chicken coop...

- You are a robber from a forest road, not a watchman! - Magpie shouted. - Move on, you rascal! We know you. It’s me, Soroka, who will guard everyone in the forest from you: when I see you, I’ll raise a cry! I will write down not you, but myself as a watchman in the Bureau: “Magpie is a watchman.” Am I worse than others, or what?

This is how bird-animals live in the forest. It happens, of course, that they live in such a way that only fluff and feathers fly. But it happens, and they help each other out. Anything can happen in the forest.

Nikolai Sladkov. Resort "Icicle"

Magpie sat on a snow-covered tree and cried:

- All migratory birds They flew away for the winter, I’m alone, sedentary, enduring frosts and blizzards. Neither eat well, nor drink deliciously, nor sleep sweetly. And in the winter, they say, it’s a resort... Palm trees, bananas, hot!

- It depends on what wintering place you are in, Soroka!

- Which one, which one - the ordinary one!

- There are no ordinary winterings, Soroka. There are hot winterings - in India, in Africa, in South America, and there are cold ones - like in yours middle lane. For example, we came to you from the North for a winter holiday. I am the White Owl, they are the Waxwing and the Bullfinch, the Bunting and the White Partridge.

- Why did you have to fly from winter to winter? - Soroka is surprised. - You have snow in the tundra - and we have snow, you have frost - and we have frost. What kind of resort is this?

But Waxwing does not agree:

“You have less snow, milder frosts, and milder blizzards.” But the main thing is the rowan! Rowan is more valuable to us than any palm tree or banana.

And the white partridge does not agree:

- I’m about to peck on willows delicious kidneys, I’ll bury my head in the snow. Nourishing, soft, not windy - why not a resort?

AND white owl I don't agree:

“Everything is hidden in the tundra now, and you have both mice and hares.” Have a fun life!

And all the other winterers nod their heads and agree.

- It turns out that I shouldn’t cry, but have fun! “It turns out I’ve been living at a resort all winter, but I don’t even know it,” Soroka is surprised. - Well, miracles!

- That's right, Soroka! - everyone shouts. “Don’t regret the hot winters; you won’t be able to fly that far on your scanty wings anyway.” Live better with us!

It's quiet in the forest again. The magpie calmed down.

The arriving winter resort residents started eating. Well, as for those in hot winter quarters, I haven’t heard from them yet. Until spring.

Nikolai Sladkov. Forest werewolves

Miraculous things happen in the forest unnoticed, without prying eyes.

Today: I was waiting for a woodcock at dawn. Dawn was cold, quiet, clean. Tall spruce trees rose at the edge of the forest, like black fortress towers. And in the lowlands, over the streams and river, fog hung. The willows sank into it like dark underwater stones.

I watched the drowned willows for a long time.

It all seemed like something was bound to happen there!

But nothing happened; The fog from the streams slowly flowed down to the river.

“It’s strange,” I thought, “the fog doesn’t rise, as always, but flows down...”

But then a woodcock was heard. Black bird flapping its wings like bat, stretched across the green sky. I threw up my photo gun and forgot about the fog.

And when I came to my senses, the fog had already turned into frost! Covered the clearing with white. I didn't notice how it happened. Woodcock averted his eyes!

The woodcocks have finished pulling. The sun appeared. And all the forest inhabitants were so happy about him, as if they had not seen him for a long time. And I stared at the sun: it’s interesting to watch how a new day is born.

But then I remembered about the frost; lo and behold, he’s no longer in the clearing! White frost turned into a blue haze; it trembles and flows over the fluffy golden willows. I missed it again!

And he overlooked how day appeared in the forest.

It’s always like this in the forest: something will take your eyes off! And the most wonderful and amazing things will happen unnoticed, without prying eyes.

Description of the presentation by individual slides:

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BIOGRAPHY of Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov Prepared by teacher primary classes GBOU Secondary School No. 349 of Krasnogvardeisky District of St. Petersburg Pechenkina Tamara Pavlovna

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Nikolai Ivanovich Sladkov was born on January 5, 1920 in Moscow, but lived his entire life in Leningrad, in Tsarskoe Selo. Here, not far from his home, there were many old forest parks, where the future writer discovered the whole world, unusually rich in the secrets of nature. For days on end he disappeared into the most remote places of the surrounding parks, where he peered and listened to the life of the forest. Wandering among the old trees, since childhood he was imbued with the wisdom of nature and learned to recognize the voices of a variety of birds.

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The boy really wanted to know what the forest was talking to him about, he really wanted to understand its secrets. Kolya began to enthusiastically read a variety of books about nature, and wrote down his own observations in his diary, in the “Notebook of Observations,” which he began keeping in the second grade. Gradually, the place of short entries in the diary began to be supplemented by stories from life forest inhabitants. By that time, the forest had long become a real good friend for him.

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During the war, N. Sladkov volunteered to go to the front and became a military topographer. In peacetime, he retained the same specialty. In his youth he was fond of hunting, but later abandoned this activity. Instead, he began to engage in photo hunting and put forward the call “Don’t take a gun into the forest, take a photo gun into the forest.”

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The first stories were written by him in 1952, and in 1953 Nikolai Sladkov’s first book, “Silver Tail,” was published. “In nature there is the same harmony as in music, throw out a note and the melody is broken...” Nikolai Sladkov’s books - stories and tales about nature - are unusually harmonious, they very fully and accurately reflect the secrets of nature. In order to find yourself in a wild forest, it is not at all necessary to take a train ticket every time and go to distant lands - you can simply reach out to the bookshelf and take Nikolai Sladkov’s favorite book, sit comfortably in your favorite corner and be transported to beautiful world nature...

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Together with Vitaly Bianchi, his friend and like-minded person, Nikolai Sladkov prepared radio programs “News from the Forest” for many years and answered numerous letters from his listeners. In total, during his adventure-filled life, Nikolai Ivanovich wrote more than 60 books. Among the most famous are publications such as: For the book “Underwater Newspaper” Nikolai Ivanovich was awarded the State Prize named after N.K. Krupskaya.

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In one of his books, the writer wrote: “We have been peering intently at nature for a long time. Isn't it time to look inside yourself? How do the wary eyes of birds and animals, the eyes of fields and forests see us? Who are we - the rulers of the Earth? What do we want? And what are we doing? Sladkov's books allow us to look into ourselves. What can we do to make our planet more beautiful, so that animals and plants do not disappear from the face of the Earth, so that we can swim in rivers, so that birds sing in forests and cities, so that our children do not forget what it is like? clean water and the air filled with the aroma of grass and rain? “To protect the earth and nature, you need to love it; to love it, you need to know it. Once you know it, it’s impossible not to love.” “I write about nature because I love it very much: for its beauty, for its mysteries, for its wisdom and diversity.” “Nature is a most fascinating book. Just start reading it, you won’t be able to stop.”

Stories by Nikolai Sladkov about the life of animals in the forest. Stories about a mother bear with cubs, about a fox, about hares. Educational stories for reading in elementary school

Nikolai Sladkov. Bear slide

Seeing an animal unafraid, going about its household chores, is a rare success.

I had to.

I was looking for mountain turkeys in the mountains - snowcocks. I climbed in vain until noon. Snowcocks are the most sensitive birds of the mountains. And you have to climb steep slopes right next to the glaciers to get them.

Tired. I sat down to rest.

Silence - my ears are ringing. Flies are buzzing in the sun. There are mountains, mountains and mountains all around. Their peaks, like islands, rose from the sea of clouds.

In some places the cloud cover moved away from the slopes, and in the gap - sunbeam; Underwater shadows and reflections swayed across the cloud forests. If a bird hits a ray of sunlight, it will sparkle like a goldfish.

I got tired in the heat. And fell asleep. I slept for a long time. I woke up - the sun was already evening, with a golden rim. Narrow black shadows stretched down from the rocks.

It became even quieter in the mountains.

Suddenly I hear: nearby, behind the hill, like a bull in a low voice: “Mooo! Mooooo!” And claws on the stones - shark, shark! That's bull! With claws...

I look out carefully: on the ledge of the ramp there is a mother bear and two cubs.

The bear just woke up. She threw her head up and yawned. He yawns and scratches his belly with his paw. And the belly is thick and furry.

The cubs also woke up. Funny, big-lipped, big-headed. With sleepy eyes loop-loop, shifting from paw to paw, shaking their plush heads. They blinked their eyes, shook their heads, and began to fight. They struggle lazily and sleepily. Reluctantly. Then they got angry and fought seriously.

They groan. They resist. They grumble.

And the bear has all her five fingers on her belly, then on her sides: fleas bite!..

I drooled on my finger, raised it - the wind was pulling at me. He grabbed a better gun. I'm watching.

From the ledge on which the bears were, to another ledge, lower, lay still dense, unmelted snow.

The cubs pushed themselves to the edge and suddenly rolled down through the snow to the lower ledge.

The bear stopped scratching her belly, leaned over the edge, and looked.

Then she called quietly: “rrrrmuuu!”

The cubs climbed up. But halfway up the hill they couldn’t resist and started fighting again. They grabbed hold and rolled down again.

They liked it. One will climb out, lie down on his little belly, pull himself to the edge - once! - and below. There's a second one behind him. On the side, on the back, over the head.

They squeal: both sweet and scary.

I forgot about the gun too. Who would even think of shooting at these unheard-of people who are wiping their pants on the hill!

The cubs have gotten the hang of it: they’ll grab each other and roll down together. And the bear dozed off again.

I watched the bear game for a long time. Then he crawled out from behind the stone.

When the cubs saw me, they became quiet and looked at me with all their eyes.

And then the bear noticed me. She jumped up, snorted, and reared up.

I'm for the gun. We look eye to eye.

Her lip is drooping and two fangs are sticking out. The fangs are wet and green from the grass.

I raised the gun to my shoulder.

The bear grabbed her head with both paws and barked - down the hill, over her head!

The cubs are behind her - snow is a whirlwind! I wave my gun after me and shout:

- Ah, you old bungler, you’ll sleep!

The bear jumps along the slope so that she throws her hind legs behind her ears. The cubs are running behind, shaking their thick tails, looking around. And the withers are humped - like those of mischievous boys whose mothers wrap them in scarves in winter: the ends are under the armpits, and there is a hump on the back.

The bears ran away.

“Eh,” I think, “it wasn’t!”

I sat down in the snow and - time! - down the thumb bear slide. I looked around to see if anyone had seen it? - and the cheerful one went to the tent.

Nikolai Sladkov. Invited guest

I saw the Magpie Hare and gasped:

“Didn’t he get in the Fox’s teeth, the scythe?” Wet, tattered, intimidated!

- If only Lisa had! - the Hare whined. - Otherwise, I was visiting, but not just a simple guest, but an invited one...

Magpie went like this:

- Tell me quickly, my dear! I love the fear of squabbles! It means they invited you to visit, but they themselves...

“They invited me to a birthday party,” said the Hare. - Now in the forest, you yourself know that every day is a birthday. I'm a humble guy, everyone invites me. The other day, the neighbor Zaychikha called. I galloped up to her. I didn’t eat it on purpose, I was hoping for a treat.

And instead of giving me treats, she sticks her own bunnies under my nose: she brags.

What a surprise - bunnies! But I’m a humble man, I say politely: “Look at these lop-eared little buns!” What started here! “Are you crazy,” he shouts? Do you call my slender and graceful bunnies koloboks? So invite such idiots to visit - you won’t hear a smart word!”

As soon as I got away from the Hare, the Badger was calling. I come running - everyone is lying by the hole with their bellies up, warming themselves. What are your piglets: mattresses with mattresses! The badger asks: “Well, how are my kids, do you like them?” I opened my mouth to tell the truth, but I remembered the Hare and muttered. “They’re slender,” I say, “how graceful they are!” - “Which ones, which ones? - Badger bristled. - You yourself, Koschey, are slender and graceful! Both your father and mother are slender, and your grandmother and grandfather are graceful! Your whole filthy hare race is bony! They invite him to visit, and he mocks! Yes, I won’t treat you for this, I’ll eat you myself! Don’t listen to him, my handsome boys, my little blind mattresses...”

He barely got away from the Badger. I hear the squirrel from the tree shouting: “Have you seen my beloved darlings?”

“Then somehow! - I answer. “Belka, I already have something double in my eyes...”

And Belka is not far behind: “Maybe you, Hare, don’t even want to look at them? Say so!”

“What are you doing,” I reassure, “Squirrel! And I would be glad, but I can’t see them in their nest from below! But you can’t climb up their tree.”

“So what, you, unfaithful Thomas, don’t believe my word? - Belka fluffed her tail. “Well, tell me, what are my little squirrels?”

“All kinds,” I answer, “such and such!”

The squirrel is angrier than ever:

“You, oblique, are not crazy! You tell the truth, otherwise I’ll start tearing my ears!”

“They are smart and reasonable!”

“I know it myself.”

“The most beautiful in the forest!”

"Everyone knows."

“Obedient, obedient!”

“Well, well?!” - Belka doesn’t let up.

“All sorts of, so-and-so...”

“So-and-so?.. Well, hold on, oblique!”

Yes, how he will rush! You'll get wet here. I still can’t get over the spirit, Soroka. Almost alive from hunger. And insulted and beaten.

- Poor, poor you, Hare! - Soroka regretted. - What kind of freaks did you have to look at: little hares, little badgers, little squirrels - ugh! You should come to visit me right away - if only you could stop admiring my little darlings! Maybe you can stop along the way? It's very close here.

The Hare shuddered at such words and how he would run away!

Later, moose, roe deer, otters, and foxes called him to visit, but the Hare never set foot near them!

Nikolai Sladkov. Why does a fox have a long tail?

Out of curiosity! It’s not really because she seems to cover her tracks with her tail. A fox's tail becomes long out of curiosity.

It all starts from the moment they cut through

foxes have eyes. Their tails at this time are still very small and short. But when the eyes appear, the tails immediately begin to stretch out! They get longer and longer. And how can they not grow longer if the fox cubs are reaching with all their might towards the bright spot - towards the exit from the hole. Of course: something unprecedented is moving there, something unheard of is making noise and something unheard of smells!

It's just scary. It’s scary to suddenly tear yourself away from your habitual hole. And therefore the fox cubs stick out of it only to the length of their short tail. It’s as if they are holding the tip of their tail to the birthmark. Just a moment - all of a sudden - I'm home!

And the white light beckons. The flowers nod: smell us! The stones shine: touch us! Beetles are squeaking: catch us!

Nikolai Sladkov. Topik and Katya

The wild magpie was named Katya, and the domestic rabbit was named Topik. We put domestic Topik and wild Katya together.

Katya immediately pecked Topik in the eye, and he hit her with his paw. But soon they became friends and lived in perfect harmony: a bird soul and an animal soul. Two orphans began to learn from each other.

The top is cutting blades of grass, and Katya, looking at him, begins to pluck the blades of grass. He rests his feet, shakes his head, and pulls with all his chick strength. Topik is digging a hole - Katya spins around, pokes her nose into the ground, helps to dig.

But when Katya climbs into the bed with thick wet lettuce and begins to swim, flutter and jump in it, Topik hobbles to her for training. But he is a lazy student: he doesn’t like dampness, he doesn’t like to swim, and so he just starts gnawing on the salad.

Katya taught Topik to steal strawberries from the beds. Looking at her, he began to eat ripe berries. But then we took a broom and drove them both away.

Katya and Topik loved to play catch-up. To begin with, Katya climbed onto Topeka’s back and began hitting him on the top of his head and pinching his ears. When Topik's patience ran out, he jumped up and tried to run away. With all her two legs, with a desperate cry, helping with her scanty wings, Katya set off in pursuit.

Running and fussing began.

One day, while chasing Topik, Katya suddenly took off. So Topik taught Katya to fly. And then he himself learned from her such jumps that no dogs were afraid of him.

This is how Katya and Top lived. We played during the day and slept in the garden at night. The top is covered in dill, and Katya is in the onion bed. And they smelled so much of dill and onions that even the dogs sneezed when they looked at them.

Nikolai Sladkov. Naughty kids

The Bear was sitting in a clearing, crumbling a stump. The Hare galloped up and said:

- Troubles, Bear, in the forest. Little ones don't listen to old people. They completely escaped the clutches!

- How so?? - the Bear barked.

- Yes indeed! - answers the Hare. - They rebel, they snap. Everyone strives in their own way. They scatter in all directions.

- Or maybe they... grew up?

- Where are they: bare-bellied, short-tailed, yellow-throated!

- Or maybe let them run?

- Forest mothers are offended. The Hare had seven, but not a single one remained. He shouts: “Where have you gone, you lop-eared ones? The Fox will hear you!” And they responded: “And we ourselves have ears!”

“N-yes,” grumbled the Bear. - Well, Hare, let's go and see what's what.

The Bear and the Hare went through the forests, fields and swamps. As soon as they entered the dense forest, they heard:

- I left my grandmother, I left my grandfather...

- What kind of bun showed up? - the Bear barked.

- And I’m not a bun at all! I am a respectable, adult little squirrel.

- Why then is your tail short? Answer, how old are you?

- Don't be angry, Uncle Bear. I'm not even one year old yet. And it won’t be enough for six months. But you, bears, live sixty years, and we, squirrels, live at most ten. And it turns out that I, six months old, in your bearish account, are exactly three years old! Remember, Bear, yourself at three years old. Probably he also asked for a streak from the Bear?

- What's true is true! - growled the Bear. “I remember I went to nurse-nannies for another year, and then I ran away.” Yes, to celebrate, I remember, I tore up the hive. Oh, and the bees rode on me then - my sides are itching now!

- Of course, I’m smarter than everyone else. I'm digging a house between the roots!

- What kind of pig is that in the forest? - the Bear roared. - Give me this movie character here!

- I, dear Bear, am not a piglet, I am an almost adult, independent Chipmunk. Don't be rude - I can bite!

- Answer me, Chipmunk, why did you run away from your mother?

- That’s why he ran away, because it’s time! Autumn is just around the corner, it’s time to think about the hole, about winter supplies. So you and the Hare dig a hole for me, fill the pantry with nuts, then I’ll be ready to hug my mother until the snow hits. You, Bear, have no worries in winter: you sleep and suck your paw!

- Even though I don’t suck a paw, it’s true! “I have few worries in winter,” muttered the Bear. - Let's go further, Hare.

The Bear and the Hare came to the swamp and heard:

- Although small, but brave, he swam across the channel. He settled with his aunt in the swamp.

- Do you hear how he boasts? - whispered the Hare. - He ran away from home and even sings songs!

The Bear roared:

- Why did you run away from home, why don’t you live with your mother?

- Don't growl, Bear, first find out what's what! I’m my mother’s first-born: I can’t live with her.

- How can you not do that? — the Bear does not calm down. “Mothers’ first-borns are always their first favorites; they worry about them the most!”

- They are shaking, but not all of them! - Little Rat answers. - My mother, old Water rat, brought rat pups three times over the summer. There are already two dozen of us. If everyone lives together, there won’t be enough space or food. Whether you like it or not, settle down. That's it, Bear!

The Bear scratched his cheek and looked at the Hare angrily:

- You tore me away, Hare, from a serious matter! I was alarmed in vain. Everything in the forest goes as it should: the old grow old, the young grow. Autumn, slanting, is just around the corner, it’s time for maturation and resettlement. And therefore be it!