It was fifty years ago – I recall from family chronicles.

We lived in a small town in Altai. My grandfather was the director of the mine.

Practically urban enterprises. The house is naturally wood, c

the courtyard, the saraias, and all the attributes, including the dog in the booth. by Grandpa

Every morning there was a personal driver: in the summer in the car, in the winter in the car.

The Sanches. In waiting for the boss the driver - a young and working man -

He took a butt and smashed the yard, and in the winter he killed the snow with a spade.

The dog used to him and allowed him to work, but all kinds of deceivers, like

The postman cried.

One day my grandfather received a delegation at the enterprise and invited me to the evening.

A banquet at home. Sitting at the table, guests

Together with the owner, they went to the yard to breathe the air. The dog began to run.

to the chain and to the whole company.

My grandfather said, Why is the dog bad? Let him be silent!

Grandfather replies, “He’s not bad, he doesn’t like bad guys.

In confirmation of his words, he pulled out of the sarai and distributed to the guests: "Who the meth,

Who has a tool, who has a tool?

The dog, seeing that everyone's hands are busy, calmed down and no one else.

was disturbed. This is so!

Hi the Serpent!

by Al.