I was 3-4 years old. My father took me to the bathroom, and after washing, he bought a glass of beer in the buffet. I watched him drink and thought it was probably even more delicious than lemonade. When I noticed my interest, my father gave me a blow... For 15 years, I still didn’t take this ugliness into my mouth. And this is exactly the same situation happened to me and my son, at the same age. Waiting for his reaction, I pulled him a glass. He drinks it completely, stretches me and says, “More!”

Like many kids, I dreamed of a dog. And here I was gifted a puppy, a small and awkward daughter of a proud customs shepherd and a flying cockroach :) We lived at the time with our parents in the shelter (who doesn't know, room 17 square meters / m, common kitchen and bathroom), of course, my puppy's place there was unusual. And in the early summer I went to the village, with my best friend, Chapa! Thro the summer we were untouched by water, and into the forest and to the lake and on the great, everywhere together. It was a wonderful dog, smarter and more affectionate I had never met. But now it was August and by the end of the month I had to go back to town, school time. Every weekend I asked my parents to come to the village because Chapa was waiting for me there. A few months later, when I came to the village, I was not met by my hairy miracle. My grandfather said, “I have died. I was crying for two days, when it was time to go to the city, I also whispered my nose. My friend, my Chapa is dead. It was the end of everything. ...

A year has passed, summer has arrived. The pain was forgotten, removed.

On a bad day, I walked around the courtyard. On the trail, I noticed a dog getting worse, in the shrubs. And with a terrible crushing feeling in my chest, I recognized my Chapa in this dog. She ran to me with a gallop, I hugged her in tears, and she licked my tears.

I couldn’t believe in the reality of this occurrence, as it was all...

It turned out, like Chapa was a fox, during the rush, cows ran to her and my relatives gave her to some alkasha, to a distant huthor. She was put on a chain. Here is all that.

Do you think I was allowed to leave her?

No is.

My Chapa was returned to that Alkasha, and I went there every day to see her. Alkas was tired of it and he just struck my Chapa with pollen in my eyes.

A few years later, he snatched the tail of his companion and left for life, before this knife struck his father.



The pets, the boys. I write tears in my eyes again. Scuco.

I will tell you my story too. He was a boy and spent the summer as many children of that time (end 1980) in the village. And in the village we had a sarai, a sarai with various interesting things. Among them was a motorcycle from Minsk.

The motorcycle has been there for many years. I bought it to my uncle long before I was born. He drove on it until he simply stopped driving. And since the uncle's hand is out of his ass, he just put him in the bag. Grandfather did not need it, and this miracle stood in the dust for almost 15 years.

In the summer, at my 14 years old, my uncle during a family dinner handed me the keys to the motorcycle and said, "Take, understand, do, do what you want, it is now yours."

All of his relatives bowed him with loves. He was a star that night. And I, that I... I already in a hundred seconds scratched my motorcycle from under the barrel!

Of course, this summer was amazing, I bought a new chain for the money collected from the debris, made friends with the older boys from the yard and with their help took the carburetor, changed the cameras in the wheels. In one word, he spent almost 3 months on a iron horse.

Here is the day X. With friends found gasoline, diluted with oil. And I took a motorcycle! It was an untransmitted feeling, before my childhood gaze all the epic twists that were waiting for me.

The relatives came out of the house and looked at me and my horse with astonishment.

Uncle then ran, immediately jumped on the motorcycle and went to walk, I watched all the action just with pride for myself.

But, here the uncle returned and simply bursting well, drove the mozzicle into the shell and not very explaining with the key went home.

On my questions and protests, the households said they will give tomorrow.

And for tomorrow, Mosic from the morning was stolen where it was sold.

I didn’t get money from my uncle.

There was a response to the protests. That I did not understand it and nobody gave it to me. I’m 40 and I still hate it.

On anekdot.ru it is very easy to separate anecdotes from news:
If it’s funny to tears, it’s a joke.
If it’s funny through tears, it’s news.

By the way, about mushrooms.
When I was young, I was not taken to the forest. The older sisters were released.
And here they gathered together once in a company, a man can be five or six, with neighboring girlfriends, and ask the father.
“Daddy, can we take Burana with us?
The Buran was named a puppy, a very small puppy, whom his father brought only a few days ago. Not a dog, but a toy.
The father thought and said:
Well take it. Do not lose.
The puppy, though tiny, but intelligent, was running behind someone's heels all the time, so it was unlikely to get lost.
It is not close to the forest, five or six kilometers, but according to rural standards is normal. The puppy where with his feet, where on his arms, and in the woods all the time looked at him to be close. They picked up mushrooms, went out on the roof, sat down to rest, here on a collective farm truck passes by Uncle Sasha.
What, girls, have you picked up mushrooms? So sit down, I’ll go.
They, joyful, jumped into the body, he brought them to the village and brought them.
Back home, where is Buran? But not Burana. I forgot in the forest. When the joyful ones in the car loaded.
Oh, what started here. Tears and sweat. They ran back and where. My father just shrugged his hand. I was upset, of course, but I did not insult anyone, I allowed it, it was my fault. They burned for a day or two and forgot. The father said, don't cheer, I'll bring a new, the puppies in the wreath are still left.

Buran arrived in a week. All dirty, in repins, but very joyful. It is unclear how he found the way back. The cat would be lost.
Here it started again, - tears, tears, whispers, joy-filled pants. The father asks:
God, how did you survive?
And the puppy only knows the tail whipped and licked everyone.

How many years later I will not say, but Buran was already an adult, and I grew up, we went on mushrooms. And here he runs through the forest there and here, and at some point, and disappeared. I scream :
Buran to Buran!
And the silence.
I go, and he lies under the tree, and the white mushroom eats. Such a good mushroom, young, strong. I say :
What fucking do you do that? Go out of the jersey!
And he borovik doel, the root spit out, and then joyfully jumped.
He was in the woods and survived.
How many dogs I never met then, Buran was the only dog that ate mushrooms and berries. The mushrooms are exclusively white, and the berries are only berries.

(The replica "You don't want to live so fast" wanted to leave commentators, but did not. They will)

At a meeting with the head of VTB Kostin, the president said: "We have difficult times now." Kostin did not understand why he was having difficult times now, but in politeness agreed.