The wedding party. An avid hunter tells the gatherers how he and his son regularly go hunting. My son, meanwhile, is seven years old. There are many stories, starting with rabbits and phasans, continuing with deer and foxes, all stories are emotional, with a bunch of details and active gestures. The father tells, the son is silent and only after each story confirms what he said:
Here we have a healthy cat! Five with two of my palms, my eyebrows shake, my eyes flowed with blood. And right on us with the smoke running! I shot and missed the first one. Thank God, the second shot hit him. Otherwise we’t sit here with you. Remember the dim, right?
Oh yeah I remember.
Then the wolf was met. He was noticed late, standing literally ten meters away, scattering. I was scared then. The gun on the duck is loaded. He stumbled, stumbled under his feet and ran away. It was a pity, but a good trophy could have been achieved. Do you remember that hunt, Dimka?
I remember... Dad, Dad! Do you remember how you shot the pigeon?