THE SHEPHERDS

    Ivan (surname unknown), in the village Lobanikha, negotiated to be a shepherd for the summer. He came twenty miles from his village. He asked for 32 pounds of rye with each cow, in addition to a pie and an egg daily. Daily, in turn, food provisioning. On weekdays, a shepherd was fed everyday food, and on holidays with festive, whatever was on the family table. But it was necessary until he was full. Ivan asked for 400 pounds of grain for the summer, and the villagers would give only 320. They bargained and negotiated; neither side wanted to concede. Suddenly Ivan says: - "Brothers, give me 320; I forgot that 80 pounds I have at home". So, it will make just 400. On that note, it was settled...
   Ivan was not very bright. Sometimes, he sits in the meadow around sleeping cows. He plays the cards with himself, "fool" in two hands. "Well, now you go! - The shepherd took the deck from the hand of an imaginary partner. - "Here! You lost again; you turn to shuffle." But shuffled every time he had to himself because Ivan was in two aspects: the losing and winning partner.
  As shepherds were hired, disabled people sometimes concealed a great sense that the world cared about the disadvantaged, giving work as per their abilities. The village secretly kept these people on salary; people earned a living with their work, but not for Christ's name. Every shepherd had their pride and skills. A good shepherd knew by the name of every cow and all its quirks. Because the cows are different, they differ in good nature, treachery, and cunning.
   One cow could divert the herd, God knows where, while the other was skillful in breaking through the fence and opening the gates. The third one differed in incorrigible laziness and couldn't keep pace with the herd. The latter were often searched by the whole village in the woods.
  An experienced shepherd herding cattle every year and, so to speak, by vocation, and not because of the needs, has always valued its title and had a reasonably high level of professional dignity. Nevertheless, he sometimes needs outstanding courage. Wolves and bears were familiar sights in the forest pasture. Generally, between the shepherd and the bear evolved quite well defined, but the mysterious relationship. They understood each other as if they had concluded an agreement and sought to comply with its terms. Thus, at least, thought the shepherd. In the same Pichikha, a neighbour of Vakhrusha, Andrey, nicknamed Slavenok, a permanent shepherd of the kolkhoz herd, talked about the bear as follows: - "He was lying, you know, quietly, but I do know that he's here. And I say: "Go! Go away; go away; there is nothing to sniff. Cows sleep, and you go to bed! And I heard twigs crack. Went away... Seen his conscience awakened somehow ..."
    But not all the bears had a conscience. Once, the animal got out from the thicket, mounted on a roaring, half-killed cow, and a shepherd with a whip, cursing, sometimes crying, boldly threw himself at the "bloodsucker." Usually, this animal was not considered "local," as it came to the pasture somewhere else or was abused by people before. As a result, cows often calved right in the woods. And after that, frequently, they were searched for several days. Then, the shepherd felt guilty.
   A shepherd was the first in the village to rise to his feet, walk along the street, and play the trumpet or drums the drum: this is a universal reveille. Like it or not - get up, and drive cattle outside.
   Paul - a shepherd in the village Timonikha - had a large, one and a half meters in length pipe. He played a plain melody on this pipe so loud that many grumbled. A shepherd's whole life was out in nature, so he was a more experienced forest ranger, knew the well-coming change in the weather, knew many omens, and could tear bark and weave from it bast shoes other products. He ate and slept at each house by turns. If the village has thirty houses, then in a month, he will visit each peasant family. And of course, he knew not only what is cooking in any home. He knew everything. The cattle, too, were in his hands, and it is not surprising that the shepherds were feared, respected, and sometimes spoiled with inexpensive gifts. Sadly, a horn or whistle rang in the Russian forest over its strange and broad noise for centuries. The cows knew few musical melodies. Instead, they performed such musical orders:

 1. Come out of the yards.
 2. To the run! To the run!
 3. Do what you want.
 4. Danger! Run!
 5. Everybody gets in one place.
 6. Go home!

 And some other orders… Two dry, dense as bone, heather sticks and a sense of rhythm, so a diligent shepherd boy quickly learns to let out such resounding, intricate drumming through the forest that a cow chewing cud respectfully waved their ears. People mowing nearby unbent their backs and listened with admiration. Wild animals were terrified of this sonorous rhythmic knocking. Besides a small rattle he always carried with him, the shepherd had big rattles in different parts of the pasture. They hung permanently in certain places; each passerby thought it was his duty to make noise. Especially liked that activity with children, travelling for mushrooms and berries, mowing, or tearing bark with adults. Later in the forest, it weighed some iron pieces, for example, removed from the plow parts. In the village with the same "bell," a manager called people to work. Nowadays, shepherds manage cattle on horseback, often with a radio on the shoulder, and they are no longer in the woods but in the fields. The cows listen with pleasure, croaking saxophone sobs.