Mom brought a chicken from the store, large, bluish, with long bony legs. The chicken had a large red comb on its head. Mom hung it outside the window and said:
“If dad comes earlier, let him cook.” Will you pass it on?
I said:
- With pleasure!
And my mother went to college. And I took out watercolors and began to paint. I wanted to draw a squirrel jumping through the trees in the forest, and at first it turned out great, but then I looked and saw that it wasn’t a squirrel at all, but some guy who looked like Moidodyr. The squirrel's tail turned out to be his nose, and the branches on the tree looked like hair, ears and a hat... I was very surprised how this could happen, and when dad came, I said:
- Guess what I drew, dad?
He looked and thought:
- What are you doing, dad? Take a good look!
Then dad looked properly and said:
- Oh, sorry, it’s probably football...
I said:
– You’re kind of inattentive! Are you probably tired?
- No, I just want to eat. Don't know what's for lunch?
I said:
- There’s a chicken hanging outside the window. Cook it and eat it!
Dad unhooked the chicken from the window and put it on the table.
- It's easy to say, cook! You can cook it. Cooking is nonsense. The question is, in what form should we eat it? You can cook at least a hundred wonderful dishes from chicken. nutritious meals. You can, for example, make simple chicken cutlets, but you can roll it up ministerial schnitzel- with grapes! I read about it! You can make such a cutlet on the bone - it's called "Kyiv" - you'll lick your fingers. You can boil chicken with noodles, or you can press it with an iron, pour garlic over it and you will get, like in Georgia, “tobacco chicken.” You can finally...
But I interrupted him. I said:
- You, dad, cook something simple, without irons. Something, you know, the fastest!
Dad immediately agreed:
- That's right, son! What is important to us? Eat quickly! You've captured the essence. What can you cook faster? The answer is simple and clear: broth!
Dad even rubbed his hands.
I asked:
- Do you know how to make broth?
But dad just laughed.
- What can you do here? – His eyes even sparkled. – Broth is simpler than steamed turnips: put it in water and wait for it to cook, that’s all the wisdom. It's decided! We cook the broth, and very soon we will have a two-course dinner: for the first - broth with bread, for the second - boiled, hot, steaming chicken. Well, throw down your Repin brush and let's help!
I said:
– What should I do?
- Look! You see, there are some hairs on the chicken. You should cut them off, because I don’t like shaggy broth. You cut off these hairs, while I go to the kitchen and put the water on boil!
And he went to the kitchen. And I took my mother’s scissors and began to trim the hairs on the chicken one by one. At first I thought that there would be few of them, but then I looked closer and saw that there were a lot, even too many. And I began to cut them, and tried to cut them quickly, like in a hairdresser, and clicked the scissors in the air as I moved from hair to hair.
Dad entered the room, looked at me and said:
– Shoot more from the sides, otherwise it will look like boxing!
I said:
– It doesn’t cut your hair very quickly...
But then dad suddenly slaps himself on the forehead:
- God! Well, you and I are stupid, Deniska! And how I forgot! Finish your haircut! She needs to be scorched in the fire! Understand? That's what everyone does. We will set it on fire, and all the hairs will burn, and there will be no need for a haircut or shaving. Follow me!
And he grabbed the chicken and ran with it to the kitchen. And I'm behind him. We lit a new burner, because there was already a pot of water on one, and began to roast the chicken on the fire. It burned really well and the whole apartment smelled like burnt wool. Dad turned her from side to side and said:
- Now, now! Oh, and good chicken! Now she will be all burnt and will become clean and white...
But the chicken, on the contrary, became somewhat black, all charred, and dad finally turned off the gas.
He said:
“I think it somehow got smoked unexpectedly.” you love smoked chicken?
I said:
- No. It's not smoked, it's just covered in soot. Come on, dad, I'll wash her.
He was positively delighted.
- Well done! - he said. -You're smart. You have good heredity. You're all about me. Come on, my friend, take this chimney sweep chicken and wash it thoroughly under the tap, otherwise I’m already tired of this fuss.
And he sat down on the stool.
And I said:
- Now, I’ll get her in an instant!
And I went to the sink and turned on the water, placed our chicken under it and began to rub it with my right hand as hard as I could. The chicken was very hot and terribly dirty, and I immediately got my hands dirty up to my elbows. Dad rocked on the stool.
“This,” I said, “is what you did to her, dad.” Doesn't wash off at all. There is a lot of soot.
“It’s nothing,” said dad, “the soot is only on top.” It can't all be made of soot, can it? Wait a minute!
And dad went into the bathroom and brought me a large piece of strawberry soap.
“Here,” he said, “mine properly!” Lather up!
And I began to soap this unfortunate chicken. She began to look completely dead. I soaped it up pretty well, but it didn’t wash well, dirt was dripping off it, it had been dripping for probably half an hour, but it wasn’t getting any cleaner.
I said:
“This damn rooster is just getting smeared from the soap.”
Then dad said:
- Here's a brush! Take it, rub it well! First the back, and then everything else.
I began to rub. I rubbed as hard as I could, in some places even rubbing the skin. But it was still very difficult for me, because the chicken suddenly seemed to come to life and began to spin in my hands, slide and try to jump out every second. But dad still didn’t leave his stool and kept ordering:
- Stronger than three! More dexterous! Hold your wings! Eh, you! Yes, I see you don’t know how to wash a chicken at all.
I then said:
- Dad, try it yourself!
And I handed him the chicken. But he didn’t have time to take it, when suddenly she jumped out of my hands and galloped off under the farthest cabinet. But dad was not at a loss. He said:
- Give me the mop!
And when I served it, dad began to sweep it out from under the cabinet with a mop. First he scooped out the old mousetrap, then my last year's tin soldier, and I was terribly happy, because I thought I had completely lost him, but here he was, my dear.
Then dad finally pulled out the chicken. She was covered in dust. And dad was all red. But he grabbed her by the paw and dragged her under the tap again. He said:
- Well, now hold on. Blue bird.
And he rinsed it quite clean and put it in the pan. At this time my mother arrived. She said:
-What kind of destruction are you having here?
And dad sighed and said:
- We're cooking chicken.
Mom said:
“They just dipped it in,” said dad.
Mom took the lid off the saucepan.
- Salted? – she asked.
But mom sniffed the saucepan.
- Gutted? - she said.
“Later,” said dad, “when it’s cooked.”
Mom sighed and took the chicken out of the pan. She said:
- Deniska, bring me an apron, please. We'll have to finish everything for you, would-be cooks.
And I ran into the room, took an apron and grabbed my picture from the table. I gave my mother the apron and asked her:
- Well, what did I draw? Guess, mom!
Mom looked and said:
- Sewing machine? Yes?
Page 0 of 0
Good afternoon, dear children and parents!
Here is a very funny story by Victor Dragunsky called “Chicken Soup”.
This story made and makes both children and real adults laugh :)
M ama brought a chicken from the store, large, bluish, with long, bony legs. The chicken had a large red comb on its head. Mom hung it outside the window and said:
If dad comes earlier, let him cook. Will you pass it on?
I said:
With pleasure!
And my mother went to college. And I took out watercolors and began to paint. I wanted to draw a squirrel jumping through the trees in the forest, and at first it turned out great, but then I looked and saw that it wasn’t a squirrel at all, but some guy who looked like Moidodyr. The squirrel's tail turned out to be his nose, and the branches on the tree looked like hair, ears and a hat... I was very surprised how this could happen, and when dad came, I said:
Guess, dad, what I drew?
He looked and thought:
What are you doing, dad? Take a good look!
Then dad looked properly and said:
Oh, sorry, it's probably football...
I said:
You're kind of inconsiderate! Are you probably tired?
No, I just want to eat. Don't know what's for lunch?
I said:
There's a chicken hanging outside the window. Cook it and eat it!
Dad unhooked the chicken from the window and put it on the table.
It's easy to say, cook! You can cook it. Cooking is nonsense. The question is, in what form should we eat it? You can prepare at least a hundred wonderful nutritious dishes from chicken. You can, for example, make simple chicken cutlets, or you can roll up a ministerial schnitzel - with grapes! I read about it! You can make such a cutlet on the bone - it's called "Kyiv" - you'll lick your fingers. You can boil chicken with noodles, or you can press it with an iron, pour garlic over it and you will get, like in Georgia, “tobacco chicken.” You can finally...
But I interrupted him. I said:
You, dad, cook something simple, without irons. Something, you know, the fastest!
Dad immediately agreed:
That's right, son! What is important to us? Eat quickly! You've captured the essence. What can you cook faster? The answer is simple and clear: broth!
Dad even rubbed his hands.
I asked:
Do you know how to make broth?
But dad just laughed.
What can you do here? - His eyes even sparkled. - Broth is simpler than steamed turnips: put it in water and wait for it to cook, that’s all the wisdom. It's decided! We are cooking the broth, and very soon we will have a two-course dinner: for the first - broth with bread, for the second - boiled, hot, steaming chicken. Well, throw down your Repin brush and let's help!
I said:
What should I do?
Look! You see, there are some hairs on the chicken. You should cut them off, because I don’t like shaggy broth. You cut off these hairs, while I go to the kitchen and put the water on boil!
And he went to the kitchen. And I took my mother’s scissors and began to trim the hairs on the chicken one by one. At first I thought that there would be few of them, but then I looked closer and saw that there were a lot, even too many. And I began to cut them, and tried to cut them quickly, like in a hairdresser, and clicked the scissors in the air as I moved from hair to hair.
Dad entered the room, looked at me and said:
Take off more from the sides, otherwise it will look like boxing!
I said:
It doesn't cut very quickly...
But then dad suddenly slaps himself on the forehead:
God! Well, you and I are stupid, Deniska! And how I forgot! Finish your haircut! She needs to be scorched in the fire! Understand? That's what everyone does. We will set it on fire, and all the hairs will burn, and there will be no need for a haircut or shaving. Follow me!
And he grabbed the chicken and ran with it to the kitchen. And I'm behind him. We lit a new burner, because there was already a pot of water on one, and began to roast the chicken on the fire. It burned really well and the whole apartment smelled like burnt wool. Dad turned her from side to side and said:
Now, now! Oh, and good chicken! Now she will be all burnt and will become clean and white...
But the chicken, on the contrary, became somewhat black, all charred, and dad finally turned off the gas.
He said:
In my opinion, it somehow suddenly became smoked. Do you like smoked chicken?
I said:
No. It's not smoked, it's just covered in soot. Come on, dad, I'll wash her.
He was positively delighted.
Well done! - he said. - You're smart. You have good heredity. You're all about me. Come on, my friend, take this chimney sweep chicken and wash it thoroughly under the tap, otherwise I’m already tired of this fuss.
And he sat down on the stool.
And I said:
Now, I'll get her in a jiffy!
And I went to the sink and turned on the water, placed our chicken under it and began to rub it with my right hand as hard as I could. The chicken was very hot and terribly dirty, and I immediately got my hands dirty up to my elbows. Dad rocked on the stool.
“This,” I said, “is what you, dad, did to her.” Doesn't wash off at all. There is a lot of soot.
It’s nothing,” said dad, “the soot is only on top.” It can't all be made of soot, can it? Wait a minute!
And dad went into the bathroom and brought me a large piece of strawberry soap.
Here,” he said, “mine properly!” Lather up!
And I began to soap this unfortunate chicken. She began to look completely dead. I soaped it up pretty well, but it didn’t wash well, dirt was dripping off it, it had been dripping for probably half an hour, but it wasn’t getting any cleaner.
I said:
This damn rooster is just getting smeared with soap.
Then dad said:
Here's a brush! Take it, rub it well! First the back, and then everything else.
I began to rub. I rubbed as hard as I could, in some places even rubbing the skin. But it was still very difficult for me, because the chicken suddenly seemed to come to life and began to spin in my hands, slide and try to jump out every second. But dad still didn’t leave his stool and kept ordering:
Three strong! More dexterous! Hold your wings! Eh, you! Yes, I see you don’t know how to wash a chicken at all.
I then said:
Dad, try it yourself!
And I handed him the chicken. But he didn’t have time to take it, when suddenly she jumped out of my hands and galloped off under the farthest cabinet. But dad was not at a loss. He said:
Give me the mop!
And when I served it, dad began to sweep it out from under the cabinet with a mop. First he scooped out the old mousetrap, then my last year's tin soldier, and I was terribly happy, because I thought I had completely lost him, but here he was, my dear.
Then dad finally pulled out the chicken. She was covered in dust. And dad was all red. But he grabbed her by the paw and dragged her under the tap again. He said:
Well, now hold on. Blue bird.
And he rinsed it quite clean and put it in the pan. At this time my mother arrived. She said:
What kind of destruction are you having here?
And dad sighed and said:
We cook the chicken.
Mom said:
“They just dipped it in,” said dad.
Mom took the lid off the saucepan.
Salted? - she asked.
But mom sniffed the saucepan.
Gutted? - she said.
“Later,” said dad, “when it’s cooked.”
Mom sighed and took the chicken out of the pan. She said:
Deniska, bring me an apron, please. We'll have to finish everything for you, would-be cooks.
And I ran into the room, took an apron and grabbed my picture from the table. I gave my mother the apron and asked her:
Well, what did I draw? Guess, mom!
Mom looked and said:
Sewing machine? Yes?
The main characters of the story " Chicken broth"from V. Dragunsky's collection "Denis's Stories" - the boy Denis and his dad. Denis was sitting at home and drawing when his mother came from the store and brought a chicken. She instructed Denis to tell his dad to cook this chicken when he came home. When dad came and asked what was for lunch, Denis told him about mom’s errand.
Dad immediately began to tell how many different delicious dishes can be made from chicken, but Denis asked him to prepare the simplest dish. To this, dad replied that the simplest dish is chicken broth. He instructed his son to cut the hairs from the chicken, and he went to the kitchen to put water on the stove.
Denis tried very hard and carefully cut every hair, but there were a lot of them. Soon dad returned from the kitchen and slapped himself on the forehead, because he remembered that the chicken should not be sheared, but scorched on the fire. Dad and son went to the kitchen and started singeing the chicken. As a result, the chicken was burnt and turned black. Dad sent his son to wash the chicken, but it couldn’t be washed, even with soap. Then dad decided to wash the chicken himself, but it slipped out of his hands and “flew away” under the cabinet. I had to get it out with a mop. The somehow washed chicken was put into the water and put on the fire. At this time, my mother returned and asked why the kitchen was in such chaos. To this, the father replied that he and his son were cooking chicken. Mom asked if they gutted the chicken? It turned out that no. Then my mother sighed and said that she would have to start all over again and cook the chicken herself.
That's how it is summary story.
The main idea of the story “Chicken Soup” is that you shouldn’t be arrogant and think that you can do everything. Deniska’s dad started cooking chicken, not knowing how to do it at all. As a result, she and her son didn’t even cook the chicken, and they made a mess in the kitchen.
The story teaches you to be skillful and knowledgeable, teaches you to perform not only your direct duties, but also to master such an important skill for a person as cooking.
In the story “Chicken Soup,” I liked Denis’s dad, who had a lot of fun doing culinary chores. And although she and her son were unable to cook chicken, they had a very exciting day.
What proverbs fit the story “Chicken Soup”?
If you don't go through with it, you won't become smarter.
Near fire you will get burned, near water you will wet yourself.
The master's work is afraid.
Mom brought a chicken from the store, large, bluish, with long bony legs. The chicken had a large red comb on its head. Mom hung it outside the window and said:
“If dad comes earlier, let him cook.” Will you pass it on?
I said:
- With pleasure!
And my mother went to college. And I took out watercolors and began to paint. I wanted to draw a squirrel jumping through the trees in the forest, and at first it turned out great, but then I looked and saw that it wasn’t a squirrel at all, but some guy who looked like Moidodyr. The squirrel's tail turned out to be his nose, and the branches on the tree looked like hair, ears and a hat... I was very surprised how this could happen, and when dad came, I said:
- Guess what I drew, dad?
He looked and thought:
- What are you doing, dad? Take a good look!
Then dad looked properly and said:
- Oh, sorry, it’s probably football...
I said:
– You’re kind of inattentive! Are you probably tired?
- No, I just want to eat. Don't know what's for lunch?
I said:
- There’s a chicken hanging outside the window. Cook it and eat it!
Dad unhooked the chicken from the window and put it on the table.
- It's easy to say, cook! You can cook it. Cooking is nonsense. The question is, in what form should we eat it? You can prepare at least a hundred wonderful nutritious dishes from chicken. You can, for example, make simple chicken cutlets, or you can roll up a ministerial schnitzel - with grapes! I read about it! You can make such a cutlet on the bone - it's called "Kyiv" - you'll lick your fingers. You can boil chicken with noodles, or you can press it with an iron, pour garlic over it and you will get, like in Georgia, “tobacco chicken.” You can finally...
But I interrupted him. I said:
- You, dad, cook something simple, without irons. Something, you know, the fastest!
Dad immediately agreed:
- That's right, son! What is important to us? Eat quickly! You've captured the essence. What can you cook faster? The answer is simple and clear: broth!
Dad even rubbed his hands.
I asked:
- Do you know how to make broth?
But dad just laughed.
- What can you do here? – His eyes even sparkled. – Broth is simpler than steamed turnips: put it in water and wait for it to cook, that’s all the wisdom. It's decided! We cook the broth, and very soon we will have a two-course dinner: for the first - broth with bread, for the second - boiled, hot, steaming chicken. Well, throw down your Repin brush and let's help!
I said:
– What should I do?
- Look! You see, there are some hairs on the chicken. You should cut them off, because I don’t like shaggy broth. You cut off these hairs, while I go to the kitchen and put the water on boil!
And he went to the kitchen. And I took my mother’s scissors and began to trim the hairs on the chicken one by one. At first I thought that there would be few of them, but then I looked closer and saw that there were a lot, even too many. And I began to cut them, and tried to cut them quickly, like in a hairdresser, and clicked the scissors in the air as I moved from hair to hair.
Dad entered the room, looked at me and said:
– Shoot more from the sides, otherwise it will look like boxing!
I said:
– It doesn’t cut your hair very quickly...
But then dad suddenly slaps himself on the forehead:
- God! Well, you and I are stupid, Deniska! And how I forgot! Finish your haircut! She needs to be scorched in the fire! Understand? That's what everyone does. We will set it on fire, and all the hairs will burn, and there will be no need for a haircut or shaving. Follow me!
And he grabbed the chicken and ran with it to the kitchen. And I'm behind him. We lit a new burner, because there was already a pot of water on one, and began to roast the chicken on the fire. It burned really well and the whole apartment smelled like burnt wool. Dad turned her from side to side and said:
- Now, now! Oh, and good chicken! Now she will be all burnt and will become clean and white...
But the chicken, on the contrary, became somewhat black, all charred, and dad finally turned off the gas.
He said:
“I think it somehow got smoked unexpectedly.” Do you like smoked chicken?
I said:
- No. It's not smoked, it's just covered in soot. Come on, dad, I'll wash her.
He was positively delighted.
- Well done! - he said. -You're smart. You have good heredity. You're all about me. Come on, my friend, take this chimney sweep chicken and wash it thoroughly under the tap, otherwise I’m already tired of this fuss.
And he sat down on the stool.
And I said:
- Now, I’ll get her in an instant!
And I went to the sink and turned on the water, placed our chicken under it and began to rub it with my right hand as hard as I could. The chicken was very hot and terribly dirty, and I immediately got my hands dirty up to my elbows. Dad rocked on the stool.
“This,” I said, “is what you did to her, dad.” Doesn't wash off at all. There is a lot of soot.
“It’s nothing,” said dad, “the soot is only on top.” It can't all be made of soot, can it? Wait a minute!
And dad went into the bathroom and brought me a large piece of strawberry soap.
“Here,” he said, “mine properly!” Lather up!
And I began to soap this unfortunate chicken. She began to look completely dead. I soaped it up pretty well, but it didn’t wash well, dirt was dripping off it, it had been dripping for probably half an hour, but it wasn’t getting any cleaner.
I said:
“This damn rooster is just getting smeared from the soap.”
Then dad said:
- Here's a brush! Take it, rub it well! First the back, and then everything else.
I began to rub. I rubbed as hard as I could, in some places even rubbing the skin. But it was still very difficult for me, because the chicken suddenly seemed to come to life and began to spin in my hands, slide and try to jump out every second. But dad still didn’t leave his stool and kept ordering:
- Stronger than three! More dexterous! Hold your wings! Eh, you! Yes, I see you don’t know how to wash a chicken at all.
I then said:
- Dad, try it yourself!
And I handed him the chicken. But he didn’t have time to take it, when suddenly she jumped out of my hands and galloped off under the farthest cabinet. But dad was not at a loss. He said:
- Give me the mop!
And when I served it, dad began to sweep it out from under the cabinet with a mop. First he scooped out the old mousetrap, then my last year's tin soldier, and I was terribly happy, because I thought I had completely lost him, but here he was, my dear.
Then dad finally pulled out the chicken. She was covered in dust. And dad was all red. But he grabbed her by the paw and dragged her under the tap again. He said:
- Well, now hold on. Blue bird.
And he rinsed it quite clean and put it in the pan. At this time my mother arrived. She said:
-What kind of destruction are you having here?
And dad sighed and said:
- We're cooking chicken.
Mom said:
“They just dipped it in,” said dad.
Mom took the lid off the saucepan.
- Salted? – she asked.
But mom sniffed the saucepan.
- Gutted? - she said.
“Later,” said dad, “when it’s cooked.”
Mom sighed and took the chicken out of the pan. She said:
- Deniska, bring me an apron, please. We'll have to finish everything for you, would-be cooks.
And I ran into the room, took an apron and grabbed my picture from the table. I gave my mother the apron and asked her:
- Well, what did I draw? Guess, mom!
Mom looked and said:
- Sewing machine? Yes?
Transcript
1 Victor Dragunsky Deniska's stories: Chicken broth Mom brought a chicken from the store, large, bluish, with long bony legs. The chicken had a large red comb on its head. Mom hung it outside the window and said: If dad comes earlier, let him cook it. Will you pass it on? With pleasure! And my mother went to college. And I took out watercolors and began to paint. I wanted to draw a squirrel jumping through the trees in the forest, and at first it turned out great, but then I looked and saw that it wasn’t a squirrel at all, but some guy who looked like Moidodyr. The squirrel's tail turned out to be his nose, and the branches on the tree looked like hair, ears and a hat. I was very surprised how this could happen, and when dad came, I said: Guess, dad, what did I draw? He looked and thought: Fire? What are you doing, dad? Take a good look! Then dad looked properly and said: Oh, sorry, it’s probably football. You’re kind of inattentive! Are you probably tired? And he: No, I just want to eat. Don't know what's for lunch? There's a chicken hanging outside the window. Cook it and eat it! Dad unhooked the chicken from the window and put it on the table. It's easy to say, cook! You can cook it. Cooking is nonsense. The question is, in what form should we eat it? You can prepare at least a hundred wonderful nutritious dishes from chicken. You can, for example, make simple chicken cutlets, or you can roll up a ministerial schnitzel with grapes! I read about it! You can make such a cutlet on the bone, it’s called “Kyiv” and you’ll lick your fingers. You can boil chicken with noodles, or you can press it with an iron, pour garlic over it and you will get, like in Georgia, “tobacco chicken.” It’s possible, finally, but I interrupted him. You, dad, cook something simple, without irons. Something, you know, the fastest! Dad immediately agreed: That's right, son! What is important to us? Eat quickly! You've captured the essence. What can you cook faster? The answer is simple and clear: broth! Dad even rubbed his hands. I asked: Do you know how to make broth? But dad just laughed. What can you do here? His eyes even sparkled. The broth is simpler than steamed turnips: put it in water and wait for it to cook, that’s all the wisdom. It's decided! We cook the broth, and very soon we will have a two-course dinner: for the first broth with bread, for the second boiled, hot, steaming chicken. Well, throw down your Repin brush and let's help!
2 What should I do? Look! You see, there are some hairs on the chicken. You should cut them off, because I don’t like shaggy broth. You cut off these hairs, while I go to the kitchen and put the water on boil! And he went to the kitchen. And I took my mother’s scissors and began to trim the hairs on the chicken one by one. At first I thought that there would be few of them, but then I looked closer and saw that there were a lot, even too many. And I began to cut them, and tried to cut them quickly, like in a hairdresser, and clicked the scissors in the air as I moved from hair to hair. Dad entered the room, looked at me and said: Take off more from the sides, otherwise it will look like boxing! He doesn’t get his hair cut very quickly, but then dad suddenly slaps himself on the forehead: “Oh my God!” Well, you and I are stupid, Deniska! And how I forgot! Finish your haircut! She needs to be scorched in the fire! Understand? That's what everyone does. We will set it on fire, and all the hairs will burn, and there will be no need for a haircut or shaving. Follow me! And he grabbed the chicken and ran with it to the kitchen. And I'm behind him. We lit a new burner, because there was already a pot of water on one, and began to roast the chicken on the fire. It burned really well and the whole apartment smelled like burnt wool. Dad turned her from side to side and said: Now, now! Oh, and good chicken! Now she will be all burnt and will become clean and white. But the chicken, on the contrary, became kind of black, all sort of charred, and dad finally turned off the gas. He said: I think it suddenly got smoked. Do you like smoked chicken? No. It's not smoked, it's just covered in soot. Come on, dad, I'll wash her. He was positively delighted. Well done! he said. You're smart. You have good heredity. You're all about me. Come on, my friend, take this chimney sweep chicken and wash it thoroughly under the tap, otherwise I’m already tired of this fuss. And he sat down on the stool. And I said: Now, I’ll get her in an instant! And I went to the sink and turned on the water, placed our chicken under it and began to rub it with my right hand as hard as I could. The chicken was very hot and terribly dirty, and I immediately got my hands dirty up to my elbows. Dad rocked on the stool.
3 Here, I said, what have you done to her, dad? Doesn't wash off at all. There is a lot of soot. It’s nothing, dad said, soot is only on top. It can't all be made of soot, can it? Wait a minute! And dad went into the bathroom and brought me a large piece of strawberry soap. Here, he said, mine properly! Lather up! And I began to soap this unfortunate chicken. She began to look completely dead. I soaped it up pretty well, but it didn’t wash well, dirt was dripping off it, it had been dripping for probably half an hour, but it wasn’t getting any cleaner. This damn rooster is just getting smeared with soap. Then dad said: Here is the brush! Take it, rub it well! First the back, and then everything else. I began to rub. I rubbed as hard as I could, in some places even rubbing the skin. But it was still very difficult for me, because the chicken suddenly seemed to come to life and began to spin in my hands, slide and try to jump out every second. But dad still didn’t move from his stool and kept commanding: Three strong! More dexterous! Hold your wings! Eh, you! Yes, I see you don’t know how to wash a chicken at all. I then said: Dad, try it yourself! And I handed him the chicken. But he didn’t have time to take it, when suddenly she jumped out of my hands and galloped off under the farthest cabinet. But dad was not at a loss. He said: Give me the mop! And when I served it, dad began to sweep it out from under the cabinet with a mop. First he scooped out the old mousetrap, then my last year's tin soldier, and I was terribly happy, because I thought I had completely lost him, but here he was, my dear. Then dad finally pulled out the chicken. She was covered in dust. And dad was all red. But he grabbed her by the paw and dragged her under the tap again. He said: Well, now hold on. Blue bird. And he rinsed it quite clean and put it in the pan. At this time my mother arrived. She said: What kind of destruction are you having here? And dad sighed and said: We’re cooking chicken. Mom said: How long ago? They just dipped it in, dad said. Mom took the lid off the saucepan. Salted? she asked. Then, dad said, when it’s cooked. But mom sniffed the saucepan. Gutted? she said. Then, dad said, when it’s cooked. Mom sighed and took the chicken out of the pan. She said: Deniska, bring me an apron, please. We'll have to finish everything for you, would-be cooks. And I ran into the room, took an apron and grabbed my picture from the table. I gave my mother the apron and asked her:
4 Well, what did I draw? Guess, mom! Mom looked and said: Sewing machine? Yes? - THE END Deniska's stories: He is alive and glowing One evening I was sitting in the yard, near the sand, and waiting for my mother. She probably stayed late at the institute, or at the store, or maybe stood at the bus stop for a long time. Don't know. Only all the parents in our yard had already arrived, and all the kids went home with them and were probably already drinking tea with bagels and feta cheese, but my mother was still not there. And now the lights began to light up in the windows, and the radio started playing music, and dark clouds were moving in the sky, they looked like bearded old men. And I wanted to eat, but my mother was still not there, and I thought that if I knew that my mother was hungry and was waiting for me somewhere at the end of the world, I would he immediately ran to her, rather than being late and making her sit on the sand and be bored. And at that time Mishka came out into the yard. He said: Great! And I said: Great! Mishka sat down with me and picked up the dump truck. Wow! said Mishka. Where did you get it? Does he pick up sand himself? Not yourself? Does he leave on his own? Yes? What about the pen? What is it for? Can it be rotated? Yes? A? Wow! Will you give it to me at home? No, I won't. Present. Dad gave it to me before he left. The bear pouted and moved away from me. It became even darker outside. I looked at the gate so as not to miss when my mother came. But she still didn’t go. Apparently, I met Aunt Rosa, and they stand and talk and don’t even think about me. I lay down on the sand. Then Mishka says: Can you give me a dump truck? Get off it, Mishka.
5 Then Mishka says: I can give you one Guatemala and two Barbados for it! I say: I compared Barbados to a dump truck. And Mishka: Well, do you want me to give you a swimming ring? I say: Yours is burst. And Mishka: You will seal it! I even got angry: Where can I swim? In the bathroom? On Tuesdays? And Mishka pouted again. And then he says: Well, it wasn’t! Know my kindness! On! And he handed me a box of matches. I took it in my hands. Open it, said Mishka, then you will see! I opened the box and at first I didn’t see anything, and then I saw a small light green light, as if somewhere far, far away from me a tiny star was burning, and at the same time I myself was holding it in my hands. What is this, Mishka, I said in a whisper, what is this? This is a firefly, said Mishka. What, good? He's alive, don't think about it. Bear, I said, take my dump truck, do you want it? Take it forever, forever! Give me this star, I’ll take it home. And Mishka grabbed my dump truck and ran home. And I stayed with my firefly, looked at it, looked and couldn’t get enough of it: how green it was, as if in a fairy tale, and how close it was, in the palm of my hand, but shining as if from afar. And I couldn’t breathe evenly, and I I heard my heart beating and there was a slight tingling in my nose, as if I wanted to cry. And I sat like that for a long time, a very long time. And there was no one around. And I forgot about everyone in this world. But then my mother came, and I was very happy, and we went home. And when they started drinking tea with bagels and feta cheese, my mother asked: Well, how is your dump truck? And I said: I, mom, exchanged it. Mom said: Interesting! And for what? I answered: To the firefly! Here he is, living in a box. Turn out the light! And mom turned off the light, and the room became dark, and the two of us began to look at the pale green star. Then mom turned on the light. Yes, she said, it's magic! But still, how did you decide to give such a valuable thing as a dump truck for this worm? I've been waiting for you for so long, I said, and I was so bored, and this firefly, it turned out to be better than any dump truck in the world. Mom looked at me intently and asked: Why, why exactly is he better? How come you don’t understand?! After all, he is alive! And it glows!.. - THE END -
6 Deniska's stories: What I like and what I don't like! What I love I really like to lie on my stomach on my dad’s knee, lower my arms and legs and hang on my knee like laundry on a fence. I also really like to play checkers, chess and dominoes, just to be sure to win. If you don't win, then don't. I love listening to a beetle digging around in a box. And on a day off I like to crawl into my dad’s bed in the morning to talk to him about the dog: how we will live more spaciously, and buy a dog, and work with it, and feed it, and how funny and smart it will be, and how she will steal sugar, and I will wipe up the puddles after her, and she will follow me like a faithful dog. I also like to watch TV: it doesn’t matter what they show, even if it’s just tables. I like to breathe with my nose into my mother's ear. I especially love to sing and always sing very loudly. I really love stories about red cavalrymen and how they always win. I like to stand in front of the mirror and grimace, as if I were Parsley from the puppet theater. I also really love sprats. I love reading fairy tales about Kanchila. This is such a small, smart and mischievous doe. She has cheerful eyes, and small horns, and pink polished hooves. When we live more spaciously, we will buy ourselves Kanchilya, he will live in the bathroom. I also like to swim where it’s shallow so I can hold onto the sandy bottom with my hands. I like to wave a red flag at demonstrations and blow the “go away!” horn. I really like making phone calls. I love to plan, saw, I know how to sculpt the heads of ancient warriors and bison, and I sculpted a capercaillie and a tsarpuska. I love to give all this. When I read, I like to chew on a cracker or something else. I love guests. I also really love snakes, lizards and frogs. They're so clever. I carry them in my pockets. I like to have a snake on the table when I have lunch. I love it when grandma shouts about the frog: “Take away this disgusting thing!” and runs out of the room.
7 I love to laugh Sometimes I don’t feel like laughing at all, but I force myself, I squeeze the laughter out of myself and look, after five minutes it really becomes funny. When I'm in a good mood, I like to jump. One day my dad and I went to the zoo, and I was jumping around him on the street, and he asked: What are you jumping about? And I said: I jump that you are my dad! He got it! I love going to the zoo! There are wonderful elephants there. And there is one baby elephant. When we live more spaciously, we will buy a baby elephant. I'll build him a garage. I really like to stand behind the car when it snorts and sniff the gasoline. I like to go to a cafe to eat ice cream and wash it down with sparkling water. It makes my nose tingle and tears come to my eyes. When I run down the hallway, I like to stomp my feet as hard as I can. I love horses very much, they have such beautiful and kind faces. I love a lot of things! and what I don’t like! What I don’t like is having my teeth treated. As soon as I see a dental chair, I immediately want to run to the ends of the world. I also don’t like to stand on a chair and read poetry when guests come. I don’t like it when mom and dad go to the theater. I can’t stand soft-boiled eggs, when they are shaken up in a glass, crumbled into bread and forced to eat. I also don’t like it when my mother goes for a walk with me and suddenly meets Aunt Rose! Then they only talk to each other, and I just don’t know what to do. I don’t like wearing a new suit; I feel like wood in it. When we play red and white, I don't like being white. Then I quit the game and that's it! And when I'm red, I don't like to be captured. I'm still running away. I don't like it when people beat me. I don’t like to play “loaf” when it’s my birthday: I’m not little. I don't like it when guys wonder.
9 passed. As soon as they come, they say: “Make devils!” Well, we sculpt, and they play chess. It's crazy, said Boris Sergeevich. Pads! We'll have to figure it out! Stop! And he suddenly laughed cheerfully. How many boys do you have in the first “B”? Fifteen, said Mishka, and there are twenty-five girls. Here Boris Sergeevich burst out laughing. And I said: In general, in our country there are more women than men. But Boris Sergeevich waved me off. That's not what I'm talking about. It’s just interesting to see how Raisa Ivanovna receives fifteen pillows as a gift! Okay, listen: how many of you are going to congratulate your mothers on May Day? Then it was our turn to laugh. You, Boris Sergeevich, are probably joking, it was not enough to congratulate you on May. But what’s wrong is that you need to congratulate your mothers on May Day. And this is ugly: congratulations only once a year. And if you congratulate every holiday, it will be like a knight. Well, who knows what a knight is? He is on a horse and wearing an iron suit. Boris Sergeevich nodded. Yes, it was like that for a long time. And when you grow up, you will read a lot of books about knights, but even now, if they say about someone that he is a knight, then this means that they mean a noble, selfless and generous person. And I think that every pioneer should definitely be a knight. Raise your hands, who's the knight here? We all raised our hands. I knew it, said Boris Sergeevich, go, knights! We went home. And on the way, Mishka said: Okay, I’ll buy mom some sweets, I have money. And so I came home, and there was no one at home. And I even felt annoyed. For once I wanted to be a knight, but I have no money! And then, as luck would have it, Mishka came running, in his hands an elegant box with the inscription: “May Day.” The bear says: Done, now I’m a knight for twenty-two kopecks. Why are you sitting? Bear, are you a knight? I said. Knight, says Mishka. Then lend it. Mishka was upset: I spent every penny. What to do? Look, says Mishka, because twenty kopecks is a small coin, maybe there’s at least one somewhere, let’s look.
10 And we crawled around the whole room, behind the sofa and under the closet, and I shook out all my mother’s shoes, and even picked her powder with my finger. Not anywhere. Suddenly Mishka opened the cupboard: Wait, what is this? Where? I say. Oh, these are bottles. Don't you see? There are two wines here: one bottle is black and the other is yellow. This is for guests, guests will come to us tomorrow. Mishka says: Eh, if only your guests had come yesterday and you would have had money. How is that? And bottles, says Mishka, and they give money for empty bottles. On the corner. It's called "Glass Container Reception"! Why were you silent before! Now we will settle this matter. Give me the compote jar, it’s on the window over there. Mishka handed me the jar, and I opened the bottle and poured blackish-red wine into the jar. That's right, said Mishka. What will happen to him?.. Well, of course, I said. Where's the second one? But here, says Mishka, does it matter? And this wine, and that wine. Well, yes, I said. If one were wine and the other kerosene, then it would be impossible, but this would be even better. Hold the jar. And we poured the second bottle in there too. Put it on the window! So. Cover it with a saucer, and now let's run! And we set off. For these two bottles they gave us twenty-four kopecks. And I bought my mother some sweets. They gave me two more kopecks in change. I came home cheerful, because I became a knight, and as soon as mom and dad arrived, I said: Mom, I’m a knight now. Boris Sergeevich taught us! Mom said: Well, tell me! I told her that tomorrow I would surprise my mother. Mom said: Where did you get the money? Mom, I handed over the empty dishes. Here's two kopecks in change. Then dad said: Well done! Give me two kopecks for the machine! We sat down to dinner. Then dad leaned back in his chair and smiled: “Kompotik.” Sorry, I didn’t have time today, my mother said. But dad winked at me: What is this? I noticed it a long time ago. And he went to the window, took off the saucer and took a sip straight from the can. But what happened! Poor dad coughed as if he had drunk a glass of nails. He shouted in a voice that was not his own: What is this? What kind of poison is this?! Dad, don't be scared! It's not poison. These are two of your wines! Here dad staggered a little and turned pale. What two wines?! he shouted louder than before. Black and yellow, I said, were in the buffet. Most importantly, don’t be scared. Dad ran to the buffet and opened the door. Then he blinked his eyes and began to rub his chest. He
11 looked at me with such surprise, as if I was not an ordinary boy, but some blue or speckled boy. Are you surprised, dad? I poured your two wines into a jar, otherwise where would I get empty dishes? Think for yourself! Mom screamed: Oh! And she fell on the sofa. She started laughing, so hard that I thought she would feel bad. I couldn’t understand anything, and dad shouted: Do you want to laugh? Well, laugh! By the way, this knight of yours will drive me crazy, but I’d better beat him out first so that he forgets his knightly manners once and for all. And dad began to pretend that he was looking for a belt. Where is he? Dad shouted. Give me this Ivanhoe here! Where did he go? And I was behind the closet. I've been there for a long time just in case. And then dad was very worried about something. He shouted: Have you ever heard of pouring a collectible black “Muscat” from the 1954 vintage into a jar and diluting it with Zhiguli beer?! And my mother was exhausted from laughing. She barely said: After all, he has the best intentions. After all, he is a knight. I will die of laughter. And she continued to laugh. And dad rushed around the room a little more and then, out of the blue, came up to mom. He said: How I love your laughter. And he leaned over and kissed his mother. And then I calmly crawled out from behind the closet. - END -
“He is alive and glowing...” One evening I sat in the yard, near the sand, and waited for my mother. She probably stayed late at the institute, or at the store, or maybe stood at the bus stop for a long time. Don't know.
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Dmitry Narkisovich Mamin-Sibiryak Tale about the brave Hare Long Ears, Slanting Eyes, Short Tail Series “Anthology for primary school» Series “The latest reading book on literature. 2nd grade" Series "Russian
Alina Perminova My first book Drawings by the author. 2014 Puppy Two girls were walking down the street with their puppy. The girls' names were Masha and Katya. The puppy saw the bone, and Masha accidentally let go of the leash. The puppy ran away.
Game-experimentation with young children “Snow Magic”. Goal: Introducing young children to the natural world. Objectives: Educational Teach children to use adjectives (cold,
Russian 5 Homework February 14 Name.. Task 1: Learn one of G. Oster’s bad advice Task 2: Read the story of V. Dragunsky The secret always becomes clear I heard my mother in the corridor
Educational system “School 2100” Intellectual and personal marathon “Your capabilities 2013” Task 1. School tour 4th grade Answers “Girl to “You must have” “What loves “By” the ball” a sense of humor “Bear”
MDOU DS s. Pushanina Entertainment according to traffic rules for younger children preschool age“How the cat got acquainted with the rules of the road” mixed-age group 1 Teacher Soinova O.M. With. Pushana summer 2016
THE ADVENTURES OF PALMMA BOOK ONE: THE GREEN FENCE AUTHOR OF THE IDEA: Vladimir Maksimovich Solomatin (nicknamed Max) Don’t look at how formidable he is. He's actually very kind. THIS STORY DRAWN BY: Ilya Solomatin
Scenario of the matinee dedicated to International Women's Day on March 8 in the second junior group, 2016 Prepared by: teacher Guskova O.V. Presenter: Today is a special day, there are so many smiles in it. Gifts
FEBRUARY 11, 2018 Name: Homework 18 Topic: Combinations -CHN- -CHK-. Task 1. Tasks from the textbook. Tasks 107, 110 on pp. 60-61. Remove one or two letters. Write down the words you receive. Dudochka fishing rod, daughter
Mother's Day Children play music together with the teacher and enter the hall. 1st presenter. Dear mothers, dear grandmothers! Dear women! This autumn evening is dedicated to you! Happy Mother's Day to you, dears! May this holiday
FEBRUARY 9, 2014 Name:_ Homework 17 Topic: Repetition. Writing ZHI-SHI, CHA-SCHA, CHU-SHCHU. Task 1. Guess the riddles. A bag of water flew over you, over me. Ran into a distant forest, lost weight and disappeared.
Scenario for the holiday on March 8 “Little Red Riding Hood visiting the children” second junior group Goal: Create festive mood children, evoke an emotional response to the festive action. Objectives: Develop emotional
The Tale of the Three Little Pigs Once upon a time there lived an old pig with three little pigs. She herself could no longer feed her piglets and sent them around the world to seek happiness. So the first little pig went and met
Scenario for the holiday MARCH 8 senior group(Children enter the hall to the music and stand in a semicircle) Spring does not begin with flowers, there are many reasons for this. It starts with warm words, with sparkle in eyes and smiles.
Average March 8 “Holiday Album” for children middle group. Children enter the hall to the music and stop near the chairs VED: We are starting a festive concert dedicated to our lovely women, dear mother,
New Year's scenario for children junior group“The Magic Mitten” 2014 Presenter: Winter brought our wonderful holiday, the green tree came to the children. She was dressed up, toys were hung up, everyone will be at the Christmas tree
I love my mother very much, Nursery Chanterelle. Children with their mothers enter the hall to the music. The sun smiled tenderly at us, A holiday is coming, a holiday for our mothers. On this bright spring day you came to visit us together
2 ABOUT THE ELEPHANT We were approaching India by boat. They were supposed to come in the morning. I changed my shift, was tired and couldn’t fall asleep: I kept thinking about how it would be there. It’s like if they brought me a whole box of toys when I was a child.
