The old man slowly approached a large stone, warmed by the sun. He tossed his rifle onto the ground, sat down on it, and stretched out his legs with relish. Every morning after breakfast, his wife would shoo him outside. She’d hand him the old double-barrel shotgun and say cheerfully, “Why don’t you go hunting, granddad? No point sitting around the house.”
There were good reasons for it. The elderly man had once suffered a heart attack. The doctors had strongly recommended daily walks. His wife kept a strict eye on it, and he understood perfectly well himself. Armed with the useless gun, he’d wander through woods and fields, his German shepherd trotting alongside—a loyal old friend.
Tired from the long walk, he always rested on the stone. He delighted in the birdsong, breathed in the scents of plants, and gazed at the clouds drifting across the sky. The faithful dog never left his elderly owner’s side. It seemed he, too, was listening intently to nature. He’d lie on the warm grass, surveying the world around him, occasionally distracted by rabbits. Spotting a shadow flitting nearby, the shepherd would leap up, bark briefly, and settle back down. That was their kind of hunting!
A few weeks ago, the merry band of “hunters” had grown with the addition of a tiny kitten. His wife had taken it from a neighbor, fallen in love with it, and didn’t want to let it out of the yard. She was afraid it would get lost. But shaking off the adorable fluffy creature was impossible. The old man shouted and stamped his foot, all to no avail. The kitten stubbornly trailed behind and meowed loudly. So they all arrived together at the cherished warm stone.
While the man and the old dog blissfully rested in the sunshine, the kitten tumbled in the grass. It raced in circles, leaped nimbly, and chased colorful butterflies. Though often enough, the shepherd got the brunt of it.
Pressing close to the ground, the kitten would creep up stealthily, nip the dog’s tail, and bolt into the bushes. The dog would give chase, and a joyful game of tag would erupt on the clearing.
Then, weary from running, the dog would settle importantly beside his master and begin lecturing the little one.
— You’re always dashing about, never giving anyone peace. Do you know trees don’t like fuss? When it’s too noisy, they fall silent.
The kitten would stare wide-eyed in amazement and ask curiously:
— Daddy, what does it mean, trees fall silent? Can they talk?
— Of course they can; they’re alive, after all — the old wise shepherd would reply knowingly — only not everyone knows how to listen.
And the gray fluffy kitten would quiet down for a short while. Just five minutes—no more than that. He’d gaze intently at the trees, twitch his funny pointed ears, and listen to the rustle of leaves. Then he’d suddenly spring up and chase a passing butterfly. The shepherd would wrinkle his nose in displeasure and look sadly at his master.
— All right, don’t be upset. He’s still so young; what can you expect? Let him play! — the old man would say with a smile. — When our kitten grows up, he’ll surely understand how important it is to learn to hear the silence.
And so the two of them sat. Silent, occasionally sighing, lost in their own thoughts, listening, listening, listening.
A year passed, then another, and a third. Another beautiful warm summer arrived. On one fine sunny day, the pensioner, as always, settled on the stone. The grown gray cat still raced energetically around the clearing. The old man looked at the clear sky, stroked his faithful canine friend, closed his eyes, and listened to the silence. He never opened them again. The shepherd glanced at his master, whined mournfully, pressed against the warm stone, and slumped powerless.
Evening came, and loud, anxious meowing sounded outside the window. The mistress stepped into the yard and realized the cat had returned alone. She called her sons. Together they headed into the woods and came to that very stone.
The old man was buried beside the dog. They say it’s not proper. But how can you separate friends? Let them be together.
The orphaned cat seemed transformed. He sat sadly in the corner, barely eating or drinking. Finally, the old man’s wife couldn’t bear it and said:
— I think I’ll take a walk in the woods. You wouldn’t let me go hunting alone, would you?
She slung the old unloaded rifle over her shoulder and slowly went outside. In the middle of the yard, she glanced back. The cat reluctantly followed. And so they reached the clearing. There were dragonflies and butterflies again, sunshine and the scent of grass. The cat’s playful nature unexpectedly took over. The gray fluffy friend leaped joyfully and began running in circles. The woman watched him and smiled.
Day after day passed like this. The woman would settle on the warm stone. The cat would romp a bit. Then, tired from running, he’d sit beside his mistress, squint in the bright sun, and begin listening attentively.
One day, her son decided to cheer the woman up and gave her a tiny German shepherd puppy. “Here’s another friend for you! You can go hunting together.”
The old lady was delighted, and the cat grew a little nervous. But soon he got used to the restless little one and started teaching him. He’d watch the clumsy puppy race around the clearing, snapping at grass, tumbling, and jumping up again. He’d chuckle and purr wisely:
— Enough, enough running already. You’re making all this noise, and the trees don’t like it. In such a rush, they fall silent. Better sit down and listen to what they’re saying.
— Papa, Papa, can trees really talk? — the puppy would ask in astonishment.
— Oh, they certainly can, silly little one. When you finally calm down and listen, you’ll understand it all yourself.
Then the puppy would freeze, straining his ears desperately, staring at the trees. But all he heard was the rustle of leaves. And within five minutes, the little fidgety pup would bark and dash after a dragonfly.
The elderly woman would smile, pick up the cat, and whisper to him:
— There, don’t worry. He’s still so small. He’ll grow up and wise up. Let him run. You and I will sit here and listen. The trees have so many stories!
That’s what it is—this wordless conversation. How wonderful to hear and understand each other without words! Then even the trees in the old woods will tell you so much.
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