One day my grandfather and I went hunting. They saw a hare and began to chase it. We hit with a club, but we cannot kill. Then I hit him with a Chernobyl rod and killed him. We started lifting him together with grandpa, but we couldn’t lift him. I tried one - picked it up and put it on the cart. Our cart was harnessed by a pair of horses. We whip the horses, but they cannot move the cart. Then we unharnessed one horse and drove the other. We arrived home, my grandfather and I began to remove the hare from the cart, but we couldn’t remove it. I tried one and took it off. I want to bring it in through the door, but it won’t fit, but it went through the window freely. We were going to cook a hare in a cauldron - it didn’t fit, but we put it in the cauldron - there was still room left. I asked my mother to cook the hare, and she began to cook, but didn’t follow: the water began to boil violently in the pot, the hare jumped out, and the cat - right there - ate it. So we never had to try the hare meat.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru