Around the same time and in the same places, another dog named Bom-kli-ver became famous for its speed. Some claim that she was not a dog, but a fox. But no, she was a dog - a dog that hunts foxes, they are now called fox terriers. This fox terrier belonged to a miller named Larkin Snow, who lived in approximately the same area as Uncle Davy Lane, although, as is known, they never met each other.
Larkin was a big fan of fox hunting. The barking of the dogs chasing the fox was the sweetest music to his ears. Of all the dogs, Bom Cleaver was the fastest and most stubborn. Larkin was very proud of him, and when one day the hunters were showing off their dogs, he spoke of the special merits of his.
“Bring your dogs and I’ll pit my Bom Cleaver against any of them,” Larkin said.
He whistled to his terrier and showed it to the hunters. But they burst out laughing, because, to be honest, Bom the Cleaver was completely unprepossessing. Strong, but short and slightly cross-eyed, although, however, this disadvantage could be considered an advantage, because the dog could, therefore, look in different directions at the same time. Owners of pampered, well-fed, non-cross-eyed dogs, without hesitation, made a bet with Larkin.
The next morning they brought their well-groomed dogs and at dawn, together with Larkin and his Bom-cleaver, they set out on a hike. The sun had just risen when a pack of fifty dogs on the western slope of Camp Rocks picked up the scent of a red fox. The fox ran away, and all the dogs, including Bom-cleaver, rushed after her with a loud bark, deafening as if a dozen organs. The fox raced toward Saddle Peak, then around Scott Knob, toward Cider Ridge, across Fisher River and around Sugar Loaf, then back toward Rock Camp Mountain, where Larkin and the other hunters were waiting to take her. Bom the Cleaver flew at the heels of the fox, a good half mile ahead of the other dogs, who were completely exhausted.
On the fox's path there was a meadow, and in the middle of it lay a scythe - some farmer had forgotten it there when he went to chop wood. The scythe lay with the blade up, and Bom~ the cleaver did not notice it: either his slanted eyes let him down, looking in the wrong place, or he was too carried away by the chase. In a word, he didn’t notice the braid and ran straight into it, so much so that it cut him lengthwise from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, exactly in half.
Larkin rushed as fast as he could to the place where the Jib-Jib had fallen. The dog didn't even whine. Larkin quickly grabbed both halves and put them together. Only out of excitement I got it mixed up, and the paws on the left turned up, and the paws on the right turned down.
However, Bom the Cleaver immediately jumped to his feet as if nothing had happened and rushed after the fox. Or rather, on two legs, yes, but which ones first, on the right or on the left, is now difficult to say for sure. He chased the fox to Saddle Summit, then around Scott Knob to Cider Ridge and back to Craggy Camp Mountain. When he flew past Larkin, the other dogs were already a mile behind him. He grabbed the fox on the eastern slope of Kemp Rocks, and he and Larkin sat down to rest and wait for the hunters with their dogs.
They had to wait a long time, because the other dogs were running with their tongues hanging out - tongues to the ground, that's how - and they kept tripping over them, and every now and then they lay down to rest. The hunters, too, were completely out of breath and could barely breathe when they saw Larkin and Bom-cleaver sitting next to each other, and a dead fox on the ground. But when they looked more closely at the Bom-cleaver, their eyes widened and they burst into loud laughter,
- Well, what is the name of this breed of dog? - one of them asked Larkin. - If I had such a dog, I would give it to the circus, no less.
“This is a fox hunter,” Larkin said proudly. - Champion of fox terriers! A special kind.
The hunters had no choice but to admit that Larkin’s champion was indeed the fastest dog in the world, but they still could not understand why.
“Oh, it’s very simple,” Larkin undertook to explain to them. “When he gets tired of running on his right legs, he quickly turns over and runs on his left.
What is your response to this? The hunters had to pay for the lost bet. They tried to buy Larkin's Bom Jib for their pack, but Larkin said:
“You can’t buy this special type of fox terrier even for a million gold bars!” Because this is the only copy in this entire region, or even in the entire state, no, what is it, in the whole of America!
The boom cleaver lived happily to a very old age. After this hunt, he more than once happened to run, first on one paw, then on the other, but now it’s hard to say which one first, the right or the left.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru