"Dexter-HerdingInstinct" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dexter Colin)

the more. Corlinn steeled himself to ignore her noise, which would surely cease
when she resigned herself to her fate. The howling did not abate. It grew
frenzied, hysterical. Scrabbling sounds joined it. Sleep was impossible. Corlinn
relented, and opened the door. Mai tumbled in. The face of the door was scarred
from her frantic attempts to gain entry. It looked as if a bear had been at it.
She fell asleep at his feet, all innocence and having quite forgiven him for
locking her out.

Such peace was a rare novelty. Mai enjoyed dragging Corlinn's cloak to the
floor, to lie upon-- and to chew the hem out of, so that he discovered the
garment soggy and ripped, shoved under the bedstead. He reprimanded the puppy
sternly -- and often. But if she could not obtain the cherished cloak, Mai was
happy to chew on his books -- removing them carefully from the shelves first,
while she selected the most toothsome among them. Height was no obstacle, not to
Mai. Corlinn's boots also suffered, were pocked by teeth. The dog found the
tended earth of the herb garden ideal for crafting holes -- a practice Corlinn
generally discovered when, wondering why Mai had left him untroubled for an
hour's space, he stepped outdoors and literally stumbled upon the destruction.
He forbade her to sleep on his bed, yet there each dawning was Mai, crept
stealthily in after he had dropped off, curled at his back. As she grew, she
took a larger share of bed and blanket, heedlessly.

Then, she began to wander. To the river, where she learned to swim by leaping
dauntlessly into the water -- frightening the pike Corlinn was clumsily
attempting to lure into his fish-weir. Into the woods -- where she found smelly
things without number, to be rolled in, their stench fetched proudly home like a
trophy. If she found naught else, there was always mud --Mai would come home
covered with it, ears to paws, and share out her bounty gladly with a clean
cloak or bedcover.

All these things distressed, but what Corlinn minded most was her nose, thrust
suddenly and coldly into his ribs or the side of his elbow while he was
peaceably engaged in his studies. Always it startled him, sometimes he actually
shouted. Several times he was minded to return the blow, no matter that Mai
meant it only as a friendly greeting, or a request for his attention. He
forbore, mostly, because his guilt afterward much eclipsed any fleeting
satisfaction got from his churlish behavior.

Corlinn told himself that Mai was older every day-- that surely matters would
change for the better by the end of the coming winter, when she would be more
mature, more settled. But it remained true that he had retreated to this lonely
spot because it was lonely. He had not desired company, even a dog's, and there
were many times he heartily wished he had let the shepherd take Mai away, to
whatever fate would have been hers. Cats, owls, snakes -those were the proper
familiars for a wizard who desired the advantage of their link to animal wisdom
--not a reckless, enthusiastic, reckless puppy. In short, Corlinn remembered
that he had never wanted a dog, and chose to forget why his heart had softened.

As all dogs will, Mai from time to time looked at things that were not there--
especially when winter's shrill winds blew. Corlinn knew this was no sign of