Friends from Far West
As the remaining snow melted, spring was here. Birds migrated back, smaller animals began to uncover themselves from their holes and tree hollows. A man and his dog was seen for the first day of springs hunt as the sun began to set. The man was seen holding a rifle, accompanied by a large black dog, with stubby legs keeping close to him. The moon which would be bright, was covered. The man heard rustling from the other side of the dense bush. He lunged out and all he could see was a swan. Lowering his rifle, he quietly sighed and his dog sat beside him. As the dog growled at swan, the man gently patted him on the nose. "No, my friend. It is bad luck to kill Swan. Specially on first day of spring." Soon, he pulled some bread and dried meats out. He gave some to his dog, then tossed some bread crumbs to the swan, "here my friend. No reason to leave you out." He tossed several more crumbs the swans way as he gently caressed and scratched the dogs heads, satisfied with a deep, contented hum. "Wish we could see the moon, reminds me of so much of home."
