Пролетая над гнездом кукушки

           IwatchedthatbigOregonprairiemoonabovemeputallthestarsaroundittoshame.Ikeptawakewatching,toseeifthemoonevergotdimmerorifthestarsgotbrighter,tillthedewcommencedtodriftontomycheeksandIhadtopullablanketovermyhead.

           Somethingmovedonthegroundsdownbeneathmywindow—castalongspiderofshadowoutacrossthegrassasitranoutofsightbehindahedge.WhenitranbacktowhereIcouldgetabetterlook,Isawitwasadog,ayoung,ganglymongrelslippedofffromhometofindoutaboutthingswentonafterdark.Hewassniffingdiggersquirrelholes,notwithanotiontogodiggingafteronebutjusttogetanideawhattheywereuptoatthishour.He’drunhismuzzledownahole,buttupintheairandtailgoing,thendashofftoanother.Themoonglistenedaroundhimonthewetgrass,andwhenheranhelefttrackslikedabsofdarkpaintspatteredacrosstheblueshineofthelawn.Gallopingfromoneparticularlyinterestingholetothenext,hebecamesotookwithwhatwascomingoff—themoonupthere,thenight,thebreezefullofsmellssowildmakesayoungdogdrunk—thathehadtoliedownonhisbackandroll.Hetwistedandthrashedaroundlikeafish,backbowedandbellyup,andwhenhegottohisfeetandshookhimselfaspraycameoffhiminthemoonlikesilverscales.

           Hesniffedalltheholesoveragainonequickone,togetthesmellsdowngood,thensuddenlyfrozestillwithonepawliftedandhisheadtilted,listening.