The wolf remembered that, in the summer and autumn, a ram and two ewes were pasturing near the winter hut, and when she had run by not so long ago she fancied that she had heard bleating in the stall.  And now, as she got near the place, she reflected that it was already March, and, by that time, there would certainly be lambs in the stall.  She was tormented by hunger, she thought with what greediness she would eat a lamb, and these thoughts made her teeth snap, and her eyes glitter in the darkness like two sparks of light.

Ignat’s hut, his barn, cattle-stall, and well were surrounded by high snowdrifts.  All was still.  Arapka was, most likely, asleep in the barn.

The wolf clambered over a snowdrift on to the stall, and began scratching away the thatched roof with her paws and her nose.  The straw was rotten and decaying, so that the wolf almost fell through; all at once a smell of warm steam, of manure, and of sheep’s milk floated straight to her nostrils.  Down below, a lamb, feeling the cold, bleated softly.  Leaping through the hole, the wolf fell with her four paws and chest on something soft and warm, probably a sheep, and at the same moment, something in the stall suddenly began whining, barking, and going off into a shrill little yap; the sheep huddled against the wall, and the wolf, frightened, snatched the first thing her teeth fastened on, and dashed away. . . .

She ran at her utmost speed, while Arapka, who by now had scented the wolf, howled furiously, the frightened hens cackled, and Ignat, coming out into the porch, shouted:  “Full speed!  Blow the whistle!”

And he whistled like a steam-engine, and then shouted:  “Ho-ho-ho-ho!” and all this noise was repeated by the forest echo.  When, little by little, it all died away, the wolf somewhat recovered herself, and began to notice that the prey she held in her teeth and dragged along the snow was heavier and, as it were, harder than lambs usually were at that season; and it smelt somehow different, and uttered strange sounds. . . .  The wolf stopped and laid her burden on the snow, to rest and begin eating it, then all at once she leapt back in disgust.  It was not a lamb, but a black puppy, with a big head and long legs, of a large breed, with a white patch on his brow, like Arapka’s.  Judging from his manners he was a simple, ignorant, yard-dog.  He licked his crushed and wounded back, and, as though nothing was the matter, wagged his tail and barked at the wolf.  She growled like a dog, and ran away from him.  He ran after her.  She looked round and snapped her teeth.  He stopped in perplexity, and, probably deciding that she was playing with him, craned his head in the direction he had come from, and went off into a shrill, gleeful bark, as though inviting his mother Arapka to play with him and the wolf.

It was already getting light, and when the wolf reached her home in the thick aspen wood, each aspen tree could be seen distinctly, and the woodcocks were already awake, and the beautiful male birds often flew up, disturbed by the incautious gambols and barking of the puppy.