shades and colours, dark brown, black and tan, black and white, brown and white, red and white, with black ears and with grey ears. … They had all sorts of names, often in the imperative mood: Shoot-away, Growl-away, Dash-away, Fire, Cross-eye, Pointer, Bakewell, Scorcher, Swallow, Hasty, Treasure, Caretaker. With them Nozdryov was just like a father among his children: they all flew to meet and welcome the visitors with their tails in the air in accordance with the rules of canine etiquette. A dozen of them put their paws on Nozdryov's shoulders. Growl-away displayed great affection for Tchitchikov and, getting on his hind-legs, licked him right on the lips, so that our friend turned aside and spat at once. They inspected the dogs the strength of whose 'black flesh' was so amazing—they were fine dogs. Then they went to look at a Crimean bitch who was blind and in Nozdryov's words would soon be dead, but had two years ago been a very good bitch. They looked at the bitch, she certainly was blind. Then they went to look at a water-mill; it had lost the iron ring on which the upper stone rests as it turns rapidly on the axle—whisks round, to use the delightful expression of the Russian peasant. 'And the smithy is close by,' said Nozdryov; and going on a little further they saw the smithy, and that too they inspected.
'Look, in that field,' said Nozdryov, pointing to it, 'there are such masses of hares that you can't see the ground; I caught one by the hind-legs with my own hands.'
