Florian Read Online Free PDF Page B

to Florian.
    Again Anton called, whistled, shouted and whistled again. Bosco could not tear himself away from his friend. The two played all kinds of games, some that had a serious background and were slow-paced, and others so gay and active that they verged on madness.
    When Anton had left and ordered the little dog to come along, Bosco had said to Florian approximately: “Excuse me . . . I’ve got to obey.”
    And Florian’s answer had been something like this: “Too bad . . . too bad.”
    That had torn Bosco’s heart between Anton and Florian. He chased away, rushed back, ran away a second time, came back again and intimated to Florian: “Here I am.”
    And it may be taken for granted Florian answered: “That’s nice of you. I am very pleased.”
    On Bosco’s second return he was all out of breath. He stretched out in front of Florian’s legs and let his tongue dangle from his open snout.
    â€œBosco!” came the sound from afar.
    Bosco listened and closed his mouth. A sigh, indicating: “Oh, I am so tired.” A second one, meaning: “Oh, I would much rather stay with you.”
    Florian bent down and snorted: “Why don’t you, my friend?”
    Sibyl trotted over, bent her head and heartened the terrier with a stare that implied as much as: “You just stay with us.”
    The two horses, mother and son, stood side by side, their heads bent down to the little fellow who lay there and flicked the grass with his tail. Bosco peered up into the dark shining eyes, first into Sibyl’s and then into Florian’s, and waited.
    All at once he sprang up. He had rested long enough. “What do you think?” asked his posture, betraying coiled speed and good humor.
    Florian raised his head sharply. His ears wiggled and his closed lips assumed a gay and curious expression. Sibyl raised her head.
    Like mad Bosco whirled round on his axis, danced for the audience of two. A sign from Florian must have told him: “I am with you.” A sign from Sibyl: “All right.”
    He gave everything he had: breath, legs, heart and brain. He darted away as if shot from a pistol . . . a white, longish projectile streaking across the meadow.
    Florian followed him rather nonchalantly, as if it were but a small matter to catch up, should he so desire.
    Sibyl came after them only to supervise their play, to keep an eye on Florian. She purposely stayed somewhat in the background, adapted her stride to Florian’s. It was obvious that she could easily have shown quite a different speed, but she partook in the game with the controlled energy of a staid grown-up; she wanted to spare her child.
    For a while it amused Florian to keep little Bosco in front of him. Then the desire to overtake him awoke in his breast. He fell into a trot . . . in vain. He forced a still faster pace . . . in vain. He began to pant.
    Sibyl heard that. Lengthening her stride she came abreast of him, forged ahead and thrust herself in his path. His legs dug into the turf, but momentum carried him along until he bumped into his mother’s hard stifle-joint and fell to sucking.
    What a cooling draught. . . .
    Cuddling against his mother’s body he felt her pulse-beat on his lips. His own quickened pulse hammered in his face, neck and temples.
    When the rhythmic double beat of the hooves behind him broke off, Bosco halted in his tracks and looked around, his first sense of triumph changing to perplexity at the disappearance of his two companions. Sniffing, he raised his nose to the air and smelled the scent of many, many horses, yet recognized Sibyl’s scent among all the rest, and easily sifted out Florian’s. In a beeline he went bobbing over to where they were.
    He stood for a few seconds in the shadow of the mother and son, reverently watching the scene which had temporarily ended the game. He had no memory of his