Volkov

We once had a young employee with a simple Russian surname: Volkov.

He joined us while still a student—bright, capable, and eager to gain practical experience.

For my birthday, he brought me a hare.

It was a papier-mâché hare, made with his own hands and carefully decorated with scraps of rabbit fur.

As he presented his gift, Volkov explained:

“What can a young specialist give his manager, a man who already has everything? Only something that will preserve a warm memory of me for years to come. I decided this hare would be perfect. I caught it myself—or rather, I made it. After all, I’m Volkov—a wolf.”

He smiled and continued:

“I made it myself from paper, using the papier-mâché technique. The fur decoration came from scraps I found in the workshop of my father, who is a furrier. This hare cost me nothing. But I put my respect for you, my time, and my skills into it.”

“Sooner or later, our paths will part,” he went on. “But whenever you look at this hare, you will remember Volkov, the young employee who was just beginning his career. And I hope you will remember me with the same warmth with which I created it.”

The hare took its place on a shelf beside my desk.

Volkov was right.

Our paths did eventually part. I am certain that he became a true master of his craft.

And the hare still lives on that shelf.

It was the beginning of my large collection of hares—from drawings and sculpted figurines to genuine totemic symbols.

But most importantly, it shaped the image of the Hare in my mind.

The Hare—with large, powerful front teeth ready to bite into anything; with long, radar-like ears constantly scanning its surroundings; with one sideways-looking eye ceaselessly watching the space beside it; with soft white fur that makes it appear harmless; and with a strong hind leg, ready at any moment to leap into the bushes and vanish without a trace.

But somewhere nearby, there is always a Volkov…

Author: Gleb Ivlev / G Un, 2026