LOMOV. And are you a hunter? You only go hunting to get in with the Count and to intrigue. . . .
Oh, my heart! . . . You’re an intriguer!
CHUBUKOV. What? I an intriguer? [Shouts] Shut up!
LOMOV. Intriguer!
CHUBUKOV. Boy! Pup!
LOMOV. Old rat! Jesuit!
CHUBUKOV. Shut up or I’ll shoot you like a partridge! You fool!
LOMOV. Everybody knows thatoh
my heart!your
late wife used to beat you. . . . My feet . . .
temples . . . sparks. . . . I fall, I fall!
CHUBUKOV. And you’re under the slipper of your housekeeper!

LOMOV. And with good reason. The dogs are running after a fox, when Squeezer goes and
starts worrying a sheep!
CHUBUKOV. It’s not true! . . . My dear fellow, I’m very liable to lose my temper, and so, just
because of that, let’s stop arguing. You started because everybody is always jealous of
everybody else’s dogs. Yes, we’re all like that! You too, sir, aren’t blameless! You no sooner
notice that some dog is better than your Guess than you begin with this, that . . . and the other
. . . and all that. . . . I remember everything!
LOMOV. I remember too!
CHUBUKOV. [Teasing him] I remember, too. . . . What do you remember?
LOMOV. My heart . . . my foot’s gone to sleep. . . . I can’t. . .
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. [Teasing] My heart. . . . What sort of a hunter are you? You ought to
go and lie on the kitchen oven and catch blackbeetles, not go after foxes! My heart!
CHUBUKOV. Yes really, what sort of a hunter are you, anyway? You ought to sit at home with
your palpitations, and not go tracking animals. You could go hunting, but you only go to argue
with people and interfere with their dogs and so on. Let’s change the subject in case I lose my
temper. You’re not a hunter at all, anyway!

LOMOV. Stepan Stepanovitch, I implore you to tell me just one thing: is your Squeezer
overshot or not? Yes or no?
CHUBUKOV. And suppose he is? What does it matter? He’s the best dog in the district for all
that, and so on.
LOMOV. But isn’t my Guess better? Really, now?
CHUBUKOV. Don’t excite yourself, my precious one. . . . Allow me. . . . Your Guess certainly
has his good points. . . . He’s purebred,
firm on his feet, has wellsprung
ribs, and all that. But,
my dear man, if you want to know the truth, that dog has two defects: he’s old and he’s short
in the muzzle.
LOMOV. Excuse me, my heart. . . . Let’s take the facts. . . . You will remember that on the
Marusinsky hunt my Guess ran neckandneck
with the Count’s dog, while your Squeezer was
left a whole verst behind.
CHUBUKOV. He got left behind because the Count’s whipperin
hit him with his whip.

NATALYA STEPANOVNA. I shan’t shut up until you acknowledge that Squeezer is a hundred
times better than your Guess!
LOMOV. A hundred times worse! Be hanged to your Squeezer! His head . . . eyes . . .
shoulder . . .
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. There’s no need to hang your silly Guess; he’s halfdead
already!
LOMOV. [Weeps] Shut up! My heart’s bursting!
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. I shan’t shut up.
Enter CHUBUKOV.
CHUBUKOV. What’s the matter now?
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Papa, tell us truly, which is the better dog, our Squeezer or his
Guess.

LOMOV. I see, Natalya Stepanovna, that you consider me either blind or a fool. You must
realize that Squeezer is overshot!
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. It’s not true.
LOMOV. He is!
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. It’s not true!
LOMOV. Why shout, madam?
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Why talk rot? It’s awful! It’s time your Guess was shot, and you
compare him with Squeezer!
LOMOV. Excuse me; I cannot continue this discussion: my heart is palpitating.
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. I’ve noticed that those hunters argue most who know least.
LOMOV. Madam, please be silent. . . . My heart is going to pieces. . . . [Shouts] Shut up!

LOMOV. I assure you that his lower jaw is shorter than the upper.
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Have you measured?
LOMOV. Yes. He’s all right at following, of course, but if you want him to get hold of anything . .
.
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. In the first place, our Squeezer is a thoroughbred animal, the son of
Harness and Chisels, while there’s no getting at the pedigree of your dog at all. . . . He’s old
and as ugly as a wornout
cabhorse.
LOMOV. He is old, but I wouldn’t take five Squeezers for him. . . . Why, how can you? . . .
Guess is a dog; as for Squeezer, well, it’s too funny to argue. . . . Anybody you like has a dog
as good as Squeezer . . . you may find them under every bush almost. Twentyfive
roubles
would be a handsome price to pay for him.
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. There’s some demon of contradiction in you today,
Ivan
Vassilevitch. First you pretend that the Meadows are yours; now, that Guess is better than
Squeezer. I don’t like people who don’t say what they mean, because you know perfectly well
that Squeezer is a hundred times better than your silly Guess. Why do you want to say it isn’t?

Guess: What do you mean, we’re going hunting tomorrow. Aren’t you excited? No more of
this undesirable dullness and misfortune.
Squeezer: Oh, you silly beat. Have you not gotten it through your gnarly muzzle yet? All
those kids care about it competing with one another. You and I are only props in their
competitive game for respect and their father’s attention. It has created quite a sibling
rivalry.
Guess: That’s not true! Lomov adores me!
Squeezer: Lomov adores you when you’re in his line of sight. Afterwards you are
completely forgotten. A figment of your past, of your glory. He remembers you as the
glorious dog you were. Not as you now are.
Guess: I’ll show you. Those kids will take us hunting and I will win both of their hearts. I will
bring back the juiciest fowl this side of the Ural Mountains.
Squeezer: Sigh, I will allow you to bathe in disappointment my dear old friend. I hope your
heart can take it. It would be very lonely out here without you.

Lomov: You take that back! My dog could best your dog any day of the week. He’s lost a
big of speed but still more nimble than your fleabag
and could still hunt like the grace of a
cheetah.
Natalya: Oh my! Such fantasies. Did you not grow out of those as a young boy?
Lomov: Shall we make a wager? Perhaps you should hunt with Father and I tomorrow.
We’ll take Squeezer and Guess along and whoever bags the biggest duck wins.
Natalya: Such envy of my lovable little Squeezer. He shall trounce this sorry excuse any
day of the week. Isn’t that right, Squeezer?
Natalya rubs Squeezer’s chin and Lomov follows suit in a tryst of competition to see who
can show their own dog more affection and attention.
CHUBUKOV yells from a distance. The words are inaudible but it is surely a command.
Lomov and Natalya abruptly stop showering the dogs with affection and run off towards
the barn door. The pair jostles for order all the way back to the house.
Squeezer: Well, it was nice while it lasted.

THIS PAGE CREATED FROM SCRATCH TO FIX PREVIOUS ART ERROR: NATALYA HATES THE WRONG DOG

Natalya gets up and does a little dance around Squeezer while constantly repeating the
word rubbish.