Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

I’m so frustrated writing this that I can’t even string my words together properly.

I was out this morning with the boys on the backstreets, through the old part of the neighborhood, with big, beautiful houses, spacious yards, and all kinds of farm animals. One neighbor has goats, another has chickens, another has cows, but everyone has horses and dogs. Oh, and yes, cats! My boys know exactly where the cats are. They can sense them from a mile away. Me? I tend to forget…

We were on our way back; we’d already passed the spot where one had grazed and the other had rolled in the grass. In one hand, I had the little bag with the ‘crown jewels,’ Gicu in the other, and Baloo on the third hand I apparently grew that morning. In the distance, a cat scurries across the street, spots my beasts, and bolts back towards the safety of her garden.

At the end of the street, some tiny, wandering dots were moving chaotically back and forth. “Ah,” I say to myself, “quails.” The dogs had already entered that “fixation mode,” tracking every move of those little dots. They were walking with small, measured steps, ready to strike.

With my hawk eyes, from about 15 meters away, I realize they are ducklings. Seven leggy little ducklings, but ducklings nonetheless. No mama duck, no papa duck. They were on the right [of the street], we were on the left. With all the strength I could gather, I was pulling on the leashes to keep them from lunging at the ducks. And the ducks, when they see Baloo barking, foaming at the mouth, they rush toward him: “Mommy, mommy, mama, mama!” I try to run away with the dogs, but without success: we’d take two steps, they’d take ten tiny quick steps right after us. We covered 20 meters in 15 minutes. At one point, I called Irina, but I was ignored with total superiority. It was, after all, before seven in the morning.

I was backed against a wall (siege by ducklings), the little bag of crap had flown off long ago (probably over the fence of the cranky lady), and I was trying to keep the dogs as close to me as possible while inching away from the ducklings. But they just wouldn’t quit. Following us, weaving through us … and at one point, one of them ends up in Gicu’s mouth. I let out such a “Drop it!” that he got scared and let go. All this time, Baloo was barking loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood, trying to keep them in line (herding dog, what can you do?), and Gicu was trying to snatch any careless one.

Two ladies appear from around the corner. I start making desperate signs; they, like something out of a dumb comedy, just wave at me: “Hello! How are you?” By then, I was already making plans on how to catch the ducks in my t-shirt and take them home.

Finally, the girls realize something is wrong. They come closer, out comes the mandatory ‘Awww’, they look at me like I’m the village idiot, and they suggest I just leave with the dogs. “I can’t,” I say. “I mean, why?” they ask, puzzled. “Look!” and I try to take a few steps. “Mamaaaa!” the ducklings scream, sliding between their legs toward Baloo. The ladies nearly peed themselves laughing, but eventually, they made a sort of wall out of their legs and hands and held them in place.

From what I considered a safe distance, I shouted a “Thank you!” and “God bless you!” Then I went on my way with two confused dogs until I came face-to-face with a cat. I had forgotten about her. They hadn’t. I don’t think there’s any point in telling you what happened next. I had barely recovered from “Duck Adventure,” and these two slammed me into a gate so hard I didn’t know what hit me.

I got home, took the car, and went back to see if the ducklings were still there. They were gone; the women probably found the yard they had escaped from.