Loudly barking, huge, black, he rushed past me like a cannonball, I didn't even get scared, and then he excitedly waved his tail, barked merrily, sat down in front of the street musician and in tune with the song Marijana didn't come., howled occasionally. The musician, sitting on a bench in Main Street, when he finished Marian, smiled, leaned towards the dog, winked at him and played the carol. The dog was not confused. In the rhythm of the accordion, he kevt, looking the player in the eyes and "played" the whole round. I neither kevtala nor danced, I just stood, but just as excited and enjoyed watching the musicians and singers. I wasn't the only one.
And the hat was filling up.
* * *
None of us noticed when the pigeon landed on the high sideboard and crouched in the middle until it made its own announcement. Sićurav, neither bird nor bird, looked pleadingly at us, with bristling, weak feathers and an even weaker voice.
It's summer, the door is always open, we thought that when he rested and got stronger, he would fly away as he flew in. It's already dark, the pigeon is still following our every move, but now completely calm. I climb on the chair, gently take him in my hands, whisper to him for a long time, carefully put him down in the shoe box and put him back on the sideboard. Now in the box: a pigeon, bread crumbs and a bowl of water, and it's time for us to go to our beds. In the morning, he watches us all, the door is open, but only in the afternoon he flew into the yard, landed on the wire between two poles, crouched, crouched, then flew up and disappeared from my sight. I was convinced - forever, but as soon as it got dark, there he was right in the box. The second day, he flies out before noon, lands on the wires, but quickly returns, right to the threshold. And on the threshold, warmed by the sun, our dog and cat are sleeping, blissfully curled up. They just squinted one eye, realized the pigeon was ours too and let it curl up between them and join in the sleep. All summer they ate and drank from the same bowls, sometimes they slept on the doorstep, sometimes they wandered, each on their own paths, and when it got dark, the dog retreated to its house, the pigeon landed in its box, and the cat, when my mother let her out of the kitchen, jumped into my bed through the window of my room. In autumn, the pigeon is more often on the wire, another one joins it, dances around it, both coo, and at dusk each one goes to its own side. The scene repeats itself for several days and I realize that our pigeon is a dove. Confused, it flies towards the door, confusedly returns to the wire, then again to the door, then wire, door, wire, cooing... And the couple disappears into the clouds.
“Jagodo is getting married!”
* * *
Quite calmly, as if he does it every day, carrying the kitten in his teeth, Budo walked into the yard, gently placed the kitten on the lawn, in front of the owner's door, and then barked specifically. It was an invitation to the owner to come out and see what was happening in the yard.
And it was unusual. A kitten is lying in the grass, with a dim look, but silently, because it has just seen, looking silently at Buddha's owner. Stavro, an adult cat, also rushed in and joined in watching. He didn't even look back at the kitten. Boss Iso, at the first moment, is not aware of anything. Then the picture slowly cleared. He was helped by a neighbor who saw everything from her terrace. "What next?", asks Iso. Budo doesn't know how to tell him where he got the kitten from, Stavro is still "not from here", the kitten doesn't call for his mother, and by God neither does she for him. The mobile phone calls who it needs. Tips are pouring in, and Iso is taking them. A bottle, a pacifier was bought; a nest was made from old wood, in a small crate in the shed, to imitate the mother; the wet cotton wool imitates, after each feeding, the mother's tongue... In the morning, instead of in the crate, the kitten slept blissfully in Mama Isa's shoe, full of Mama Isa's scent.
Mom is mom.
* * *
Black kerusha, small as a seed, walked with dignity at the head of the column, in the middle of Main Street, and ten dogs followed her obediently, none of them small. Vigilantly watching her every movement, they did not form a very regular species, but as they walked, from time to time, they barked, lower and higher, and two more dogs followed the pack from a decent distance. Passers-by, also walking, looked at everything, some scared, some curious, and those walking with their pets, immediately protected the breed with their arms. On the first green oasis, kerusha lay down on her side, crossing her front and back paws like a lady, and the dogs silently surrounded her. Now the taller ones were barking at the lower ones, and the two loners lay down on the concrete and watched everything. No one growled. After a short rest, aware of her power, the kerusha walked towards the next green oasis, and the line of suitors meekly followed her. And the scene repeated itself.
I don't know "when the tail is manula".
