Meeky, Our Unforgettable Dog
An emotional story from a traditional Romanian village
I spend my childhood summers in a village with small houses, crowded on an alley where you had to avoid carts pulled by fast horses.
Our grandparents’ green house is at the end of the alley. Behind the fence is a stepped, quite abandoned cemetery, covered with violets, which acquires a frightening image at sunset. After the cemetery, there is a cool forest of walnuts.
Facing it, we are presented with a huge hill, having a small sheepfold at the base. This hill is the main source of food for the villagers’ animals.
From the top of the hill, my sister and I can see all the people’s yards. Being two children of the city, our grandparents let us walk freely everywhere. Time flows slowly here; our lives only become more interesting when we are allowed to borrow three new books from the library.
My grandfather is a short man with a wonderful soul. In his youth, he led the commune’s stud farm, so everyone respects him here. All his life, he was surrounded by animals: cows, horses, sheep, or goats.
The grandparents’ lands, where they grew wheat and corn, are far from home. Often their harvest is destroyed by wild boars, and therefore Grandpa regularly goes to check if all is well.
His faithful friend, Meeky…
