Me and my friend, Ionuț, live in a small apartment. His parents also live there, but they are mostly away in a town with a strange name: Job. I cannot talk, I was born without this gift, but I understand what people are saying. I am a poodle and my name is Taz. I don't have to do anything, I sleep all day and I can fool around as much as I want. I only eat goodies and everyone plays with me and teases me non-stop. Life is really awesome, but I don't understand one thing, why can't I pee in the house?
Nelson Ciotoi
He was curlier than a sheep from the sheepfold. Even curlier than that mioritic shepherd. Burebista, I think. And because the dog's duty is to fawn on his owner, that's what he was doing too, from morning till evening. He was fawning and licking his owner's dirty fingers. The owner, who was grateful for his loyalty and gave him from time to time, the leftovers. More meals, more crumbs. And it was like that until the owner moved to another party and fired him.
Camil Popescu
It was a cold April morning and Alecu Donici was trying to write a fable. The Saharian dust covered the whole property. The clouds looked like they were pickerels ready to swallow the last strips of blue sky. In the nearby pond the frogs were singing. Two crabs were dancing. The poet wrote on the paper: the crab, the frog and a pickerel. From afar you could hear the neighbor's dog. Then he completed the title: the crab, the frog, the pickerel and a dog. WTF, Alecu whispered to himself. It doesn't work. He shouted at the neighbour: make the dog shut up, woman, he's from another poem.
(Translated by Maria-Ilinca Darie / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.