by Dr ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ cuban uruguayan ,genius .guantanamero. Diploma in Christian anthropology of Spain. Doctor.Urologist. Volunteer in Caritas.Uruguay,Cuba,Nicaragua.REMEMBER,VICENTE.
Con la tecnología de 
Traductor
Traductor
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query perro,perra. Sort by date Show all posts
Wednesday, September 1, 2021
LA PERRA DIRKA ,POR ORLANDO VICENTE,CUBA.CUENTO
LA PERRA PASTORA DIRKA,CUENTO,ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ,CUBA
CUENTOS DE PERROS REALES: DIRKA
En casa teníamos una Pastora Alemán a la cual llamamos Dirka. Primero
era una cachorra de color miel y al crecer le nació una melena Blanca
como un león. La sentíamos como parte de nuestra familia y dormía bajo
nuestras camas.
Era una perra tranquila que no ladraba a las visitas ni a los extraños.
Cuando íbamos a la playa en la camioneta de Papá yo la ataba con una
cuerda para que no asustara a los demás niños y adultos que tomaban el
sol o chapoteaban cerca de la orilla. Luego se sacudía y echaba una siesta bajo la camioneta.
Cuando íbamos al campo o la playa ella ya sabía y antes de nosotros
montar las canastas con los alimentos ella ya estaba ubicada en la parte trasera del vehículo como presintiendo que íbamos de excursión o a algún lugar donde podría correr libremente.
Era una guardiana persistente y vigilante, cuando mi padre venía a
almorzar ella se quedaba al lado de la puerta de la camioneta y no
aceptaba que nadie se acercara, excepto Papá.
Cuando llegó la época de celo, la casa se llenaba de perros chicos de
la calle que entraban por el garaje seducidos por el aroma que Dirka
destilaba e iban atraídos como abejas a las flores. Pero ella,
orgullosa, no les prestaba el menor caso, pues parece que esperaba su
pareja ideal. Hasta que trajimos un perro de un vecino, también Pastor
Alemán y a ese sí lo aceptó. Yo escuchaba el acople pero sentía
vergüenza mirar. Solo oía al factor masculino emitir silbidos de
placer. De Dirka: silencio.
Pasaron varios años y una mañana nuestra querida perra amaneció acostada en el patio. Tenía convulsiones de vez en cuando.
- ¡La envenenaron Papá La envenenaron!
Todos la rodeamos con lágrimas en los ojos. Papá dijo:
-No es eso. Es que llegó al final de su vida. Simplemente está muriendo.
-No puede ser- dije yo.
-¡Dirka. Levántate. Mira un gato.
Nuestra perra se incorporó y dio un trote o saltando hasta el garaje y allí se derrumbó.
-Lo siento hijos pero Dirka ha muerto.
En eso mi sobrina, que era vecina nuestra y estaba en plena
adolescencia- mucho amor que dar y mucho que recibir-llegó y abrazó la
perra sollozando- y con esfuerzo la cargó en sus brazos como si un ser
humano o un niño querido se tratara.
Al final del día envolvimos a Dirka en una frazada vieja y la llevamos
en la camioneta fuera de la ciudad. Toda la familia fue con ella darle
su último adiós.
La enterramos bajo un árbol de ceiba para que nadie escarbara, animal o persona, descubriera sus huesos.
Volvimos en silencio a casa. Nadie habló.
Cuando se es joven se aprende de estas cosas, que nada es para
siempre y que tarde o temprano todos los seres queridos se van.
AUTOR: Orlando Vicente Alvarez
´ Autor de la novela: HISTORIA DE UN NIÑO GUANTANAMERO.
TALES OF REAL DOGS: DIRKA
At home we had a German Shepherd, which we call Dirka. First she was a honey-colored puppy and as it grew a white mane like a lion was born. We felt it as part of our family and slept under our beds.
She was a quiet bitch who did not bark at visitors or strangers. When we went to the beach in Dad's truck I tied it with a rope so that it would not scare other children and adults who sunbathed or splashed near the shore. Then she would shake and take a nap under the truck.
When we went to the field or the beach she already knew and before us to mount the baskets with the food she was already located in the back part of the vehicle as if sensing that we were going on an excursion or somewhere where she could run freely.
She was a persistent and vigilant guardian, when my father came to lunch she would stand by the door of the truck and would not accept anyone approaching except Dad.
When the time of heat arrived, the house was filled with small dogs from the street that entered the garage seduced by the scent that Dirka distilled and were attracted like bees to flowers. But she, proud, did not pay any attention to them, because it seems that she was waiting for her ideal partner. Until we brought a dog from a neighbor, also German Shepherd and then she accepted him. I listened to the coupling but was ashamed to look. I only heard the male factor emit whistles of pleasure. From Dirka: silence.
Several years passed and one morning our beloved bitch woke up lying in the yard. I had seizures from time to time.
- They poisoned her. They poisoned her!
We all surround her with tears in our eyes. Dad said:
-Is not that. It is that she reached the end of her life. It is simply dying.
-It can not be- I said.
-Dirka. Get up. Look at a cat.
Our dog got up and trotted or jumped into the garage and collapsed there.
-I'm sorry children but Dirka is dead.
In that my niece who was our neighbor and was in adolescence-much love to give and much to receive-came and hugged the bitch sobbing-and with effort he carried her in his arms as if a human being or a beloved child were treated.
At the end of the day we wrapped Dirka in an old blanket and took her in the van outside the city. The whole family was with her to give her last goodbye.
We buried her under a ceiba tree so no one would scratch, animal or person, discover her bones.
We went home quietly. Nobody spoke.
When you are young you learn from these things, that nothing is forever and that sooner or later all the loved ones leave.
AUTHOR: Orlando Vicente Alvarez
Author of the novel: HISTORIA DE UN NIÑO GUANTANAMERO.
At home we had a German Shepherd, which we call Dirka. First she was a honey-colored puppy and as it grew a white mane like a lion was born. We felt it as part of our family and slept under our beds.
She was a quiet bitch who did not bark at visitors or strangers. When we went to the beach in Dad's truck I tied it with a rope so that it would not scare other children and adults who sunbathed or splashed near the shore. Then she would shake and take a nap under the truck.
When we went to the field or the beach she already knew and before us to mount the baskets with the food she was already located in the back part of the vehicle as if sensing that we were going on an excursion or somewhere where she could run freely.
She was a persistent and vigilant guardian, when my father came to lunch she would stand by the door of the truck and would not accept anyone approaching except Dad.
When the time of heat arrived, the house was filled with small dogs from the street that entered the garage seduced by the scent that Dirka distilled and were attracted like bees to flowers. But she, proud, did not pay any attention to them, because it seems that she was waiting for her ideal partner. Until we brought a dog from a neighbor, also German Shepherd and then she accepted him. I listened to the coupling but was ashamed to look. I only heard the male factor emit whistles of pleasure. From Dirka: silence.
Several years passed and one morning our beloved bitch woke up lying in the yard. I had seizures from time to time.
- They poisoned her. They poisoned her!
We all surround her with tears in our eyes. Dad said:
-Is not that. It is that she reached the end of her life. It is simply dying.
-It can not be- I said.
-Dirka. Get up. Look at a cat.
Our dog got up and trotted or jumped into the garage and collapsed there.
-I'm sorry children but Dirka is dead.
In that my niece who was our neighbor and was in adolescence-much love to give and much to receive-came and hugged the bitch sobbing-and with effort he carried her in his arms as if a human being or a beloved child were treated.
At the end of the day we wrapped Dirka in an old blanket and took her in the van outside the city. The whole family was with her to give her last goodbye.
We buried her under a ceiba tree so no one would scratch, animal or person, discover her bones.
We went home quietly. Nobody spoke.
When you are young you learn from these things, that nothing is forever and that sooner or later all the loved ones leave.
AUTHOR: Orlando Vicente Alvarez
Author of the novel: HISTORIA DE UN NIÑO GUANTANAMERO.
No comments:
Post a Comment