The genre stories that I, with the consent of some of you, will tell you from time to time are not short stories. That is, these are not anecdotes heard/intercepted, retold, therefore enriched with some charm or, on the contrary, stupid without talent. But above all, don’t scoff. These are poor trifles, experienced directly and personally, which I share with you in some insignificant absolute world premiere.

On the other hand, given that the engineering consciousness of many still remains firmly fixed on the patterns and canons of discursivization, I also report that the stories will be atypical, ill-opened, leaving the reader to understand what he can, even in advance congratulating him with someone who restrained from believing that he knows something and not something else. And if anyone wants to admit that they do not understand anything, it is my father or mother, brother or sister, son, grandson or my husband.

So listen…

I am in the flesh. I spread a sheet, isoprene or a blanket between the tree and the bush. A tree on the left, a bush on the right. The first is the place where the lizard squeals, stomps or crawls, and the second is the vital space of the mouse hole, hole, hiding, running and productive work. Of course, my litter is trampled to the extent that it separates the territory of the two animals, for which I have long been noticed. First stealthily, out of the corner of the eye, then through long, systematic analytical wanderings. As for me, I assume the role of intruder, squatter or indifferent resident, so I quietly go about my business/gym. Not betraying my interest in animal ethology, therefore, in my turn, I observe inconspicuously. I mean decent ones, through short glances that don’t worry, don’t offend, don’t stress. In this sense, I avoid looking directly into the animals’ eyes for more than 1-2 seconds, turning my eyes and even my head away from their gaze. This is how I make not only the indifferent, but even the submissive.

After 2-3 such cases during the day, the animals relax near me. They convince me that I am not their enemy, they go about their business again. What are the ones who have to watch and guard their territory, fend off intruders of their approximate size, protect their own skin while hiding from bigger and badder ones, gather food, sleep peacefully, mate and reproduce. However, animals are not bad at all. Vice versa. Because that’s what I think: if this monster keeps coming and blocking our landscape, if it keeps hitting the ground, even keeps getting up, leaving and coming back, dominating the space for hours on end, why don’t we try to shoot some advantage? I mean, come on, I’m just thinking humanly. Talk and do.

More precisely: the lizard comes closer and closer, measures me in detail, looks closely at my gestures, at such actions as caressing, positioning, sitting, eating, contemplating, reading, writing, drawing. Nonsense in itself, the main thing is that it does not threaten at all. That’s why he gets closer and closer, looks at me and measures me in detail, until I get tired of his critical look, psychoanalysis of my behavior. So I pretend to ignore him even more. So he understands that they are either a fluke of nature or seasonal animals but from a different kingdom or food chain because we eat and do completely different things. This is a good prerequisite for friendship, reciprocity, security, selfish superiority. Therefore, from one moment he goes to the phase of testing his own hypothesis. He also touches my own living space, climbs on my clothes, my blanket, umbrella, various other things. He rummages in my backpack, in my bag, every now and then defiantly looks at me, trying to find my patience or indifference. The experience continues, repeated ever more demonstratively, thoroughly, recklessly, so for a while I mentally brace myself for the surprise of actually being straddled/mounted, overcome and crossed by my own scaly and ticklish creature. And if he sees/understands that I know how to iron well, then it is clear that I am automatically also a good guardian of the very integrity and preservation of his own physical body. And again, he fearlessly comes to the test and eats, this time tactfully, right on my “ground” an insect that he pulled out from under the leaves of the parterre of his own tree. I represent security, I represent shield capabilities. Does he leave me the wings of a small animal like cats, a part of an animal that has just been eaten, like an obol or a sacrament of friendship? Or as much a challenge and dominance to see if I swallow the humiliation of putting up with litter, why should I clean up after it? Undoubtedly, here I would really need information from an expert on the attitude of small reptiles to foreigners, emigrants, occupiers.

For its part, the field mouse, red-eyed, mustached, sympathetically in great need, does something similar. After he squirms at me and doesn’t get any intimidating or just long stares in return, after he emerges from the hole of his own subterranean maze and lands on the grass, as if on beaten earth, exposing himself somewhat, albeit vulnerable, revealing , that this is work, or at least not hunting, a non-predator, perhaps indifference, the individual gains confidence. He considers me a good bodyguard, even pretending to be a shield. One in hand: from the sky, he will have no more problems, knowing full well that flying predators will never fly from the sky to the surface of the earth, as long as a mammoth giant like me stands, stands, walks around, intimidating anyone. Two in hand: from now on he will no longer write with his face turned towards me, but will turn his back to me, all the while watching for noises and smells and dangers behind, to and from the thicket where the snakes, his cruel enemies, reside. At some point, in case of a sudden attack, the snakes will rush straight into the hole, under the dry leaves, at me, even across two galleries and run away. And step 3: he will go to the open area, come up, climb and step on my blanket, delaying the passage, watching my behavior. Be patient, will force the assessment. One day he’ll swoop down and bite the bottom of my isoprene rubber, not to taste what he’s carrying, some little souvenir, but to see if I’ll make some sign of protest, banishment, punishment, strike. I don’t move a finger, I smile (but without showing my teeth, this means a threat, danger, a devouring attack for any animal). So the gypsy realizes that he is poor, that nothing bad will ever happen to him from me, that he will be able to use the gigantism of my presence, that I will be able to be a guard against snakes, foxes, owls, vultures. or resident woodpeckers, which I will intimidate and keep at a distance and at his expense. That is, the realization that we can be friends, that this can lead to a symbiosis of interests. Equally exemplary is the relationship between birds and herbivores: the former peck insects from their bodies and tracks, while the latter benefit from the sharp and panoramic eyes of birds that call out and quickly observe when they see predators. Or, as happened some time ago with a frog that escaped the running and relentless grasp of an ophidian, it was my approach and intervention that caused the snake to turn suddenly and the frog to continue to jump anxiously. . But not directly to the bank of the river (that is what he feels from a distance even better than you and I), but after going around the tree and turning right in front of me, to catch his breath for a few minutes and for him to look long and gratefully at me; saying to me in his own way or with his face and look: “poor boyar!” respectively “cone-z thank you!” or “may God from heaven give only goodness and health!”

Now, of course, someone will jump out from among the ignorant to crumple and bend

after hearing nonsense (in his completely uninformed opinion) about identifying the language of mutes. But if, interpreting the gesture of a small amphibian, I resorted to human-peasant language, then only and only because of the simple principle according to which, given that even elevated people still fall into atrocities and primitive reptilian or mammalian gestures, by itself ( syllogistically) it is understood that even primitive creatures can express themselves without words (only postural/bodily, physiognomic and ocular) in exact resemblance to the bulk of our somewhat simpler brethren. You don’t have to be Konrad Lorenz or learn his philosophical ethology, you end up flipping through the ancient boards of Mr. Charles Darwin’s wonderful book, Expression of emotions in humans and animals, to see the expressiveness of feelings and relationships in primates, mirroring the expressiveness of some people, whom the scientist of scientists photographed himself. Having learned in this way that without words or with the help of people and animals, not only emotionally feel and neuro-instinctive reflections are absolutely the same, but we also physically communicate in a surprisingly similar way. Read more at Contributors.ro