Dogs (Câini)

You keep the house open?

-So? -So...

What if someone comes in?

Who? The heat, maybe.

It bites?

People bite, let alone dogs.

She bites.

What's her name?

Police.

Police... Here, girl.

I'll chain her up.

Hungry?

The wife cooked some stew for you.

Now that I feed you, you don't bark anymore?

Don't worry son, she won't bite.

Unless she gets angry, then she bites.

Anyways, better have something on you when you go out.

Like what?

An axe, a plank...

Something.

A dog is good, you know?

The world is full of crazy people.

How big is my land?

As far as one can see. I mean you, I'm blind as a mole.

So all this land was his?

And now it's yours, son.

Where did he get the money to buy all this?

Who said he bought it?

-Meaning? -It was his.

Always was.

If all this land was his, why the fences?

That... has been there forever.

Come on, let's go see the rest.

He got it all within a single year.

Even less.

From March to...

December 1983.

Nine months.

He had some gold coins stashed away?

Tycoon farmer, huh?

Careful, the table is wobbly.

I wonder how come the Communists left him alone.

-Anything shady in there? -Not a thing, buddy.

Everything is paid for,

stamped by the notary.

No worries.

My commission is 5%.

Out of?

I'll tell you. You know how much land you got?

About 550 hectares.

And one hectare is worth...?

Seven, eight hundred.

Euros.

Your buyer, he wants to buy it all?

There's no forest, no water, it's wasteland.

Relax, it's not what's on it.

It's what's around it.

The border. Access to the sea, the Danube.

He doesn't want to grow anything?

It matters?

You get your money, I get my commission...

What's her problem?

What are you staring at?

The Big Dipper? Ursa Minor?

Shut up, bitch!

See those lights there?

It's a car.

And here comes another.

Maybe they meet to fuck under the stars.

-It's a road down there? -No, nothing there.

That's your land, right?

Yes, up to the border.

Something is going on there.

Police!

Shut up!

Shut up!

You're crazy? What's that?

Don't tell me you haven't seen it.

I saw it right as I walked in,

above the kitchen door.

Winchester, 12-gauge. Pretty slick, huh?

Is it loaded?

You bet.

Pellet cartridges.

For bigger animals, not just pheasants.

Let's get closer.

What are you doing?

You're scared?

It's up to you.

But you're on your property.

Shoot in the air, OK?

In order to increase the efficiency

and the quality of services rendered by the police...

OK.

...the Ministry of Interior proposes

to suspend all countryside police stations...

OK.

...and to replace them

with mobile police units,

which will be called by using the 112 emergency service.

I told you I heard about it.

But what does it mean, Chief?

It's bad?

It's bad.

Can you do two things at the same time?

Eat your salami while driving?

Well...

Not so easy on our country roads.

But if they give us one of them automatic cars,

I have no problem.

But you know what I'd love to use for patrolling?

A pope-car.

Comfortable,

low speed, so I won't hit another deer,

bulletproof windows,

and my mother-in-law will shut up about my church attendance.

I'd tell her:

"Can't you see I spend 10 hours a day in the pope-car?

Five days a week. You do the math.

And you're in church, what, an hour a week?

So stop breaking my balls."

How is she, by the way?

She's fine. Just fine.

Unfortunately.

-Tell me... -Good day.

Hello.

Hello.

How're you, Uncle Terente?

Getting worse every day.

The romanticism?

The rheumatism, pops!

If you knew how bad it is. Especially with the clouds.

What clouds?

It hasn't rained in a while.

Yeah but... I visited my daughter in Stoenesti.

And there were clouds there?

-There were, why not? -Because it's sunny.

Uncle Terente,

what brings you here?

What the hell?

I can't do anything.

Mr. veterinary, for God's sake, don't leave me like this.

Don't you get it? The humerus is broken.

This bone here. Shattered.

Why the hell did you drive down this slope?

I can't do anything.

We came from there, I reckoned I'd shortcut here.

It's very hot, and I thought it was better for the horse.

Great, I'll beware of your help like the devil's, from now on.

Hello, Chief.

Got a moment?

Damn!

Whose is it?

And the rest of it? How does it look?

This is all.

Terente's dog found it in the pond.

At Uncle Alecu's.

Don't touch it.

Come on, man.

It's gone stale.

How old, you'd say?

Several days. It'll soon be ripe.

You say it was in water?

It was wearing a sock. And a boot.

Then it could be more, it rots harder with clothes.

It still has the toenails.

The nail goes after two weeks or so.

And the bite?

Reckon it was Terente's dog?

No, this isn't a dog.

A dog tears, you see, it grabs and tears off.

This bite is more like

it was chewed, munched.

Big teeth too.

Could be a boar.

So, for the sake of the argument,

this foot belonged to a fella, right?

That's the idea.

That's what happened to Petrache.

Struck dead by lightning.

His son found him after a few days, in the middle of nowhere.

Only his teeth and his watch left to identify him.

The boars had devoured him. Polished his bones.

Right.

Say, for the pleasure of chatting, that our poor fella dies

in a remote place, otherwise someone would have told us.

Then, your boar finds him

and devours him till it's stuffed,

then throws this foot in the pond, just to spite me?

And this?

Is it from the rotting?

Ticks.

Ticks?

Them ticks that live on animals.

I know where ticks live, I wasn't born in Paris.

Reckon it bit him when he was still alive, or deceased?

The swelling is the reaction of the body to the poison.

But if the man is dead, I reckon he doesn't react.

My opinion.

Mine as well.