Perros de la Cogida

The Arbëreshë brothers elbowed their way past the harridan and into the fray, never once saying ‘pardon mow’ or ‘j-fescues’. The brothers were know far and wide for their crumply faces, doltishness, oversized feet and disrespect for queues and line-ups. ‘…I am looking for a eslovaquia dog called baviera...’ said the second brother, the first brother standing crumpled at his side. ‘…he was last seen roaming the streets of Navalcamero…’ said the first brother, the second brother standing as still as a fallen star. ‘…Navalcamero Madrid…’. A man with a gouged out eye, his cheeks pickled with sweat, said ‘…I have seen him, but he goes by the name of Ludevít Štúr…’. ‘…and I know him as Marcomanni…’ said a man with a ratfish face. ‘…Thuringii…’ said a man with a sour face. ‘…he followed the Völkerwanderung from the Beskid mountains to the Bieszczady, a herding dog he was…’. ‘…a Rugian lapdog, or was it Heruli…?’ said the ratfish faced man, his legs trembling. ‘…de hondennaam is kleines Stück eins…’ said a man so fat his face hung like a tablecloth from his chin. ‘…perros de la cogida…’ yelled a short man in short pants. ‘…y gatos de la cogida…’ yipped the fat man with the fat face. ‘…caballos de la cogida, también…’.