Chapter Four; Coming to America

Where were we when we last saw our two brave travelers? Oh yes, Princess Tatiana and Kasha were about to get on an airplane bound for America.

Well, Kasha had never been on an airplane before. She couldn’t understand why she had to ride under the floor – with the luggage. Indeed, when dogs travel by automobile in Russia, no one would have ever thunk to put them in the trunk. Kasha concluded that some people were not that bright and certainly not as polite – as dogs. As everyone knows, the average dog is a nicer person than the average person. Unlike cats, dogs are fond of laws and logic.

You might think that coming to America was a happy event, if so; your thoughts would be misspent. As soon as their plane arrived, Princess Tatiana became hopelessly homesick. Old Domo had warned her. It was Mother Russia’s favorite trick, leave home and you immediately get sick. Rodina makes you yearn and burn for the motherland, but after a while even Russians take themselves in hand.

So our heroine bravely insisted that home was only a place to hang your hat. But her hat less companion was having none of that. Kasha raised her head and straightened her tail and then proceeded to howl and wail. Crying is always contagious, so Tanya did her part. When they were through, both agreed that home was really the place where you leave your heart.

As everyone knows, the best cure for the blues anyplace is a warm brown puppy to lick tears from your face. The virtues of dog therapy are hard to avoid according to the eminent Doctor Freud.

So with Kasha by her side, our princess set off to see the world or at least the American part of it. Fortunately they had landed in Washington next to a beautiful river and they followed it until it became a sliver. Kasha was especially pleased because next to her tennis ball and food dish, her two favorite things were water and fish. Indeed, if she couldn’t swim, Kasha would often get fish in the secondary market, after it had passed though a cat. It’s hard to know what cats thought of that.

So west they went to Little Falls and encountered a towering height of Palisades walls. Fortunately for them, it was possible to go ridge to ridge across a very convenient Chain Bridge. High above current and tide sat rows of dacha’s side by side. Here was a village and other delights that the natives had named Potomac Heights. So explore they did, row after row until they encountered a talking head – the very likeness of Edgar Allen Poe.

He sat in a garden surrounded by flowering trees, giving free advice, big as you please.

“Welcome to our cathedral, avenue that is, and howdy do! How may I be of service to you? We are fond of great trees over our heads, shade in the summer, mulch in the fall and strawberries in the spring for one and all”.

How bizarre, thought Tanya, as she scratched her head, not that she couldn’t believe what he said. In all of Russia she couldn’t recall a single dead poet who spoke at all. Kasha of course, being a more practical sort, didn’t give the talking statue a second thought. No stranger, said she, than fiddling frogs or poker playing dogs.

“Well Mister Poe, if you must know, we have come from Moscow to explore several issues, especially cheeseburgers and soft toilet tissues.

“My, my”, said the poet, “you are serious creatures and don’t I know it. Let me run through a list of friendly neighbors who might assist. If pillage you must, we have a family of Vikings or a trio of boat builders might be more to your likings. We also have noisy cicadas and singing birds by the bunch or a bevy of svelte nannies who might do in a crunch. There are more than a few lawyers taking up space and scribblers and politicians all over the place. Yet I’m thinking we need to cut though the weeds. Serious issues often require very special deeds. Special needs if you please! I may have the answer behind those trees. The cottage just there is home to an elf, which, unlike yours truly, is both discrete and unruly.”

“Holy mackerel!” shouted the princess with joy, “we found an American domovoi”. Up this moment our princess and her dog were not at all sure that they could fill the holes in their souls. The past is a thing that doesn’t last. While not our whole life, it is one of those things that make our lives whole. With an eye to the future, girl and dog rejoiced. No matter how far you roam or how often your life seems out of control, nothing, short of going home, beats meeting a troll.

We may think big and keep those dreams on call, yet we never love and trust them as we do all things small. We see them in wobbly first steps and all those baby clothes that must be kept. Indeed it’s hard to dispute that even smelly kittens are cute. Big eyes, loud cries and first tries, a thousand inspirations for a hundred white lies. Floppy ears, crocodile tears, absurd poses and cold wet noses. Doll houses, miniature trousers, and a house full mouses. We do, after all, love all things small.

“A kopek for your thoughts,” said the poet.

“We have a domovoi at home,” replied Tanya, “and to know that he has an American clone makes me feel quite at home”.

“Here we might say hair of the dog that bit you”, said the poet.

“Bit me!” Exclaimed Tanya who was ever so prone to jump to conclusions on her own. “Dogs love their friends and only bite their enemies, quite unlike people,” huffed the princess, struggling to remember something else that Doctor Freud might have to offer on the subject.

“Merely a figure of speech, my dear,” said Poe, “poetic license as they might say in another day. Oh well, if you would be so kind, never mind. Shall I summon the troll from the hole?”

“Indeed you may,” said the princess.

Kasha jumped to her feet, the hair on her back rose. She unrolled her ears, tilted her head

and licked her dry nose. Neither dog nor girl knew what was in store as the grey visage of Edgar Allen Poe took a deep breathe and shouted the magic word: “NEVERMORE”!

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Well, dear girl, there you have it. A cliffhanger. Next time, Tanka and Kasha get to meet a genuine Yankee troll.

Until then, girlfriend, hit the sack and don't look back.