My friends' neighbor's cousin?

I think that is who he is anyways; my friends' neighbor's cousin. I am looking for a good dog here in Moldova and this man called me ready to help. I met Radu today for the first time at a bus stop up the street from my house. He came walking down to meet me, smoking and covered in tattoos and scars. He even had a semi-mullet as many Moldovan men do. And as I boarded the bus with him, I asked myself, "What exactly are you getting yourself into?"

He decided that we would go to his house for tea first, where I met his gorgeous German Shepherd and his reclusive father. Then we began to traipse through the city from one bus to another. The person we went to see was not home so we went to another part of town. And as we rode and walked, Radu talked. He talked and talked (His excellent English is littered with all the slang words he learned from his summer in the Bronx). I learned about his life and his family, his history and his past. We talked about Moldova and all its problems and what can be done about the future. We met people along the way and I was introduced to many. We discussed the right kind of dog for me and about good decision making.

Then we went through the park, drank from a fresh spring and went back to his house for dinner. His mother and girlfriend showed me their garden and showered me with fresh fruit, soup and kvas (tastes like beer). Then they showed me stacks of photos and finally deemed it dark enough for me to go home.

I didn't find a dog today. It may be months and months until I do. In the meantime, I will get to spend plenty of time with Radu and his family. May God give me favor, wisdom and plenty of His Holy Spirit.

A Moldovan Joke

Ok. So I was told this joke by a Moldovan last night at the park:

A Moldovan emigrates to Italy. This man has never done manual labor, but takes a job helping an Italian man build his house. The first day the Italian man hands his new laborer a can of paint and tell him to paint the house. The Moldovan is perplexed. He has never painted before so he comes up with a plan: Why not just paint the mouth of the neighboring cow and tell his Italian boss that the cow drank the paint?

That evening the Italian returns and wonders why his house is not painted.
"The cow drank all the paint!!" says the Moldovan.
The Italian man quickly leaves, comes back with a gun and shoots the cow. The cow lies there dead.
"Why did you do that?" asks the Moldovan laborer.
"Because," says the Italian boss, "last year the cow ate three tons of my cement."

And that is the end of the Moldovan joke. Hope you enjoyed it at much as I did.