11/10/2026
Bruno's holiday.
He was out of the car before anyone could stop him. An early October afternoon, the boot of a large estate car swinging open, and down jumped Bruno, a young pointer the colour of dark earth, who took one lap of the car park and was gone, head low, nose to the ground, tail wheeling in the air. His owners' calls meant nothing to him. What finally reached him was Edy, crossing the bridge with a bright welcome, and then, to the dog, and you, who are you? Bruno came over at once, drawn by the smell of Matilda on him.
His holiday lasted only a few days, but they were glorious ones. A wide garden to tear around in, a gate into the olive grove where he took his last round of the evening, down to the fence to call on Bianchino and Noce, the neighbour's two goats, one the colour of his name and one the colour of a walnut.
The days began at dawn, watching the blackbirds from the big windows. Then breakfast on the veranda under the heat lamps, where something always came his way from the table and Martina greeted him every morning. Long walks on the beach, a nap on the warm floor, dinner out, since nearly every restaurant here is happy to have a dog.
By the time he got back he was spent. He always fell asleep on his rug, nose against the window, waiting for the blackbirds to come back in the morning.
Some guests thank me when they leave. Bruno left a print of his nose on the glass, down low, at blackbird height. I was a little sorry to see it go.
Live beautifully.
VIVERE
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