I'm on a brief stint as a truffle hunter in Northern Italy. White truffles to be exact, don't like them much myself, but people pay top dollar for a burlap sack of oozing fungus. Hired myself a truffle dog name "Snawzers." He works for Italian minimum wage as long as I look the other way when he follows some poor couple into an alley - tourists mostly.
We've been up and down this country side. Snawzers says I'm on a fool's quest, chasing a dream, dreaming I'm living. I tell him to do more sniffing and less talking.
Last winter we got stranded in some abandoned village near the foothills of the Alps. For three months we ate the fermented sausages we found in the basement of a dilapidated cottage. And every night the god-damned place was crawling with vampires so we'd draw a circle around us and whisper some incantation Snawzers learned from his supposed "Shaman" grandfather "Edward Barkington." They'd be leering at us from beyond the circle of candlelight; shadows wanting to swipe at us.
One night I just about got sick of it, so I decided to introduce myself. Turns out the buggers were just starving for some good conversation. Now I'm vice president of their book club. We read a lot of Ann Rice, which I guess is okay, but I still haven't read Moby Dick so I'm planning to suggest it be added to the roster. Snawzers says Mody Dick is a fool's quest, we'll never finish reading it, just give up while you can, he says. Maybe he's right.
Diary entry of Sergio published by Snawsers
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3 comments:
Don't listen to snawser. He's lost his heart.
Nice blog...
What happen to your other blog; the one about romancing the two folks. I like it!
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