A Letter from Igor, the Truffle Dog
Dear Villa Lena Readers,
Autumn. I love it. So many smells. I can stick my nose into mountains of leaves, burying myself deeper until I hit that delicious damp earth. Or I can dart into the garden, chasing the last of the summer lizards — slower now, poor things lose their edge when the temperature drops. Personally, I feel great. Cooler weather means I stop panting like an idiot and get to grow my full winter coat. Very distinguished, I must say. And nothing beats a sip of rainwater straight from a muddy puddle. Don’t judge me.
Now, apparently, autumn is the white truffle season. The humans go wild for it. Me? I’m more of a tagliata guy. They call me “The Truffle Dog” — which is generous, considering I’ve never actually been trained to find the things. They tried, sort of. One hand with
Still, I do enjoy the truffle walks. Off into the woods we go, all dappled light and crunchy leaves, full of mysterious smells and secret pathways. Only sound of birds around and just simply nature. Other dogs are sniffing out treasure. But me? Off the leash? I chase deer. Or foxes. Or rabbits. I’m not picky.
At some point, when I do go off on my chase, the humans start yelling my name like it’s the apocalypse. I ignore them for a while, obviously — I pretend I’m not that smart of a dog. But I always come back — eventually. Once they’re hoarse enough and sound like they’ve lost all hope. I do love them, after all.
Warmly,
Igor
