When the human said, “Today we’re walking, Otto,” I knew it wasn’t the usual stroll around the harbor. At first, I pretended not to notice, but then I saw her lacing up hiking boots. That’s when I realized this was serious. And when she pulled out the blue backpack with my foldable bowl inside, I knew there was no escape: we were heading to the Cinque Terre.
We started from Monterosso, which sounds like a superhero but smells of sea and lemons. I still don’t understand why, but as soon as we arrived, everyone wanted a photo of me. An American lady said, “Look! A golden dog in a golden village!” I acted like I didn’t care, but I posed perfectly. Forget Bolt: he was acting, I’m the real deal.
The climb toward Vernazza is not for dogs with full bellies. Nor for humans stuffed with Ligurian focaccia DOP, the kind that drips half a liter of olive oil if you squeeze it (extra virgin, of course). I felt nature in all its glory: earth, sweat, wild rosemary, and a pair of brand-new shoes that still smelled like the store.
The trail was narrow and full of crooked steps. Chiara kept saying, “Look at the view,” but honestly, I was just watching where to put my paws. At one point she stopped, red-faced, and said, “Shall we drink?” I already had half my nose in her water bottle. Then, with the voice of someone pretending to be happy, she said: “This is the beauty of effort.” I thought that if beauty had a shape, it would have been a cot in the shade.
Halfway through, I had a close encounter with a local cat. Gray. Almond eyes. Mayor’s stare. We stared at each other for a long time. Him on the wall, me with my nose up. In the end, with great maturity, we both decided to ignore each other. With that look that says: “You play tourist. I live here.”
Then, suddenly, Vernazza appeared. A painting. A dream. The human stopped for a lemon gelato, and I found shade under an overturned boat. A child tossed me a piece of bread. Another asked, “Mom, can we get one like that?” And she replied, “He’s too happy, darling. You don’t buy him, you meet him.”
Chiara stroked my head and whispered, “It feels like being in the movie Luca.” I don’t know who Luca is, but if he also ran happily through these alleys, I like him already.
We sat on the pier, my paws tired and my nose full of sea wind. Chiara gazed at the water, I gazed at her pistachio gelato. In the end, I got a lick. Deserved. Deep. Poetic.
“Shall we continue tomorrow?” she asked. I answered like true travelers do: I stretched out, yawned in the face of the sunset… and closed my eyes.
If there’s a better way to say yes, I don’t know it.
