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([personal profile] crivelli Jul. 28th, 2011 12:20 pm)
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The dog is a saint. He is straightforward and honest by nature.

He knows by instinct when he is not wanted; lies quite still for

hours when his king is hard at work. But when his king is sad and

worried he creeps up and lays his head on his lap. 'Don't worry.

Never mind if they all abandon you. Let us go for a walk and forget

all about it!'

~ Axel Munthe ~
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([personal profile] crivelli Jul. 28th, 2011 12:17 pm)
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Like the ancient Romans, the Capri dogs devote the greater part of their day to public life. The Piazza is their Forum, and it is there they write their history. When Don Antonio opens the doors of his osteria, and Don Nicolino, barber and bleeder, steps out of his "Salone," Capri begins a new day. From all sides the dogs then comegravely walking forth — the doctor's, the tobacconist's, the secretary's, Don Archangelo's, Don Pietro's, etc. etc., and, after a greeting in accordance with nature's prescribed ceremonial, they seat themselves upon the Piazza to meditate. Don Antonio places a couple of chairs in front of his cafe, and whilst some of them accept the invitation to lean against them, others prefer the steps leading up to the Church, or that comfortable corner by the Campanile, to whose clock generations have listened with ever-increasing astonishment where, indomitable as the sun, it presses forward on its own path, but alas! not that of the sun.

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(Текст не вычитан. Кое-какие опечатки я выловила, но далеко не все.)


Writers and Their Dogs


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