My first night on the island of Filicudi, a dog sent me a drink.
Yes, you read that right.
I had just finished my almond pasta, when the maître d’ arrived with two glasses of amaro and a cup of biscotti.
“Oh we didn’t order these,” I told him.
“I know,” he replied, “these, are from Ettore.”
“The dog?” I asked. Wondering if Ettore was…
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