Ouch!!!

One hundred and forty two.

That was the number of mosquitoes he squished. The number of mosquitoes that squished him was uncountable. His socks were sweaty inside his boots and every step forward just brought him deeper into the bush and deeper in mud. The rain was intense this year and even though two weeks past there were still a lot of murky areas and the insects were impossible.

The bruised knees, mosquito bites and bloody nose were all worth it if he could get what he was looking for. Some people search for gold and some look for oil and minerals, but John was searching for something much more valuable. It was the very rare but very tasty white truffle that John pursued.

Have you ever had something so incredible that it just felt like heaven? It's different from anything manufactured. It was the taste of nature that he longed for, an almost seafood texture and garlicy onion flavor that nothing on earth could match. Actually the closest thing he ever had to match the white truffle was the fermented skate fish he had in South Korea. Nothing else in the world could match the flavor of the white truffle.

But all John got was branches and thorns in his mouth. After hours of hiking he still had no truffles. It's as if some wild animal had gone before him and eaten up all the truffles. He looked under the beech trees, under the fir trees and under the oak trees but found nothing but mangy paths.

John's dad floated over the hills like he had magic legs but John couldn't do it. He fell to the bottom of the hill and splash into a giant mud puddle. He felt like a pig. All he could do was cry.

He felt dizzy and saw in the meadow a very cute but very large pig coming towards him. It was as if it were an over stuffed Piglet from Winnie the Pooh. The pig was walking on its hind legs.

Did I say walking? It was more like dancing. If you had ever seen a pig in a tutu you wouldn't have seen a better fit. But this pig had his formal tweed suit and a brim hat. He bowed before John and tipped his hat. He said an Italian accent,

Buongiorno little boy. There is no reason to cry. The day is young. Let Signore Romagnolo show you where to find the besta truffles. Justa follow my nose. I'm the besta truffle guide in all of Italia.

Signore Romagnolo was magical. He took John's arm and floated out of the mud puddle. Everywhere they looked magical truffles appeared. John was floating in air. The morning of despair turned into an afternoon of delight. Hills and hills of truffles. They were behind trees and in the grasses. It was too good to be true.

Then John remembered... Where was his father? He had better introduce Signore Romagnolo to his father. John was feeling dizzy again. The bright colors dissapeared into black and white and all he could hear was a faint call of his name,

^{"John"
"John"}

Where was he? Oh, the mud puddle. His dad was coming towards him.

"It looks like you hit your head on the rock son. That was quite a fall."

John opened his eyes,

"Oh, but dad, didn't you see Signore Romagnolo?"

His dad was surprised to hear that name.

Son look right under your left arm.

There was a stash of truffles right in front of him.

In the distance they could hear a snorty little laugh.

John's dad said,

Yes, I do know Signore Romagnolo. He was your guide today when you missed your step.

^{Signore Romagnolo, the oak forest and truffle image are public domain photos from Pixabay.
Pic 1 Geraldsimon
Pic 2 WikiImages
Pic 3 Roy Burry}

If ever you fall into a pit remember there is always a guide very near...

even if he looks like a pig.