So, it was a couple of months after I'd arrived in Perugia, in the first weeks of July--I hadn't gotten tired of exploring its winding little streets, though I no longer got lost in them;

I was climbing this corkscrew-stair of a street just behind the Porta Pesa, half on my hands and knees--when suddenly I came to this landing-like juncture of yet another street, and there before me, surrounded by a small semi-circle of aunts and neighbor-ladies, was a lovely little girl, about five years old, dressed in Sunday finery, and before her a puppy dog who looked exactly  like Snoopy.  "Buon Cùcciolo," I said softly (the words just fell out of my mouth), and gravely and tenderly she reached out and rubbed the puppy's nose.  And if ever you have seen a doggy melt with ravishment that's what this Snoopy look-alike did.  Around us fell a silence of reverent tenderness.  I rose to my feet and walked on.