On amauve-smeared morning in the wine-producing Lang he Hills of Piedmont, where soft grey mists hang in vine-strung valleys, I’m striking out into woods with a young female trifulau (truffle hunter), Marta Meneg aldo, and her Lagotto Romagnolo pup, Luna. With the snap of hazel twig underfoot, and the raspy chatter of a mag pie above us, we follow Luna as she cuts a rapid zig zag throug h brambles and thickets of wild hazel and chestnut, on the quest for a certain mushroomy aroma . “Some dogs go stealthily throug h the woods, sniffing every inch of ground. Others like to run wildly around. Luna is young and keen, so she likes to do both,” Marta laug hs as we watch the seventeen-monthold Lagotto dart from tree to tree, her chocolatebrown nose never leaving the ground.
Fifteen minutes pass before Luna stands suddenly stock-still and presses her
