This story comes from Castel Volturno, in Campania. A dog, cared for and raised by the cemetery caretaker, refuses to accept the loss of his human friend—”master” is a term I dislike. Each day, he wanders among the gravestones, quietly searching, his gaze full of longing. He clings to the hope that his beloved will return—a hope that is constantly thwarted yet so powerful it draws him back, day after day.
A photo of the dog lying on the grass in front of the headstones went viral on social media, deeply moving the local community. As winter approaches, they have stepped in to help this living symbol of love that knows no borders. It is not eternal—that belongs to God—nor is it fickle, like us humans. Instead, it is an enduring love, mysterious and spiritual, the kind only dogs seem to possess. The renowned author Susanna Tamaro has recently written a heart-wrenching book dedicated to this very kind of love, which includes the story of Lampo, the traveling dog. That story, about a white mutt adopted by a railway worker in Livorno, was part of my middle school literature. Lampo knew every train schedule like a modern computer, traveling across Italy but always returning on time to his friend.
I used to read that magical book at night in my parents’ room, lying on my bed, thinking of my father, a railway worker. I still think of him today, now that he’s gone. But love, as we know, has no borders—and not even death can stop it.
