Fanny was the best bitch from hunt of all those we had had as of now.
In that period, we had other two male bloodhounds, but none of them was equalizing Fanny in the point of the hares and the carryover. Only for her we had reserved the place of honour at home: she was sleeping on a chair and, at those times, a chair was very precious.
She was of little size, of tawny colour and obviously, was not of breed.
Often in the night we heard her to yelp and to toss: - She dreams to chase the game! - was saying my father.
To Fallo we were living in a big building on the Via Duca degli Abruzzi and, also having a small stable at disposal in the room under the stairs outside the house, the hunting dogs sleeping in a corner of the kitchen.
Being a hunters' family, dogs must be treated with regard: it can could a chill and they were risking fall ill of rheumatisms. Obviously at hunt they were going in any period of the year, also when there was the annual closure and often, somebody of the country, surprised to poached, not canning to pay the fine, had preferred to do it some day to the imprisonment.

My family was hunters from generations and obviously also my father was a hunter. The male children could not be from less than the head of family and therefore, often, all the male components of the family, was leaving in the early morning, to get back usually late at night with the game-bags full. They were hunting everything: quails, thrushes, foxes, rates, but particularly hares. Obviously the hunting party was driving from the head of family, for a respect matter and because considered the most expert on the subject.

There was in the period of emigration and the men of the house were almost never present: they were leaving for very long periods and going back to Fallo occasionally.That year my brother had come back from America and, together to my father and the other brother, they decided to go for a hunting party to the hare.
Obviously the hunt was closed and for not arouse suspicions, the three dismantled the shotguns and hid them in the baskets with the provisions of the lunch which had loaded on the mule.
At late evening they had not go back. House women were very worried, in particular my mother who knew how many times the husband had risked to be stopped by the forester.
They got back that was almost dark and, my mother, understood at once that there was something which was not going: they had a grim expression on the faces and my brother as soon as come in, he leant the shotgun in a kitchen corner, he sat on a chair, he said only the sentence: - It was better that I was not getting back! - and he did not speak any more for all evening.
My mother, always more worried, faced at last my father what, almost crying told her what had happened.
They had already killed a fox and a rate and they were starting to return at home, when Fanny from the back of a bush "raised" a hare.
My brother was on the mule and saw in an instant the hare and the dog like two lightnings go out from a tangle of briers and brooms.
From the position where he was, he took the aim and shot. One of the lightnings continued his run and went to hide himself in the undergrowth, the other, that reddish, pitifully yelped, he fell on a side, he rose, he still ran after the hare, he stopped himself, he looked at my father's direction, then he fell heavily to the ground.
So Fanny died.
At home, everybody spoke little and nobody didn't go to hunting in two weeks. Next, my father, obtained himself another one little dog, reddish, of little size, not of breed: called Fanny, but she wasn't the Fanny that everyone knew and that still today we remember.