wait ... 
at any time without realizing we just can go four words without meaning that to me at least I have arrived. It's long wait, the pigs are moving in search of crops, leaving a little aside their shyness and come out more to clear, some are preparing the first pre-summer waiting and talking with friends, has left this beautiful story.
"My grandfather said that when this time (the time of harvest and summer) it rained, the pigs could not embody that bedbugs, ticks, lice, etc. do not stop moving and biting them to be wet . Whereupon the mud looking for more forms in any Charquilla can better rooting lombricillas and over the plains of streams and constantly scratching off the pesky parasites.
always at this time, when it rains, just need to walk through the mountains to figure out how to find traces of his adventures: any Charquilla serves as bathing, bury their muzzles up to the gates of the villages, and not hard to see some little guy with the trunk embarrao.
And he was right (and that the poor had read few books unfortunately), that one afternoon how are you, while waiting for hares and rabbits in the mountains, it rained. He got out of the squat where I was, I opened the old Sarasqueta and put a bullet of which leaned left him in the canyon. He put the peaked cap which he always carried and sat sat the trunk of the oak. Between two lights
charabasqueo felt no more than fifty meters saw it coming I'll see up front, right at the precipice of the pit in search of the sludge from the bath and had lombricillas pizarrillas below.
The shot was fatal, in the strain of the ear. In no more than twenty meters, just when he stood grumbling grandfather. And the fangs
I have them at home, next to his gun and my visor cap.
When I see this afternoon I will envy, envious. And think about it and the set recodaré grandfather ... "
