Camomillo and Graziella: The Hooves of Fate

By Christian Sarni

Once upon a time, somewhere in the folds of time, there lived a young and poor little donkey named Camomillo. By chance, he met a charming she-donkey named Graziella. The two quickly fell in love and decided to get married. However, even in those parts, weddings were expensive, and the young lovers realized they needed to save up a good amount of money.

So Camomillo got hired by a mason named Master Cucchiara, who at the time was building a castle on top of a mountain. Graziella, on her part, couldn’t adapt to any kind of work, claiming she was too delicate and of noble stature to endure any hardship. Camomillo toiled body and soul, often sinking his hooves into the ground, while his boss forced him out with shovel blows. Meanwhile, Graziella lay on her back, gazing at the clouds and lazily napping for most of the day. Somehow, each day came to an end—miraculously for Camomillo, tediously for Graziella.

After a month of beastly sacrifices, Camomillo finally received his first paycheck: fifty bronze coins and a carrot. The little donkey was thrilled and, glowing with joy, dashed down the mountain to bring the good news to his beloved. He had never felt so happy and lively in his life. Soon he reached his “crush” and, tongue dragging under his hooves, mumbled: “Look, my love, I have 50 bronze coins!” He was almost luminous with emotion, but his sweetheart, without a hint of consideration, turned away with an air of indifference. “Well, you know, I went around today to check the costs for our wedding, and I’d say this money is far too little.” “What do you mean, too little?!” Camomillo replied proudly. “It may not be enough, but it’s fifty shiny, jingling bronze coins in my hooves!” The poor donkey was still euphoric, a short film of dreams playing in slow motion across his big, shiny black eyes. But then Graziella cooled him down: “I understand, but to get married we need at least 500 gold coins.” Camomillo turned pale. From joy he sank into sorrow, and his hooves began to tremble. “What?! What do we do now?” Camomillo started pacing in circles, pondering with a hoof under his chin. Then he lit up again: “Well, why don’t you work too? That way we’ll get there faster!” But Graziella immediately lowered her eyes sadly, sighed, and said: “Do you see me? I’m slender, I have delicate skin, fragile nails, weak hooves…” Then, starting to sob, she swallowed and added: “That means you don’t love me!” But Camomillo did love her—oh, how he loved her! And so, afraid of hurting her, he decided not to insist. He simply lowered his ears, which until moments before had stood tall and straight like two wooden sticks, and walked away.

The next morning, Camomillo went to work very early. By 5 a.m. he was already on the road, and before heading to Master Cucchiara, he carried bundles of wood for a lumberjack. At 7 sharp, he was at the construction site, and until sunset he endured every kind of abuse his boss threw at him without remorse. After finishing work on the mountain, he would descend to the valley to pull carriages in place of horses through the village streets—until late at night. Just a few hours of sleep, and the odyssey began again. Every day was the same. Camomillo worked tirelessly and, sadly, had to endure his companion’s indifference.

At the end of each day, he returned exhausted, but his spirit remained ablaze with love for his beloved. He tried to hide his fatigue behind a smile, and every night he would approach her as she slept and whisper: “I love you.” Then he would tuck her in to keep her warm and fall asleep beside her under the stars. If Camomillo ever tried to stretch out a hoof, she would immediately put him back in his place, saying they had to wait until they were married (money permitting). “Well done, my good Camomillo. That’s how I like you,” she would say. And just a gentle stroke on his muzzle was enough to get anything from him. As she had done before, she whispered: “By any chance, did Master Cucchiara pay you today?” Poor Camomillo, instantly flustered, stammered: “Well, I… I… Hee-haw, hee-haw!!!” “Come on, calm down. Oh you sly one, I figured you out right away!” Then, hesitating a moment, she said to her faithful quadruped: “Well, you know, this morning I saw a lovely little dress—embroidered, colorful, and fragrant. I even tried it on. You should’ve seen how good it looked on me! Oh my, oh my! But… no, it’s too expensive.” “How much does it cost?” “Well… it costs 3 gold coins.” And with that, she turned away and began to cry. “What are you doing? Come on, don’t cry. Alright, I’ve decided: I’ll buy it for you!” Graziella widened her eyes, though still composed. Deep down, she knew he wouldn’t deny her anything. “Really?! Oh, my love, you make me so happy! Ah, you truly love me.” No sooner said than done: Graziella snatched the gold coins from Camomillo’s large, aching hoof, gave him a kiss, and then turned away as if nothing had happened.

She saw only the sparkle of the coins, ignoring how dearly they had cost her suitor. The days that followed were gloomy, exhausting, and always the same. Camomillo worked from dawn till night; Graziella, on the other hand, went shopping. “What’s the rush? Aren’t we fine as we are? We’re still so young!” She replied every time the poor donkey asked her to save a little. Yet the cunning Graziella always found a way to be convincing, and Camomillo, as the saying goes, fell for it. So there was never a day of rest for Camomillo, nor a day when Graziella didn’t find a way to spend some money.

Time passed, and step by step, the donkey returned from work increasingly exhausted. Each time, even when he came home earlier than usual, he found his sweetheart lying on the bed, sleeping so deeply she seemed lifeless. Camomillo grew concerned and eventually asked her the reason for such fatigue. She replied that, after being pressured for so long to do something, she had decided to work at a pharmacy. The donkey was proud of his companion, even though each evening he saw her return more and more tired. Tired, yes—but there was also a certain satisfaction on her face. Camomillo saw it as an act of love, a sacrifice for the good of the couple. But things were not as they seemed.

And so, the next evening, Camomillo came home from work and, to his immeasurable sorrow, found no trace of his “fiancée”—only a note with a few lines:

I cared for you, but what I’m doing

is right for both of us.

I took a few coins to get by.

Be strong. Farewell, my little donkey.

Reading those bitter lines, Camomillo wept—and his tears were so many that they washed away every word on the page. Now he was a donkey abandoned and penniless. In truth, Graziella hadn’t taken just a few coins—she had taken all of her ex’s savings.

The wounded donkey fell into a deep depression. He stopped eating, drinking, and even sleeping. The days that followed were unbearably sad, and gradually Camomillo regressed into a deteriorated state of existence: he became a stray dog, languishing, nearly dying from starvation and heartbreak. And to seal it all, fate had one more surprise in store…

While he lay exhausted beside a ditch, Graziella passed by. Not alone—but in the fine company of a large, muscular horse. Seeing the scene, Camomillo was stunned. He couldn’t believe his eyes, widened by hunger and disbelief: his once timid and delicate she-donkey now wore high heels and flame-red lipstick. What devilry was this? Camomillo’s jaw dropped to the ground.

Graziella spoke first, addressing the poor creature with a tone of near disgust: “Oh, I almost didn’t recognize you. But if I’m not mistaken, aren’t you Camomillo?” The unfortunate donkey nodded, and she continued: “Ah yes, of course. Something told me you’d end up like this.” Camomillo remained silent. “I came by to introduce you to my fiancé—soon to be my husband. His name is Filippaldo, and he owns the villa you were building on the mountain back when you were a laborer. You know, a lot has changed since we parted ways. I now feel more like a lady donkey—a true four-legged lady.”

Graziella chuckled with the flair of a femme-fatale donkey, thinking she was mocking her miserable ex. But she was too full of herself to realize that her words were actually giving him the strength to carry on. “You know, I met him by chance while shopping. Oh, he even owns a lingerie boutique. But now he has many expenses, so I decided to work too—to lend him a hoof. He’s out all morning handling business, and poor thing, when he comes home in the afternoon, he’s very stressed. I always prepare him a nice lunch, polish his hooves, comb his tail, shine his ears, and much more. Then in the evening, we get quite busy—because a little fun never hurts.”

Graziella spoke with great enthusiasm about her new boyfriend, glowing with pride and smiling with satisfaction. But Camomillo, true to his name, had a calm temperament, and his intelligence allowed him to turn his anger into strength. Graziella, on the other hand, didn’t understand him and kept insulting him stubbornly. After all, she hadn’t yet heard a single whimper of pain from the dog who had once been her faithful donkey. “You know,” she continued, crossing her hooves, “we’re getting married, and I’m saving up the money we need. I can’t buy dresses, but that’s better—this way we can marry sooner.” In short, she provoked him in every way; but Camomillo didn’t flinch. Then the spiteful she-donkey, annoyed, tried to humiliate him with the obvious: “Oh, poor stray dog! You’ve become a real pauper. Ah, how sad. Here, take this crust of bread left over from lunch.” “No, thank you,” Camomillo replied firmly. “I’ve already eaten plenty, and I’m lying down to ease a mild stomach ache. I’m truly full—full of food, of you, and of all the lovely things you’ve said. I’m glad you’re doing well, and to be honest, I’m doing just fine too. But now I’d like to rest, and I kindly ask you to leave me alone. You know, tomorrow I’m going back to work…”

The proud she-donkey stared at him for a few moments with an impatient look, then laughed in his face, turned to her burly lover, and signaled him to leave. It didn’t take long for the odd couple to disappear down the road. Graziella was sure she had wounded Camomillo to death—but she had no idea she had actually helped him rise again.

Indeed, the next day Camomillo woke up early. Now that he had learned more about life—and about animals—he decided to change the course of his interests. He began working for himself: he became a prestigious hunting dog. In no time, his fame grew, bringing him wealth and respect. Gradually, he regained his donkey form and surpassed it, becoming a magnificent racehorse. He won many races, prizes, and medals.

Then, one fine day, he met Concettina—an intelligent and charming mare. They fell in love immediately and soon got married. Their union was happy because Concettina was virtuous and hardworking. She was truly a wonderful wife, and soon she would become a sweet and loving mother.

With hindsight, Camomillo realized that there’s always something better in the world, and that when you’re truly “on your hooves,” you should be with someone who shares your values. Riding the wave of success, he even changed his name. From that day forward, everyone called him: Furio Camillo.

Time passed peacefully—but, as always in every world, not for everyone…

One day, like many others, Furio Camillo was “reinstalling” when he suddenly heard a faint rustling from a hedge. Curious, he went to check, and as he got closer, the indistinct sound became a whimper, then a voice he instantly recognized. It was none other than Graziella. But what sorcery was this? She was now a tiny cicada dangling from a dry twig fallen to the ground.

Furio Camillo was very surprised and approached cautiously. Now fate had reversed their roles: the one who once smiled now cried—and in a far more miserable form of existence.

“Hi Camomilletto! Do you recognize me? It’s Graziella. How are you?!” Graziella chirped in a syrupy tone, frantically waving her little legs. Furio Camillo still had a stunned look when he began to speak, almost mechanically: “Oh, if only you knew how badly I’m doing. Everything’s going wrong! I now have a splendid job, a delightful wife, and three loving little foals to raise.”

The cicada, who had retained her old cunning, pretended not to understand—as usual. She was convinced her ex still loved her, and she persisted. “I made so many mistakes with you, sigh! Asking for forgiveness isn’t enough, but it’s all I can do. Only you knew how to love me like that. How foolish I was to trust that scoundrel!”

Furio Camillo couldn’t take pleasure in her sorrow and tried once more to offer her a heartfelt speech—only to help her grow.

“Neither of us needs tears anymore. I must thank you for the pain you gave me, because it pushed me to work hard and improve. I hope this pain helps you too—to progress and become what you once were, but this time more selfless and wise.”

Graziella understood none of his heartfelt words. She remained on the surface, her selfishness driving her to listen only to the whims swirling in her head.

“But I love you! Please give me a chance. You’ll see—I’ll be a faithful companion. Please, forgive me!” Furio Camillo drew a deep breath, exhaled sorrowfully, and then, fixing his gaze on her tiny, fake eyes, said:

“I truly loved you. And now you cry only because you’re alone—not because you love me. Those who love cannot hurt their beloved so deeply. We don’t become good or bad—we simply remain, deep down, who we’ve always been. But everyone deserves a second chance, and you too can become better than before. Open your heart!”

And with that, he walked away from her.

After some time, Graziella tricked a poor cricket, then a bumblebee, and finally a gnat. With each deception, she regressed into an increasingly inferior form of existence. But just before she became a speck of dust, destined to vanish forever into the void, she paused to reflect on her ex’s words.

Her vanity still whispered to her: “You could become a grain of dust and still be beautiful as the sun’s rays pass through you.” But returning to herself, she added: “Perhaps I could… but I’d be empty, practically nothing.” So she gathered her strength and went against her own nature. She decided she now wanted to give, not just take.

Day by day, gift after gift, she slowly regained her former shape. She had finally discovered the beautiful face of life and chose to change her name to “Graziosa.” She never married, but instead became a missionary in a distant land, helping other beings evolve into higher forms. Eventually, she became a splendid racehorse and felt fulfilled in her true nature, living happily for many years.

Time passed, and fate arranged for Furio and Graziosa to meet again. The signs of age were immediately visible to both, though they clumsily pretended not to notice. In fact, Graziosa, aware of Furio Camillo’s fame, challenged him to a “last-hoof” race—and the former battle donkey gladly accepted.

Truthfully, neither of them intended to take it seriously. They knew they were no longer young; they simply wanted to indulge in that touch of madness that had always united them in youth. Perhaps that was the glue that had kept them together (reluctantly) for years.

Without overthinking it, they began to run. As they trotted, they kept glancing at each other, full of questions. Camillo thought to himself: “What did I ever find so attractive in her? That crooked smile and slightly neurotic air…” Graziosa, on the other hand, mused: “I spent years with this guy—clumsy and half a blockhead. What a waste of time…”

They didn’t finish the race, overcome as they were by shortness of breath and the desire to chat. Time had passed, but deep down, they were still the same. Perhaps it was youth, with its blissful recklessness, that had deceived them—leaning on fleeting beauty that for long stretches overshadows sound reasoning.

Maybe, if Graziosa hadn’t lost her parents at a young age, she wouldn’t have sought protection from someone big and kind like Furio Camillo. And perhaps, if Camillo had been born into a more forward-thinking family, he wouldn’t have considered marrying at twenty.

In the end, both realized there was no one to hate—only the twists of life that lead us to make certain choices. After an awkward silence, Camillo spoke first, convinced he could voice their shared sentiment: “Oh, love… what a mess it made of us!” They both burst into laughter, nodded, and exchanged a kind look—tinged with nostalgia and filled with unspoken words. They shrugged and parted like two old friends.

Years later, Furio Camillo learned that Graziosa had passed away and had chosen to donate her body to a sort of “post-mortem” exhibition. The aging ex-fiancé gathered his courage and decided to see her one last time.

He entered the museum and, after wandering a bit, he saw her. There she was—unmistakable: still splendid in that sculpted pose that honored her untamed and adventurous spirit. Almost the same light shone in her glassy eye, which seemed to follow the observer from every angle. On her lips, forever etched, was the same mocking curve that had enchanted him so many years before.

“Well done, my Graziella! Maybe, in another life, things would’ve been different,” Furio Camillo said. Then he turned and left, a tear rolling down his muzzle.

He remained happily united with his family for many more years. 

Then, as happens to all, his earthly journey came to an end.

“Well, even the best must say goodbye,” he sighed with his usual irony, and gently let go. At that very moment, his good heart gave him one last gift. When his loved ones looked at him, they were astonished: He no longer had his old hooves—now, in their place, were the hands of a man.

And with a smile—the delicate smile of one who wisely weighs all things—he peacefully embraced his final chapter.

 By Christian Sarni