The medley of noises coming from the bustling crowd floats by the butcher’s. The sausages are hanging down, yet uninterrupted by buyers: It is still the early morning.  The buyers come at noon on Sundays.  The fresh smell of bacon, pork and steak, fills the air, and a gust of wind carries it along the market path to an increasingly frantic puppy, a brown-copper sheepdog.  He barks and barrels toward the butcher’s stand, leaving his owner, who is at the fishmonger’s, in surprise.  The runaway dog crashes into several people in his enthusiasm, and disrupts several customers at other stalls in his gusto.  When he reaches the butcher’s he steals a sausage; now the ranks, which had once been intact, are broken.  The puppy runs, back to the fishmonger’s amidst many an angry shout, as he dirties his dragging chorizo on the muddy ground.