Quick Sketch: Sausages and Salchichas

 There's a lot happening in sports right now, so sports is on the mind.

Today the NBA on it's official youtube channel presented a 58 minute stream of the unveiling of Kobe Bryant's statue, what delightfully turns out to be one of three. I of course skipped most of the 58 minutes to just see the statue. I did not have the fortitude to listen to Vanessa or Phil speak. It was hard enough just seeing what I wanted to see.

Ultimately, it is just a statue, but the emotions overwhelmed me. I had a cry. I had the exact cry I have at the end of "Life Is Beautiful" when that movie culminates in punching you right in the heart with a little boy who thinks he's won when in fact he has lost more than he can ever know, but ultimately knows it because he told us the story and that it was a sad one. A sad story that ends in triumph.

Grief is a product of enrichment, the easiest way to beat grief is through poverty. To lack value to which to be attached. Buddhists have it right. That's why it's great to feel so bad to have a reminder of Kobe's lost greatness.

Far away, on the other side of the world are indescribable little warm bags of organs on cute little legs with wet noses and fur all over that I miss. It's amazing that I care so much about little moving shit factories. They are sausages/salchichas. I want little more in life than to hang out with them.

Obviously I want more, but much of the more I want, like stimulating my brain by making stuff I can do while hanging out with them.

There are a million dogs their equal, but much as I miss those two, I don't resent my poverty in regards to all other dogs. I found them, and they are enough. They are half a world away, I miss them sorely, and they are enough.

I can feel them, that's my conceit, through the whole globe, across the whole pacific ocean, like phantom limbs curled up being bored or alternately excited.

I like to run at night, at night because I might see foxes, I like to pretend that those two little dogs are dreaming of being foxes and seeing me out running at night.

Magpies have Usma's eyes. I see Magpies, and protective as they are, particularly in spring, they watch me with Usma's eyes and I feel like Usma is watching me.

The other week, I dreamed I was in the bush, with all the rotting foliage on the ground, and that sodden mass was filled with rats, and to take care of the rats we had the foxes.

After that dream, I felt like making offerings to the wild. A strange irrational urge that morons would call spirituality, and I would call imbecility. Curiosity. Grief. Hope.

I enjoy leaving meat, be it a sausage bought from the wrong market stall to save a few bucks that tastes just plain bad, or a bone from a roast that just has the meat left my dentist says I shouldn't gnaw off anymore. I put it on an outdoor table and leave it, like carrots for Rudolph, but this is meat for the wild. Unlike Rudolph, the wild comes.

I find Myna Birds funny, the way they are always running scams. They have one myna perched as lookout, while another myna tries to eat as much of my offerings as possible. If they see me, they are all "quick let's scram boys." even though they are probably girls. I like that. 

It reminds me of the kinds of scams and schemes my dogs would run to try and trick us into taking them with us on holidays. Having to push them back through the front door, or lift them off the case we must have forgot to pack them into.

Fauna is delightful. No matter where you go.