The sun had disappeared and still I sat on my board, floating happily out near the mouth of the estuary. There were few clouds, all strewn and stretched across the horizon, from the point to the north to the sinking sun in the west. Above was clear but punctuated by Venus winking in the west. There were barely perceptible rays stretching out from the departed sun, still bright and powerful below the water.

Big, curling, barreling waves were breaking and the line-up was thinning with the darkness. Neither Bailey nor I had yet ripped one of these gorgeous waves—the more skilled surfers took long fast shots off to the right but we were not so competent. We waited and shifted our gaze in each moment from the wave sets to the darkening shore and to the far-off mess of clouds silhouetted in orange. Charlie waded in-shore from us, checking out the waves and body-surfing as able.

And then we felt them coming and we saw the thick flock of birds zooming towards us from the shore. There were dozen of them, or there were hundreds, or or... I will never be certain. The small birds—terns? I have no idea—flipped and turned over each other as they flew past us and out to open water. None dove for the water. Were they looking for fish or just celebrating their freedom in the gorgeous light?

And then I remembered where I was and I turned towards the still radiant horizon and saw all the birds cut black out of the orange to blue sky. And they were swooping and magic and I was awed and, in that tiny moment, I was not thinking of anyone or anything else anywhere. I just was, and it was good.

DarkCash HorseLove from Carlos d'Avis on Vimeo.

But, with the goal of cheering my still-sick housemate and friend (and Paganello champion!) Sarah, I have begun to see the light, as adorable pointy little noses nudge open the floodgates, and release me once again on the blogosphere.

Sarah is, without much exaggeration, obsessed with dachshunds or, as she refers to them, "witty bitty wachshunds." She has an earnest hope to care for her own sometime soon, however unfeasible such a plan might be. In the interim, I photographically stalk dachshunds for her whenever I see them. Which was a bit more frequently than I expected in Europe.

The creatures might be growing on me a bit. Perhaps. I'd still prefer a dog that could keep pace with me on a run.

On the deck, coming up on drewd:

• Adventures with Airlines
• Hanging in London with Stylish, Paul and Gwyn
• Walking the City and Monmouth Love
• Mr. Twister at Paganello
• So Many Friends, So Little Time
• Top Five Trip Meals
• And more!

I'm easy to amuse, I won't lie.

I don't think he would make an "OM NOM NOM NOM" noise so much as a "SLURP SLURP SLURP."

Note: I recognize that spending money on a dormouse is arguably more worthwhile than say, oh, I don't know, the war in Iraq?

I have had this post waiting in the wings for some time now. I keep trotting out this fantastical story to friends---it even came out at Thanksgiving. I figure the time is right to support my wild leporid tale with hard facts.

I first read of Karl Szmolinsky in an interview in Viceland. This champion breeder of giant rabbits outside of Berlin was informed by the North Korean embassy that Kim Jong Il was interested in Szmolinsky's humongous hares as a food source for the famine-stricken Hermit Kingdom. The good-natured and trusting man was happy, even proud, to support such a noble cause as feeding children. Regardless, the BBC profiled Szmolinsky soon after North Korea's request and labeled him a Communist, nostalgic for the old days before the Berlin Wall fell.

Szmolinsky sold 12 rabbits to the North Koreans, who sent the animals to a farm in Pyongyang. He also provided a book about breeding, feeding and raising them for maximum food production. Szmolinsky was optimistic for the program and understandably excited at the prospect of traveling to North Korea to further instruct in proper techniques.

The happy tale ends here. The disingenuous North Korean officials cut off all communication with Szmolinsky and their embassy in Berlin refused to speak to or see him. Plans for a local film feature were scrapped and the affable German became fearful for his rabbits' fate. He did not wait long for his fears to be confirmed: a London reporter returned to Europe with news for Szmolinsky. Kim Jong-il ate the rabbits as part of a special birthday feast.

In the interview in Viceland, Szmolinsky declares that "all politicians are bandits" and decries the now obvious scam. Regardless, he is negotiating with the Chinese government to broker a similar deal, trusting that country not to trick him similarly.

John Updike would likely counsel, "Rabbit, run!" What can I say? Only in Communist states do they take the Red pill and see how deep the rabbit-hole goes.