Sometimes, when I walk into the kitchen, Daisy trots along beside me. I walk out. She follows. I walk back. She is with me. Back and forth we go. We can continue like this for quite a while. Whatever it is that Daisy wants, it seems to me, is both in the kitchen and not in the kitchen. Sometimes we might linger: me, tall, looking down; she, considerably shorter, looking up. Oh how quiet Daisy is then, stuck without any words, her whole body telling me that what she wants is out there, in excess of anything she can communicate! Then one day, yesterday, in fact, Daisy declared that she had had enough. OK, she said, let me put a name to it. Sausage!