This gentille sausage, glimpsed in his glorious death throes, is the emblem of the Ville Platte, Louisiana, smoked meat festival, better known as Le Festivale de la Viande Boucanée.
Standing in his airless chamber of choking smoke, the flames roaring on the floor, Pierre Sausage grins an unguarded, lopsided grin. Truth be told, he's having the time of his life. Well, what brief span of life still remains.
What might have been a scene of horror becomes an endearing vision of unabashed delight. The door is open, but the sausage isn't going anywhere.
This is exactly where he wants to be, his skin crisping, his flavor peaking. He's as happy as a kid in a clubhouse. This is his fort. His sanctum, his temple, his church. The place of his fullest being. As he undergoes his baptism by smoke, Pierre achieves his fondest hope.