There was a bull by the name of Pajarito. Pajarito was raised on a ranch for the sole purpose to fight a matador in the ring, and then be ritualistically killed. For those of you who don't know bull-fighting....Usually, the bull loses its life when the fight is over. It is a pretty controversial sport.
Anyway, Pajarito's time had come and he was released into the ring....to be fought.
This is where my respect for him comes.....because most bulls come out frightened, and skittish.
Not Pajarito.
Pajarito came out like a bat out of hell, and proceeded to make his mark in this world. He went straight for the fence, and then jumped into the crowd. He pushed, shoved, gored people out of his way until eventually he became stuck.
Moments later, he was killed when a matador ended his life with a sword.
No one in the crowed was killed.
I wonder if he was scared? Angry? I wonder if he missed any of his brothers and sisters that he grew up with on the ranch. I wonder if he felt alone. I can't help but feel a connection to him. It might sound stupid, but its true.
I like Pajarito's style....It's almost like he came out with an attitude of....WATCH THIS. If I'm gonna go out, It's going to be my way. People won't soon forget me. My life is not meaningless. I was meant for more than inevitable destruction.
I hate bull-fighting, and I personally rejoice when I hear that the Bull wins.
So I will raise my metaphorical glass to my almost-friend...Pajarito. And hope that I can share the same attitude that fueled his last moments of life........Watch this, because I was meant for more than anyone on this earth might think.
p.s. Pajarito means "Little bird" in spanish. Watch the little bird fly.
--JB
