On Being Missed.

In furtherance of my new-found resolution to be more accepting of my fellow creatures, I decided to walk over and talk to a man who was mowing his lawn at the bottom of the lane today. He told me that people had mentioned me. They’d said that I hadn’t been seen around for a while and wondered whether I’d moved. In return, I treated him to the story of my operation and a good time was had by all.

But what I don’t understand is this: I’ve had very little to do with the residents of the Shire over the twelve years I’ve lived here. They’re mostly not my type, just as most city and suburban dwellers are not my type. Very few people are my type, which is why I’ve evolved into being mostly reclusive. And I’ve been mostly a loner all my life. So why would they notice my absence, and why should it be of the slightest consequence to them?

Animals, on the other hand, are different, and I needed no new-found resolution to walk over and talk to the big, black, heavy-set gelding who sometimes occupies a field near here. He rewarded me with the grandest show of affection I’ve ever had from a horse. And even his shy little Shetland pony friend inched forward to have his muzzle stroked.

I wonder whether they’d noticed my absence, too. Or could it be that they recognised an injured creature and were offering sympathetic support? I settled on the likelihood of both.