He is the last one.
So I am grateful to have one animal to see, speak to, sometimes even pet on my morning walk.
In my Field Notes essay, "Communion With the Animals", I wrote about the cows and horses and ponies that hung out in the fields along my route, how I befriended them, fed them carrots and apples, watched them run across the grass.
It seemed almost as soon as the book was published, the animals began to disappear. Someone died, moved away, was unable to keep up. One day they were there -- the next the field was empty.
I call this fella, who lives by himself, "Jesse", after the horse in the novel I wrote last winter and is currently waiting to be read by a publisher. Jesse doesn't come to the fence much; he's not interested in being patted. But he watches me as the dog and I walk by, and I talk to him.
"Good morning, handsome boy."
There isn't much else to say.
He is the only one.
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