Somewhere in his travels between our house and his other home, in the early hours of this morning, Coltrane wandered too close to the road and was hit by a car.
We buried him in the spot where he liked to hang out the most, beside the garden shed. He loved to nap there in the sun.
We’ll miss him an awful lot, especially in the evening when it’s time to feed the pigs. If we never saw Coltrane at any other time, we knew we’d see him then. We’d hear the undergrowth rustling, and he’d slink out to keep us company, talking with his distinctive high-pitched voice. We only knew him for about a year, but it seemed like he’d been part of the Crooked Acres landscape forever.
He was an absolute sweetheart and we are all the better for knowing him, even if only for a short time.