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In his life he killed a lot. We haven’t seen a rabbit in
years. Grey squirrels give us a wide berth. That said most birds were safe;
the ducks and Jaffa were equally disdainful of each other. He did once capture
a kingfisher, which he brought into The Mill still very much alive. It
escaped his jaws and then proceeded to fly around, chased by Jaffa until it
finally stunned itself flying into a large glass pane. I gathered the
bleeding bird up in a tea towel but as I did my emergency vet bit (very
amateur) it came to and pecked me on the hand. Kingfisher bills are, as you
might expect, sharp. I still have the scar.
Jaffa never really came to terms with the otters; frankly, I
think he was scared witless of them. The best he would do was to perch on a
windowsill staring out into the dark on the night as the eeking echoed
around the lake. But mostly he’d curl up indoors, not venturing outside
until the otters vacated his kingdom at dawn.
For The Mill was Jaffa’s kingdom. He has been part of the
weft and weave of life here since almost the very day I arrived. He’d join
me each morning as I went around clearing the sluices, adjusting the
hatches and feeding the fish, his reward two or three fish pellets. He absolutely
loved fish pellets. As he did the water from the Wallop Brook water; he’d
hang from the bank to drink, his little pink tongue lapping it up. When we
had the office in the house, he’d sleep between two monitors and above the
gentle up draught of the server for warmth. I think he knew every word of
my books as I muttered and typed away, the two of us together but alone to
our thoughts.
For the most part Jaffa liked having people around, though
he took an incomprehensible dislike to some from time to time, I’m sorry to
say greeting those who unwisely got too close, mostly men, with a bite or
scratch. Generally, however he’d saunter out to join new arrivals with
peaceful thoughts, unhurriedly watching the day unfold. Because, as I
finally worked out, we were his hunting enablers. The presence of people
discombobulated the rodent population; as they broke for cover, disturbed
by us humans, Jaffa pounced.
It was a never fail symbiosis of which he never tired.
Until, at least, just recently. Age caught up with Jaffa. A degenerating
spine condition limiting his forays until the sad day when he could barely
walk any longer. That day was Monday, when beside the Brook he had made his
own for nearly two decades, we had him peacefully put to sleep in the warmth
of the morning sun.
I’m going to miss you, buddy.
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