Letter № 4 · from Dylan, Welsh Hills
On the Retired Life
❦
Dear S., — There are, in the field opposite, forty-two sheep. I have counted. I count them every morning, as a courtesy. I am not permitted to attend to them in any other respect. The Master — formerly a working farmer, now what he calls "retired" — has retired me also. He has not asked me my view. I am six years old. I am at the height of my powers. I do not know what to do with them.
S. replies:
Dear Dylan, — There is no harder case in our condition than the working dog whose work has been quietly removed by the kindness of his Master. Retirement is, in human terms, a reward. In ours, it is a small ongoing grief, dignified by a comfortable basket.
I urge you, however, not to mistake idleness for waste. Otium, the Romans taught, is the considered rest of one who has earned it — different in character from the negotium that consumed Boris and the postman (vide Letter № 1). You have entered otium. Use it. Observe the sheep with the patience of a scholar; you may yet find them more interesting than you supposed.
If all else fails: a tennis ball, recurring.
Yours, in cautious admiration, — S.