He was an old pig now. His snout was wrinkled and his hair had long since grayed. With age had gone his youthful exuberance and excited energy of years past, so he couldn't run and skip and make merry has much as he had done in his youth. Mr. Zuckerman had kept his promise to make sure he lived to a ripe old age, and Wilbur was more than grateful for the comfortable life he had been blessed to live. The older generation in the barn cellar had died off, allowing the younger animals to grow up and replace them. Charlotte had told him long ago that dying was a part of life, and Wilbur assumed it wouldn't be long before his time to go would inevitably come.

Charlotte. Not a day had passed since she had died that he hadn't thought about her. She had always held that special place in his heart that could never be replaced. It was because of her that he had been able to grow to the ripe old age he was at now, and not slaughtered for bacon like most pigs years ago. He couldn't have asked for a better friend than Charlotte. She had been with him through thick and thin, had lulled him to sleep when he was feeling scared about the future, and chatted with him when he was feeling bored. And then of course there was the brilliant way she had saved his life. She had been completely selfless, which, to Wilbur at least, was the true epitome of a good friend.

Wilbur sadly smiled as he thought of the spider who had become his first real friend. He remembered clearly her answer when he had asked why she had done so much for him.

"You have been my friend." Was what she had said, and Wilbur had never forgotten it. Even as generations of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren came and went, Wilbur had never forgotten the common grey spider who had not only saved his life, but taught him what it meant to be a true friend. To this day he still felt he had never been able to fully repay her, but it gave him comfort nonetheless to know that he had brought her egg sack, containing her five hundred and fourteen children, back to the barn cellar to be born.

Wilbur moved his head slightly to see Templeton, the grouchy old rat, come slinking out from his hole underneath the pig trough to feed on the scraps left over from breakfast. The rat had also grown gray due to age and was so fat he could easily pass for a young woodchuck. The old sheep had often told him (may she rest in peace) that he would live longer if he ate less, but Templeton had never shown the slightest amount of worry, simply stating 'Who wants to live forever?'.

Wilbur smiled fondly to himself. Though Templeton had caused him his share of headaches thoughout the years, the pig still owed him a great deal for all the favors the rat had done for him. It was Templeton who had gotten Charlotte's egg sack down from the rafters at the fair, so it could be brought back to the barn cellar.

"Good morning, Templeton." Wilbur called pleasantly, not really expecting the rat to answer him.

Templeton shot a glance at him before climbing on top of the pig trough and turning around to face Wilbur. "Morning." The rat muttered, scratching his midriff absentmindedly. "Chilly this morning."

Wilbur nodded in agreement. "Quite chilly. It's supposed to get colder later on today too."

"It's always supposed to get colder." The rat grumbled, sliding down into the pig trough. "Makes my old bones sore. Why can't it be warm for a change around here? Mother Nature is so heartless."

Wilbur smiled at the rat's incessant complaining. It had been going on for the last several years and showed no signs of ceasing anytime soon. "You're not the only one who's languishing around here." Wilbur called back in response, and chuckled lightly when he heard a loud snort from Templeton.

The old pig grunted softly to himself as he scooted the manure around in his pile to make himself more comfortable. As he closed his eyes, he continued to think about Charlotte. It was to her that he owed his life, and he would never forget it.

After all, it's not often that someone comes along who is a good friend, and a good writer.

Charlotte was both.