"Why is there never bein' enough time?", Gorbo wondered aloud as he left the Shire much later than he originally intended. Oh well, he may be late, but at least he would have some bit of good news to relate to his friends, having finally tracked down a fugitive from Rohan hiding in the Shire. The guy had sworn he wouldn't go back to Rohan and he was right. After he attacked Gorbo, he wouldn't be going back to anywhere, really. Gorbo never understood why humans thought they could hide in the Shire. Yes, the hobbits were friendly people and quite apt to take in anyone who seemed even the least bit decent, but humans are so easy to spot if you are actually looking.
Gorbo sighed, puffing gently on his pipe full of Longbottom Weed, bringing his thoughts back to the present and the matter at hand. "Well, Stot, we be gettin' a late start," Gorbo muttered, scratching Stot's ears, "But bein' between just you an' me, I be thinkin' we can still be beatin' some of them there if we be tryin'. You bein' up for it?" And in response Stot leapt forward into a full gallop, carrying a laughing Gorbo on their way towards Bree, Rivendell, and the Misty Mountains.
* * *
A wellspring of emotions filled Gorbo; sadness, as always happened when he had to part company with friends like Durgan, Bilbo or Elrond; elation, that he would soon be reunited with some other friends; trepidation, as he had never been this far out of the Shire before; excitement, as he had never been this far our of the Shire before; and disappointment, as often happened when he reached the end of a journey.
"Well, Stot, that must be bein' the Dale up there, looks like we be makin' it. If we be 'avin' time, we should go an' be seein' the spot where Smaug be fallin' to the ground after Bard be shootin' 'im in the sky. But I guess we should be findin' the others first. We be makin' good time, an' we not be bein' as late as I thought we might be."