Old Harrydump Proudfoot was just getting back from a tiring and rather stressful day at the construction site. Of course, he never had the sense or the charm to get married, so it was a cold and empty house he came back to. He lived on the bank of the Brandywine, in a humble cottage on a grassy knoll which commanded an excellent view of the river; all though it was a pain to drive all the way into town every morning. On this particular evening, he had stabled the horses, lit a crackling fire in the stove, and was just sitting down to soak his large feet and brush out all the dust and dirt, when he thought he heard a faint cry. It was mournful, yet it carried a sense of urgency and desperation. He muttered something under his breath and strode outside. Surveying the river, he saw nothing. All was peaceful and still.

Shivers ran up and down his spine as an owl hooted eerily. He was a trifle superstitious, and he had heard a rumor that when the owl hoots as the full moon of spring rises, someone has died. The owl screeched again.

At that moment, Harrydump saw a dark blotch come around the corner, riding smoothly along on the current. A few more minutes, and he deciphered it to be a sunken boat. Quite a ratty old thing…was that a hole in the bottom? It was completely empty.

"Folks jist ain't ceerful 'nuf 'bout how dey tie der skiffs up" scoffed Harrydump, quite proud of his own little fishing boat. He stroked his bristly whiskers thoughtfully. "Aww…ah reckon daht scream was jist a mountain lion or sompin; maybe mah 'magination."

And so it was that Drogo and Primula Baggins never did experience the joys of parenthood. Their only son Frodo was a small child when they died, thus had no recollection of it. Having the fortune to later on be adopted by his lonely Uncle Bilbo, he was taken to Bag End in Hobbiton and spent many happy and peaceful days there.