Last Christmas David and Geri sent the dogs several toys. The dogs loved them–they loved them to pieces. And then they stopped loving them because they were just pieces. No more stuffing to remove, no more squeakers to squeak.
All that is except one dog. One dog still pounces on those toy pieces as if they’re the best thing ever. He prances around with them between his teeth, tosses them into the air, and catches them. He carries them in his mouth until they are saturated with dog slobber, lets them dry, and does it all over again. It’s Tim’s boy dog, Pollock, who still has enough puppy in him to appreciate all the things the other dogs shun. I call all his toy pieces “my precious” and scold Tim and Tom for throwing them away (as what sane person wouldn’t? But puppies aren’t meant to be sane. They’re meant to be cute. Pollock delivers.).
Today I was sweeping up the truckload of dust and dog hair that accumulates by the minute, and I had the nagging sense that I was overlooking something. As I swept everything into the dustpan, I could dimly make out two eyes staring at me.
Don’t worry, Pollock. Your precious went back in the toy box.
I dare not throw any of Renee’s unstuffed toys away either. She will remove every toy in her toy box until she decides which one is the one for which she has been searching. Then she will carry it off where she loves and licks it for the rest of the afternoon. And she’s heading for seven years old now.
Just one more way she’s adorable. =)