Dog Days

On her first birthday, Amelia received doggy. That's what she calls him. Doggy. Back in the day, doggy was plump with stuffing and so soft you could use him as a pillow. Amelia took to him right away, but it wasn't until our move to Alabama that he became an irreplaceable fixture in our lives. Two years later, doggy's fur is coarse and matted, his glass eyes are chipped from several trips to the washer and dryer, and bits of stuffing escape from a hole at the tip of his leather nose. He has been doused by just about every bodily fluid (and solid) imaginable (our recent trip to Arkansas left him covered in vomit twice). No matter how much we wash him, doggy is a disgusting, well-loved mess.

So, on the aforementioned vomit trip to Arkansas, I decided that maybe it was time to upgrade doggy for a newer, less contaminated option. The day after Thanksgiving, I took Amelia on her very first trip to Build-A-Bear. I talked to her about it before hand, explaining that we would always keep doggy, but maybe she could have something new to sleep with. Amelia seemed amenable to this plan, so off we went. And we had fun. We chose a bear, watched as it was stuffed before our eyes, picked out clothes and named her Emily.

The excitement of it all lasted until we got to the cash register. All of the sudden, Amelia's brown eyes welled up with tears and when I asked her what was wrong, she replied, "I don't want to sleep with my new bear. I want to sleep with doggy. I love him even though he's yucky." It occurred to me at that moment that doggy is Amelia's Velveteen Rabbit. All of the chipped glass and matted fur and vomit chunks are the things that make him real; the things that make him safe and familiar and loved.

So doggy remains. Emily, the replacement bear, is long forgotten. Doggy, who is loved even though he is yucky, is safe tonight in Amelia's arms and all is right with the world.