Margaret has acquired a security object. We tried and tried and tried to get her to attach herself to a green froggy thingy, but she wouldn’t. We wanted her to attach to said green froggy thingy because it was light-weight, and we had several of them. Also, it wasn’t some pink excrescence that we would be ashamed to be seen carrying, so that was a bonus.
But Margaret was having none of it.
She didn’t, to her credit, decide that she had to have some electric lavender giraffe or anything. No, she found a stuffed dog that I’ve had for years, and decided that it was the best thing ever.
She sleeps with it, she carries it around, and when she’s upset, it calms her down. All of this is wonderful, but it is completely irreplaceable.
You see, it was bought when my niece Hannah was born. Hannah is now 8., and the company which made the dog is now defunct. He was meant to go to her as a baby present, but somehow, he didn’t, and then the moment had passed, and he took up residence on the shelf next to my bulldog, Wince (short for Winston, obvs). And there he languished, until Margaret decided that she had to have him.
Which is fine, but what will we do if he gets lost?**
*Not that I spend too much time at home alone with Margaret – who has many sterling qualities, but is not, at this particular moment, much of a conversationalist – but the dog’s full name is Rolf Wuffles, pronounced, as you may have imagined, WOOF-els.
**Research while writing this post has led me to the information that he is available on ebay, so I suppose that is an option.
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