Still no sign of doggy. Either of them. Mr. Waffle consulted the cleaner and he manfully confessed, upon being shown a picture of the missing doggy, that he had found something under the couch which was very old and very dirty and he had thrown it out. He has offered to buy a new one but we all know that is no good. I think he’s afraid to confess that he chucked two of them. On the plus side, herself pulled down the curtain rail in our room and we got home to find that the cleaner had fixed it; obviously, the guilt is getting us an impressive service.
The Princess got doggy before she turned one and he was her faithful companion every night he could be found. He and his friends gave us great concern over the years. He was practically a member of the family. Unlike travel doggy (who enjoyed trips abroad and has, whisper it, been replaced from time to time), home doggy, the original beloved doggy, never left the house. I had imagined doggy enjoying a privileged retirement on a high shelf in her room to be shown later to children and grandchildren, not thrown out like the remains of yesterday’s dinner (though, in fact due to the complex waste collection system now in operation in Dublin, he should not, under any circumstances go with organic waste; sometimes I worry that the cleaner has not got the finer distinctions of that system).
Since buying travel doggy mark II from Messrs. Zooscape, I have been inundated with junkmail from them. A small price to pay when I was going to get home doggy mark II, or so I thought. When I went to Zooscape today, this is what I found:
Discontinued. How could they? Mr. Waffle says that it is all for the best, but he’s wrong. I think she finds it hard to sleep without him and, in consequence, is roaming the house at midnight. I still have his shamrock that I hadn’t got round to sewing back on. It’s sitting in the drawer in the hall, the last remnant of doggy. I should put it somewhere safe, I suppose.
Mr. Waffle and I sat around the other night exchanging doggy stories: the very high attrition rate; the response of Aer Lingus to our loss; occasional travel soiling; how in surveys she consistently rated him as her favourite family member; the time he was lost in the Netherlands; and, of course, the time I fused the stuffing in his leg by trying to speed dry him in the oven.
I am heartbroken. Of course, I always knew that I would cry when we finally lost him. I guess that she wasn’t the only one with a transitional object. I’m not quite ready to let go, I have just accidentally bought three Ians.
Poor Princess. RIP Doggy. ‘Something under the couch which was very old and very dirty …’ He was so much more than that!
The Daught wouldn’t have a comforter, nor suck her thumb until Boy came along – she also wouldn’t sleep (last feed 7pm-4am, desperate Mum night-time bottle, milk allergy, very long story).
Boy’s original comforter was his WinnieThePooh pillow case, but pretty soon transfered to the Daught’s old summer dress, then any available bit of fabric, so we didn’t have the worry of losing nuggy for very long. Blighter still sucks his thumb though.
In short, I hope Princess doesn’t notice, & that she’s not feeling rotten enough to need Doggy any time soon
j
Suffice to say I am now perusing Jellycat websites with a view to ordering a replacement Monkey. Just in case!
Hi there
How about the the the time that Doggy (attached to the relevant Princess buggy) got lost for 48 hours in Palermo airport? Huh?