The Real Thing(s)

When I was little, I had a stuffed doggie that I adored. It was a little pink poodle, and his name was, um, Pink Poodle. (Ya can't take off too many points for lack of creativity - I was three or four!) Pink Poodle frequently accompanied me to imaginary destinations and sometimes even to real ones. The ONE place he ALWAYS had to be at night was in bed, right.next.to.me. Couldn't go to sleep without him. Wouldn't even try.

One tragic evening, that all changed forever. Mom tucked us in (P.P. and me) and off we went to dreamland. At some point during the night, I got sick. Really sick. Almost THIS sick. Please pardon my lack of fragile flower-ness here, but I threw up all over Pink Poodle and myself.

My momma pulled me out of bed, peeled my pajamas off, and gave me a warm bath. I cried through the whole thing. I remember it like it happened yesterday. Of course the bedding had been changed by the time she put me back in bed, and of course, Pink Poodle had been removed from the scene. His poor little body had been placed in a paper bag and put out with the trash.

When I realized he was missing, I had a meltdown. Not the poor-little-sick-child-doesn't-feel-well meltdown. The YOU-BETTER-GET-MY-PINK-POODLE-BACK-OR-I'LL-MAKE-THE-REST-OF-YOUR-NATURAL-LIFE-A-LIVING-HELL meltdown. I'm dainty that way.

Out of great compassion Because she knew her child very well (and thus knew that threat was R.E.A.L.), my momma retrieved P.P. from the trash and attempted to clean him up. Although she gave it a valiant effort, there was no way to clean him up except to put him...


in


the


washing


machine.


Note to moms everywhere: Do NOT put your child's most favorite stuffed animal in the washing machine. It will not survive.

Alas, Pink Poodle's demise was sure.

And I was inconsolable.

I needed Pink Poodle back. A massive man dog hunt ensued for a new Pink Poodle. (Now I know that I am not the only little girl ever to lose her pink doggie, and I also know each victim finds the loss unfathomable, which sends every adult she knows scrambling for another pink dog just like the lost one.) I digress.

Pink Poodle's twin was not to be found. I had to settle for this little guy.
I was NOT happy as one might imagine, but apparently, from the looks of this pup, I overcame my prejudice and learned to love him, too.

I hadn't seen him in years and years. I found him in the foot locker. He appears to have been well loved at some point. However, I don't remember that I ever named him. He's NOT a poodle, but he is was pink. Perhaps I didn't name him because I figured it would be easier to lose him if he didn't have a name. You know... like farmers never name their pigs or cows because it makes it too hard come slaughter time. Any way, this pink dog served his purpose. He was my friend and companion for a long time.



Now that I'm all grown up, I don't need a little stuffed pink dog any more.


'Cuz I have THIS dog:He's the real thing.


And I don't need some lame guy to play Mr. RightNow, because I have THIS guy:
He's the real thing.




And I don't need to place my trust in chariots or horses because I have Him:
And He's the Real Thing.