The
weasel went out with the garbage. It was
an important member of our family but it had seen its day. It had been sewn up so many times, that there
was nothing left of its face. When I
found more stuffing hanging out of Cookies’ mouth, I decided the time had come.
It
wasn’t an easy decision. The weasel had
been beloved for almost three years, from the day our two-pound puppy arrived. Since then, we have accumulated a basket of
toys and each one has a specific purpose.
There’s the comfort toy, the squeaky toy, the catch toy and the
run-around- proudly-with-it-in-our-mouth toy and then toys that are fun to dig
through while we look for the really useful toys. The weasel was the tug-of-war toy. It was perfect. Light, long and easy to grasp. It had a resilient spirit, a bit like the
British during World War II. Even so, there
were times when I hated that weasel. For
instance, when I’d collapsed into a chair after a long day and was nursing a
cup of tea. The intrusion of the weasel
came with a tap on my legs and a look down into round, brown beseeching eyes
and tiny teeth clamped onto the weasel’s neck – always the neck. The tail was left for my outstretched hand.
As
soon as I grabbed the weasel’s lower extremities, my sweet little, now seven
pound, dog, would turn into a ferocious competitor, snarling, growling and
holding her own. The book said that I
should only let her win 10% of the time so that I can show her who’s boss –
alpha dog and all that – and so the game went on until she let go and I threw
the weasel as far as I could manage without spilling my tea. If I were lucky, she’d chase after it and
turn her attention elsewhere. If I were
unlucky, the weasel would return with agonizing regularity.
Still,
you have to love an object that makes your dog so happy, which is why the
weasel had so many remedial stitches in it.
I often tried to shift Cookie’s affections to the latest green toy –
organic materials, water-based dyes, nothing harmful to swallow – but she has a
strong loyalty gene and overlooked all the weasel’s shortcomings. She loved it, warts and all.
It
was a Thursday night when I decided it had to go. I knew the garbage was being picked up early
in the morning which ensured that I wouldn’t be tempted to try any messy
retrieval. I looked Cookie in the eye
and placed the weasel in the bin. It was
the end of an era. An era that had
included two near-death experiences for my puppy but an era that also included
falling in love with her older sister, learning how to swim, traveling on a
plane, sleeping on the conference table so she wouldn’t be excluded from
meetings and relishing a raw food diet.
The
garbage trucks were there early. Cookie
and I both woke at 6:00 am to the dragging of the bins and the reverse
siren. I said a silent goodbye to the
weasel; Cookie headed towards her toy basket.
After a few rummaging sounds, a turtle appeared on the bed. It was small and light with four dangling
legs. Not a bad substitute. Since then we’ve tried a number of animals –
a frog with an elongated mid-drift, a mouse, a duck, an octopus and a
camel. So far, nothing has quite hit the
mark but I know we’ll get there. It’s
clear that Cookie isn’t living in the past; she’s moving on with life.
Cookie with her comfort toy, an ancient lion.
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