Surprisingly, dog toys can teach us things. Such as perseverance. Tolerance to being pushed around, shaken and concussed. And every toy has the same characteristics. A sort of blank unfocused but inherently friendly stare, which, depending on their condition, may have become somewhat cross-eyed. Should we all have that kind of endurance.
Every toy has a name, whether that’s Green Bear (or was that Christmas Bear?) or Stupid Looking Monkey (earned honestly). The names stick even as the injuries pile up. And they are one of the few things that are permitted to lie in a corner or underfoot for days. Some disappear deep in the designated toy caddy to be discovered months later, still with that pleasant half-smile plastered on their mug.
The friend-to-a-dog part of us also allows us to chat with their toys. And sympathize with their plight. Or give them pep talks just prior to being tossed to the local wolf. Perhaps maybe that’s just me. But having met a good number of dog owners (tends to happen when you own one), I have a suspicion that many of them also have little chats with the toys.
Puppyhood can be harsh on dog toys. Like chewing the arm of a giraffe (some giraffes have arms) until only the underlying rope hangs out like… well, intestines. Some toys don’t really survive puppyhood, but those who do are all precious members of the household. In some cases, they pile up near the food bowls and only get put away when the vacuum threatens to do its thing.
So, when Giraffe and Sloth get together, they have a lot in common and much to be thankful for. Still being around, for one. Stoically ready for what might come next…. Usually having to do with sharp teeth, shaken dog toy syndrome and the search for the hidden squeaky thing that almost always is broken.
The good thing is that there are places where brand new dog toys can be acquired, named, and join all the other critters. And to suffer the same fate. It’s only right that the grownups in the room provide support and encouragement to these important family members.
