Snuggle Pig
I was a child of stuffed animals. No dolls. O.k., I had two cabbage patch kids and I LOVED them, but generally no dolls. Only stuffed animals. Stuffed animals that would make a toy store jealous. Every breed of animal, plus some, were represented, often multiple times. I had a chubble. I had a furskin. I had any and everything.
It would therefore only follow that one of my secret (or not so secret desires) was that my son would follow in my footsteps. And not just for the sheer fun of having MORE stuffed animals in our house. I also loved the security I had with my blanket and teddy bear, creatively named, Blankie and Teddy.
The one responsible for the 98% of my stuffed animal collection was my father. Always a sucker for a cute stuffed animal and a little blond girl with huge brown eyes, which turned out to be a wicked combination leading to the animal zoo in my bedroom.
Right after my dad died, my mom and Cameron and I were out shopping at a well known southern food store, when we came upon a basket of stuffed animals tucked away to the side. We stopped to look at the giant stuffed pig. I told her that the baton had been passed and now she, the anti-stuffed animal giver, would have to supply my son with his own zoo of stuffed animals. There was an eye roll and a groan and as we were walking away, due to the impractically of bringing a giant stuffed pig with us and maybe slight guilt on my part about shamelessly using my dad’s recent death, she stopped, dug to the bottom of the basket, and pulled out a small stuffed pig.
She handed it to Cameron, who snatched it up immediately with a sound (very much like what The Chubble used to do) and wouldn’t let it go. The tags were cut off in line and out we went. And so began the love affair with Snuggle Pig.
Snuggle Pig, who holds the highest rank in the house, far above mom or dad or even the beloved pets. Snuggle Pig, whose name was recognized before anyone else’s. Snuggle Pig who can de-escalate a child in the midst of a thermonuclear meltdown. Snuggle Pig, who we’re pretty sure qualifies as a health hazard due to grime he sustains on a daily basis. Snuggle Pig who takes secret baths because the trauma of being without him for JUST TEN MINUTES could be too much to handle.
Snuggle Pig, who is the very best friend a little boy could ask for.
