Thursday, September 11, 2008

So long, Tuggy

Meet Tuggy.


I used to have a neighbor named Melissa who would walk her dog and her toddler around 8am each day, which meant she often scored at the neighborhood garage sales. One such morning she came across Tuggy. When noticing Melissa's interest, the man of the house pounced on her like a furniture salesman. "Do you want Tuggy?" he asked. "You can HAVE Tuggy. He's free. Take him! I will drive Tuggy to your home to you. Tuggy needs to GO." Turns out his kids would take Tuggy's sand and throw it in the swimming pool, and this infuriated Daddy no end.

So Tuggy came to live at Melissa's house and she, learning from Tuggy's previous crimes, filled him with ball pit balls. My kids loved to play in Tuggy while he lived on Melissa's patio. Just couldn't get enough of Tuggy. So, when Melissa moved away, she bequeathed Tuggy to us.

The day Tuggy arrived, Walker said, "What is THIS?" with a look of disdain that he has retained for three years now. Evidently, all daddies hate Tuggy. Poor Tuggy.

When Tuggy came to live with us I had yet to learn this sad sober truth: the toy your child loves, can't put down, is crazy about at someone else's home, will be utterly ignored in his own home. Tuggy was played in a handful of times. But for the most part, Tuggy got dissed.

Ignored by children, snarled at by daddies. Poor Tuggy.

He sat on our patio for over a year and reguarly I would gather all the cracked and smushed balls from our yard and trash them. Diapers may take a million years to biodegrade; ball pit balls, oh, about a week in the Texas sun will do them right in.

When we had our patio converted, Tuggy took up residence under the slide, where he promptly killed the grass. Then he was moved to the back of the house, by the trashcans. But the indignities did not end there.

Yesterday, Tuggy literally was kicked to the curb, a request Walker responded to with amazing alacrity. There, at the foot of our driveway sat Tuggy, homeless, dejected.

This afternoon when we turned into our driveway, Shep saw him, and burst into tears - I mean, a good cry - "I want my boat! Don't give my boat awaaaaay!! I want my boat!" "You mean the boat that you have not played with in three years? That boat that's been collecting dust and killing grass for three years? That boat?" "Yeeeeeeeeeeees!! Don't give my boat away!!"

What-evah. Tuggy has got to go. For free. Take him. He's your's.

This afternoon, as I tried to snooze to all the Hurricane Ike news, my doorbell rang. A woman stood on the porch. "I was just wondering, are you trying to get rid of that boat? I have ten grandkids and we have several sandboxes, but I know a family with two boys that has absolutely nothing. I would love to give it to them."

"Yes! Take him! For free! He's your's! I'll help you load him!"

Tuggy found a new victim home!

We loaded him up, jimmy rigged him in her car, and off he sailed to a new life.


So long, Tuggy. We hardly knew ye.


Hope you find somebody to love.

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