![rebeccalando:
imremembering:
Pound Puppies Rumpleskins
By the time I was 2, I had developed a bad addiction to my binkies [pacifiers, no laughing] and would walk around with 3 of them in my mouth. My parents bartered with me: go cold turkey on the binks and they’d get me any one gift I wanted from Toys’R’Us.
I don’t know what my parents expected me to pick out; a Barbie car? A huge stuffed giraffe? Something big and expensive for sure. But all I wanted was the cream Rumpleskin Pound Puppy, the one right there on the right. I think my parents felt like they’d be ripping me off if all I got in exchange for my beloved binky collection was one little stuffed dog, so they made me pick something else, too. Not caring much, I chose Sundae Care Bear as backup. I never loved Sundae as much as Pound Puppy and spent the rest of my childhood feeling guilty for that.
I made my mom unpack him in the car, before we even left the parking lot. Which was good, because he had a small stain by the heart on his butt. I put up such a fuss that we turned right back around, marched back into Toys’R’Us, and were back in the car in 5 minutes with a brand new, stain-free Pound Puppy.
Getting Pound Puppy (that’s his name, okay?) is my first memory. He is 25 years old. I still have him. Relatives learned quickly not to buy me other Pound Puppies to round out my collection; it happened once or twice and my fits of indignant offense were strong enough to quickly put a stop to it. There was, in my eye, only one Pound Puppy worth having - and he was already mine. Don’t mess with perfection.
This may seem like a dumb, sentimental-to-the-point-of-embarrassment post. I feel sorry for you if you think so. There are few memories more precious than a childhood totem and few friends better to a young child than a sad-eyed stuffed dog. Pound Puppy is my Skin Horse: threadbare, lumpy, losing his stuffing. But, Tonka toy though he is, he’s been there for me for 25 years - a true friend indeed. I fucking love you, Pound Puppy.
From Mahm: Yes, Becca, I seem to remember that you named the “other” doll Grungetta. And she did have a place in your heart (not to mention your stomach as I recall you getting sick all over her once when you had a virus). Pound Puppy has always been a stalwart and faithful pal. And he doesn’t shed, need to be taken on walks, eat grass and then puke on the carpet or deposit runny diarrhea in hidden places. Not that real dogs aren’t wonderful too. But only Pound Puppy fits perfectly in the crook of your elbow in bed at night and doesn’t mind spending the day smashed under the leg of the sofa. You are so right to love him unconditionally.](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l6opqvORTH1qb3mmfo1_500.jpg)
By the time I was 2, I had developed a bad addiction to my binkies [pacifiers, no laughing] and would walk around with 3 of them in my mouth. My parents bartered with me: go cold turkey on the binks and they’d get me any one gift I wanted from Toys’R’Us.
I don’t know what my parents expected me to pick out; a Barbie car? A huge stuffed giraffe? Something big and expensive for sure. But all I wanted was the cream Rumpleskin Pound Puppy, the one right there on the right. I think my parents felt like they’d be ripping me off if all I got in exchange for my beloved binky collection was one little stuffed dog, so they made me pick something else, too. Not caring much, I chose Sundae Care Bear as backup. I never loved Sundae as much as Pound Puppy and spent the rest of my childhood feeling guilty for that.
I made my mom unpack him in the car, before we even left the parking lot. Which was good, because he had a small stain by the heart on his butt. I put up such a fuss that we turned right back around, marched back into Toys’R’Us, and were back in the car in 5 minutes with a brand new, stain-free Pound Puppy.
Getting Pound Puppy (that’s his name, okay?) is my first memory. He is 25 years old. I still have him. Relatives learned quickly not to buy me other Pound Puppies to round out my collection; it happened once or twice and my fits of indignant offense were strong enough to quickly put a stop to it. There was, in my eye, only one Pound Puppy worth having - and he was already mine. Don’t mess with perfection.
This may seem like a dumb, sentimental-to-the-point-of-embarrassment post. I feel sorry for you if you think so. There are few memories more precious than a childhood totem and few friends better to a young child than a sad-eyed stuffed dog. Pound Puppy is my Skin Horse: threadbare, lumpy, losing his stuffing. But, Tonka toy though he is, he’s been there for me for 25 years - a true friend indeed. I fucking love you, Pound Puppy.
From Mahm: Yes, Becca, I seem to remember that you named the “other” doll Grungetta. And she did have a place in your heart (not to mention your stomach as I recall you getting sick all over her once when you had a virus). Pound Puppy has always been a stalwart and faithful pal. And he doesn’t shed, need to be taken on walks, eat grass and then puke on the carpet or deposit runny diarrhea in hidden places. Not that real dogs aren’t wonderful too. But only Pound Puppy fits perfectly in the crook of your elbow in bed at night and doesn’t mind spending the day smashed under the leg of the sofa. You are so right to love him unconditionally.
