Waiting Upon My Every Move | Daily Prompt: Prized Possession

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a child. What became of it?

“Incredibly attached” is too much.

No, I didn’t have a security blanket, figurative or literal. The toys and books that I carried around varied, depending on whether they were still in one piece or in my possession. I took good care of my books. At least I didn’t rip off pages—just the usual doodles and color. Toys would’ve lasted with me, hadn’t they been stolen.

There are still a few childhood toys that are still at home. And I single one out for this post.

Just before writing this, I asked my mother where my old stuff is. She said they’re inside the house, just that she isn’t sure where exactly. Like which box she hid them in. So I guess proof would be stalled.

Anyway, I had this puppet dog. I had it since grade school. I never gave it a name but I believed that it was a male dog puppet. His coat was dark brown but had a cream-colored belly—or that’s what I remember. And if you squeezed his upper jaw, he’d make a sound. That I’m sure of! But he can’t do that anymore because I washed him, believing him to have gotten so dirty. His coat was shiny and fresh-smelling but he could no longer squeak. I’ve always been sorry to have done that to him.

One time, I brought him to school as part of my storytelling project. I got extra points for using a cute prop. And my grade school crush even borrowed it! She used him in her story. I don’t know if the teacher noticed that she was using my dog. (But that’s not what made him memorable.)

When I was a kid, besides our neighborhood, I grew up in one other place: the hospital.

Hospital trips were never frightening for me. I got really used to them. For the record, I do not like the needle but I’m not scared of them either. I just hate it when the nurse or resident or whoever couldn’t find the vein to stick it in. I don’t like the feeling of having a needle going in and out of my hand or foot for five minutes straight. Plus it caused my mother hysterics. She’d cry for me and shield me from them when they kept making mistakes.

My dog puppet was one of the few stuff that I found I could bring along without being questioned. It wasn’t bulky, heavy, noisy, or even required batteries. And I myself could have it on me. On my hand actually!

Don’t know how but I discovered that, if I did it properly, I could slip inside the dog puppet my hand with the IV. That little trick didn’t last long though, since they feared that something could go wrong with the IV. So I wore the puppet on the other, rendering me handless. How that was fun for me then, I’ve forgotten but since I loved doing it, I believe I was on to something.

Since I was left alone at times, he was my companion. Silent and waiting upon my every move.

Up until I graduated from elementary, I always brought along him with me to the hospital. And even when I got confined at home, he’d be with me. Guess that spoke of how much I wanted a pet dog in my life.


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