My Favorite Toy

I was about five years old when my parents gave me a funny, soft toy – a shaggy, bright yellow with red spots, a puppy. He always lay at my pillow, spreading out long, plush ears.

My friend became my best friend. to whom I trusted my children’s secrets and grievances. When I was doing my homework, he looked straight at me with his smart eyes-buttons and gleamed with a black, rough nose in the light of a table lamp. I changed my puppy’s collars from colorful, satin ribbons, knitted bows to soft ears and smacked into the plastic nose.

School time a little distance us from each other. I grew up and began to feel embarrassed about my feelings for a plush dog. One day my friends came to visit me. They began to laugh at my old, sometimes shabby, puppy. In my heart, I threw him in the closet, on a pile of unnecessary trash.

In the evening, going to bed, I suddenly felt like I missed my good friend. I jumped into a dark pantry and turned on the dim lamp. My favorite toy was lying on a dusty shelf, sadly covering her long ears with faded buttons of eyes. From the excess, suddenly surging, feelings, I burst into tears, grabbed the puppy and, pressing to my chest, lay down with him under the blanket. I whispered in the worn ear affectionate words and stroked the plush back. And he, of course, forgave me, this toy puppy.

In the morning, seeing on the pillow a touching, red face with habitually spread ears, I realized this, because, having learned to admit my mistakes, we grow up and become real.

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My Favorite Toy