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Friday, November 18, 2011

The Legend of Ishy the Bear

As told to Mama Bean....

My name is Ishy.  It wasn't always Ishy.  I didn't always look like this. But here is my tale....

About 6 years ago a kind, older woman with salt and pepper hair purchased me at a gift shop.  I was excited.  It was close to Christmas time and I envisioned myself as part of her household decor for the holidays.  A prized spot upon the mantel, perhaps.  My name at the time was Lovey Bear.

Alas, it was not to be.

I was stuffed into a box and spent nearly 2 weeks traveling alone, in the dark, via what I can only imagine must have been the Pony Express.

I arrived and was first touched by a woman whose name I later learned was "MOOOOOMMMM!"  She saw me, smiled briefly and then said:

"Great another stuffed animal.  Just what we need, " and then tossed me onto a bed where I was surround by other furry friends.

They all assured me that so far, so good.  There primary job was to simply lie on the bed.  From time to time they are moved, dusted, and put back into place.  Sometimes the woman known as Mooooooommmm will even smile and talk to them discreetly.  They seemed to imply that this was top secret information.  The big guy known as Daaaaaaadddd, was a little rougher with them.

About 5 months after I arrived, Mooooooommmm was on the phone and irritatingly said "She is a baby, I don't think she really has taken notice of any stuffed animals yet.  She is more into playing with the sunbeam.  Okay, fine, I will give her the bear....the really soft one, right?"

And this is where the tale of horror begins...

"You're right, it really is soft..."

I was then tossed into what I can only refer to as the Cage of Despair.  This small person, who I later would learn is named Potato Cakes, Sweetie Pea and other veggie laden names, latched onto to me with a piercing grip.

"Hmmm... she does seem to like him... Sweetie Pea, do you like the Squishy Bear?"

Did she ever.... or so you would think.
That's me on the right-- all fluffy and clean.  She looks innocent.  Don't be fooled.

For the next 18 months this kid would not sleep or leave the house without me.  Yes, I am adorable and fluffy and normally I wouldn't have minded except for one thing...

It looks like a Teddy Bear picnic, but please note her death drip around my neck.  I had done NOTHING wrong.
She liked to suck on my tail or my head and carry me around hanging out of her mouth.

It was mortifying.

My head is not a straw.  And again with the Death Grip.
I would simply be hanging there, like a leftover piece of lunch while everyone laughed.

And my name.... because the kid couldn't talk yet, when she finally did, I became Ishy.

Every night she fell asleep with me jammed up against her little face while she sucked on my tail.  Sometimes, Mooooooommmm would come in and try to save me-- bless her soul-- but alas, the little one would hang on for dear life.  I was stuck in the jaws of death.

Then one day a little dog licked my tail and the kid stopped sucking on it.

But the torture did not stop...

The poor doll is getting the abuse while the kid throws back another bottle.
Suddenly, she began hiding me in places.  Dark, scary places.  The pantry.  The toy box.  A box inside the toy box.  A box inside a box inside the toy box.  In her brother's room.  In her brother's room inside a box inside a toy box.  In closets.  In night stands.  In end tables.  In kitchen cupboards.  In the bushes outside.

And I would hear her cry out my name at night "ISSSSHHHHYYY!"  I could hear Mooooooommmm and sometimes even Daaaadddd (although more often he would say "She'll be fine... she lost it... let her learn") shuffling about looking for me.  When they would find me, it was with a look of exasperation. I felt the same.  Part of me happy to be out of the box, part of me scared at what more lie ahead.
I was scared to death.  I had no idea what her plans were. 

She started to dress me up.  I have to say, this part was fun.  I like to look good.  The barrettes were often too tight and I didn't particularly care for the ponytail holders around my neck, however.

She reads to me now.  It's really fun, but personally, I prefer historical non-fiction, not Barbie.

I got to go to school on Wednesday for Show-and-Tell.  I saw more terrorists- hundreds of them.  I was really scared.

But I survived.

The worst part-- by far the worst part-- is the vomit.

Whenever this kid gets sick- blech- all over me.

She says she loves me, yet when she starts to feel sick, I am the one who pays the price.

Sweet, little old me.

Last night was one of the worst.  Apparently she had had spaghetti.

Why she felt the urge to hold me all night, after she puked in the sheets, I have no idea.  I wondered where Mooooooommmm was?  She normally would clean this up.  Apparently the kid did not want to wake her up.  I can appreciate that.  If you think I'm a bear, this Mooooooommmm person puts me to shame if you wake her up.

But alas, finally Mooooooommmm came, wiped me up, cleaned the sheets and I am drying out now, telling her my tale.

As for the kid, she was fine.  Didn't even apologize.  Just told Mooooooommmm that I smelled awful.

No kidding.  She didn't smell like roses, either.

I have no idea what tomorrow holds for me. I would try to run but honestly, I've thinned out quite a bit these past few years.  My paws are worn.  My ribbon is merely a thread.

The other animals are jealous.  They feel discarded.  If only they knew what the price of this "love" truly was, they might not be so jealous.

But I trudge on.  My duty is to the Teddy Bear code- to be loved to death.  And I assure you, I get more love than you can imagine.


Rita said...


Sarah said...

This is my all time favorite !

Anonymous said...

Great job! I love it!!! Karen Cook