Freshly stomped and always too bitter

…like a candle in the wind…


Thursday, October 30th, 2008

As all things must, Moose’s beloved lion has been tossed from the mortal coil (well, actually into the garbage). O, how those that are loved the hardest, leave us the quickest. Apparently, soft little legs and feet can only be nibbled on for so long until they give way and their vital stuffing starts to flow. Little pieces of lion were starting to appear in many different areas. Foot stuffing in the kitchen, leg stuffing in the bedroom, and torso stuffing in the living room. At one point, to try and stem the flow of the stuffing, I was forced to amputate one of the lion’s legs. Moose was so worried, he couldn’t watch. Sadly, this amputation only stopped the habitual chewing of the leg and led to feverish chewing of the torso hole of where the leg had been. Then… the lion was just overtaken, deflated from the constant love and nibbles. We put the lion to rest in the kitchen garbage can while Moose was outside. This way, he would be spared from the torment of knowing his little chew buddy was in the can, as well, if he did find out, that’s the only garbage can with a lid, so he couldn’t exhume him for later loving.

Don’t despair, dear reader, as Moose is soon to be given a bigger love-buddy, a beaver in fact. With more promises of stuffing, Moose’s pain and mourning will be once again replaced with bouncing and the happy nibbling of beaver tail.

Tags: chew, dane, Grate Dane, lion, love-buddy, Moose, toy

4 Responses to “…like a candle in the wind…”

  1. Jaeger Says:

    A toast to all great chew toys we have had in the past

  2. The Dude Says:

    Oh cruel world, let thy precious stuffing flow and yon soft leggins and armins gang aft glee…

  3. meg Says:

    “and the happy nibbling of beaver tail.” – we don’t need to hear about moose and his beaver tail, thank you.

  4. Your Mom Says:

    Let’s see. I gave the lion to Moose on Sunday. It was dead on Tuesday. You were supposed to teach him to love it not de-bowel it. Now poor Tolley only has another dozen toys left in his stash, not enough to share any more with Moose. I’m not made of stuffed animals, you know.

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