If you’ve followed me on Facebook for any length of time, you already know about my collection of stuffed puppy dogs. My husband loves them. They don’t shed. They’re quiet. They don’t require food, water, or expensive veterinarian services. They don’t make messes. Most importantly, they guard the pillows and the jammies tucked beneath them.
I never set out with the intention of collecting them. Like so many things in life, it just happened. It began at Christmas about two years ago when I saw a little cutie while shopping and decided it would make a perfect gift. So perfect, I had to have one for myself, too. At Easter, a few months later, the same thing happened. I picked up an adorable spotted puppy for my mother-in-law, then rushed back to grab one to keep. Mother’s Day quickly brought an opportunity to buy another stuffed critter.
To me, they each have their own personality, and for what it’s worth, yes, I can rattle off their names without hesitation. We have:
- Poopie Dawg
- Narcissa (Known as Little Cissy)
- Topsy (These two are twins)
We have one more, as well.
Shortly before Christmas, I took a head-count, and realized we had an even dozen doggies. The next would be #13. I knew at once what to do. “The next one will be named Lucky.”
Soon we were off to do a bit of shopping. I headed immediately to the toys and games, and sure enough, I found my Lucky Dog.
He’s big, he’s soft, he’s friendly, and his eyes are always wide open as he keeps guard at the foot of the bed.
Each of my puppies has a special charm and a special place in my heart. They may be stuffed toys, but they serve a purpose, bringing laughter and happiness into our home. And, maybe something more.
People often joke that it’s better to be lucky than good. It’s probably true. For me, my Lucky Dog serves as a daily reminder of how lucky I am in my life. I have love. I have family. I have friends. I’m truly blessed.
We all need a little bit of luck, don’t you think?