Of Toys and Such

I often overhear to my amusement, 2-leggeds comment upon the billion dollar "pet toys" industry in the United States.  Most 2-leggeds are surprised if not outright shocked by the "privileged" treatment of 4-leggeds in the 21st century.  "Dog accessorizing?!!" You got to be kidding!"  My response:  NOT accessories, but necessities!Fortunately my family, especially her, has firmly embraced the concept of necessities (over accessories) and proudly (and frequently) donates to the "dog toys" industry so it may continue to thrive; like a national health for pet necessities.  One might argue that from Day One, I, along with my 2-legged companions, have been "trained" to "need" play-things, toys, etc., so that it now has become a habit for her to shop constantly for items that would be "a delightful, entertaining, and dog-proof distraction" that is, of course, washable.  My earliest recollections of toyland begins with my Woobie; a green and white checkered stuffed dog that journeyed with me to my new home.  Most of this journey I don't recall, but Woobie, despite his tattered appearance, is forever burned into my memory.

She too remembers Woobie well:  the car ride home (with me in tears), the interstate back-up (with me crying and wimpering all the way), my single howl of anguish upon arriving at my crate (so she says), and her and I's first sleepless night together (he seems to have been conveniently absent).  She likes to bring Woobie (and my puppy-stage chew string) out to remind me (mostly herself) of those early days when I weighed under 15 lbs and was "cute as a button."  Those were the days in which I earned the nickname Danger Dog--the subtext of the meaning is still not all clear to me, but it is a catchy name.

As time passed, a cabinet drawer was no longer ample enough to store the collection of toys she gathered (he doesn't shop at all) allegedly for me.  A small 10 gallon plastic container with a lid (never used, as it was full from the moment of purchase) became the transitional storage area, on the way to a bigger (50 gallon) facility.

  

Like the previous one, this 50 gallon facility was not actually "tested" for size 

(not unlike the demilitarization facilities for Cold War chemical weapons based in the South Pacific and the west desert of Utah); so no lid, no matter how much she tried to stand on it, could contain the overflow of toys.

Sometimes she and I conference about sorting through the mountain of "pet industry goods" to see if there are items that could be recycled to other dogs we know, or even (dare I admit this!) placed in the green treasure holding tank for the weekly pickup.  This always seems like a good plan; but there is a catch:  apparently she has become as attached (if not more) as I, to each of my toys.  So battered Woobie and the puppy-stage chew toy are kept "because they are from my puppy days;" the hard rubber bones (and there are many) I never particularly liked, are kept "just in case" I might suddenly (after years of neglect) become interested in them, or 4-legged visitors may come to play (I can count the number of such visits on one pad), or the even more hopeful

"another puppy joins our clan" (I like this last one, but he is adamantly opposed--this is an on-going discussion in our household despite the majority vote in favor, her and I).  

Perhaps the most curious decision is to keep items that have long been separated, like Bingo's Head and Body-decapitated in a tug-a-war after which his insides were hastily cleaned up and deposited in the green treasure chest.  

Bingo's head is now its own toy, living a disembodied life at the bottom of the 50 gallon box.  

So, in the end, it is not so much my desire to acquire or to hang on to the dog

 necessities gathered across time.  It 

is more about our remembrance of days filled with play gone by, more about her looking ahead to the time she and I part on earth, more about her deep love for me, and my deep love for her.  Besides, if I'm to be woman/man's best friend, there ought to be some tangible perks along the way.