rebecca LANDO

imremembering:

Pound Puppies Rumpleskins

By the time I was 2, I had developed a bad addiction to my binkies [pacifiers, no laughing] and would walk around with 3 of them in my mouth. My parents bartered with me: go cold turkey on the binks and they’d get me any one gift I wanted from Toys’R’Us.

I don’t know what my parents expected me to pick out; a Barbie car? A huge stuffed giraffe? Something big and expensive for sure. But all I wanted was the cream Rumpleskin Pound Puppy, the one right there on the right. I think my parents felt like they’d be ripping me off if all I got in exchange for my beloved binky collection was one little stuffed dog, so they made me pick something else, too. Not caring much, I chose Sundae Care Bear as backup. I never loved Sundae as much as Pound Puppy and spent the rest of my childhood feeling guilty for that.

I made my mom unpack him in the car, before we even left the parking lot. Which was good, because he had a small stain by the heart on his butt. I put up such a fuss that we turned right back around, marched back into Toys’R’Us, and were back in the car in 5 minutes with a brand new, stain-free Pound Puppy.

Getting Pound Puppy (that’s his name, okay?) is my first memory. He is 25 years old. I still have him. Relatives learned quickly not to buy me other Pound Puppies to round out my collection; it happened once or twice and my fits of indignant offense were strong enough to quickly put a stop to it. There was, in my eye, only one Pound Puppy worth having - and he was already mine. Don’t mess with perfection.

This may seem like a dumb, sentimental-to-the-point-of-embarrassment post. I feel sorry for you if you think so. There are few memories more precious than a childhood totem and few friends better to a young child than a sad-eyed stuffed dog. Pound Puppy is my Skin Horse: threadbare, lumpy, losing his stuffing. But, Tonka toy though he is, he’s been there for me for 25 years - a true friend indeed. I fucking love you, Pound Puppy.