On Saturday afternoon, husband had some free time. He was worried that, because of my ouching back, I hadn't been anywhere for days, so he suggested going out somewhere. I can now walk, albeit not very fast or far, and suggested a pleasant little market town that we're both fond of.
We arrived to see the village church looking very happy with stalls all around it. The church fete! It was three o'clock and they appeared to be ready to shut up shop, but we went for a wander round the stalls anyway. And there on a stall was a lady tidying away cuddly toys into a bin bag.
Most of them were uncomplicated little things who'd be quite happy to play in a bin bag. But there was one sitting on the edge of the table, a sad faced bear with sparkle in his fur, and with a fresh out of the box look as if he'd ever had a good hug in his life. He was as far away from that bin bag as he could get without falling off the table.
What would you have done?
What was I to do?
Bears are never any trouble, are they? They only want a tiny bit of space and a hug now and again.
I thought I was going there for an afternoon out. No, I was there because Hamilton had received a distress call and wanted me to rescue a bear, and we got there just in time.
He doesn't have a name yet, but we have found that he likes dancing (but you have to help him). He's a bit clingy, but I think he's settling in. Only, I suggested that he might like to go and live with one of the children in my life and he wasn't at all happy about that.
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