We went to Anglesey with two bears and came back with three. It was like this.
I always take a bear with me, a small one who can fit snugly into a suitcase, and this time I took Bobby. He likes travelling. He was a present from Daughter a few years ago. She said she wasn't going to get me a bear for my birthday because we did have quite a numbear of them already, but then she saw him, sitting with his arms up as if he wanted to be picked up,(that's all he can do,) and couldn't resist him. He really is a little sweetie, and we named him after Sir Bobby Robson, who was manager of Newcastle United at the time, and one of the best ever.
However, Hamilton thought that he'd like to come to Anglesey and see the boats, so he came, too, and they were good company for each other. All went well until we were packing to go home and I couldn't find Bobby anywhere. Now, as you may know, teddy bears think it's very funny to hide in the bedclothes. They don't realise that they're in danger of getting left behind, or worse, bundled up and sent to the laundry. I hunted everywhere for Bobby and couldn't find him at all until I lifted up Tony's holdall.
Reader, it was not a pleasant experience. Little Bobby looked as if he'd been run over by a steamroller. A flatter bear you have never seen. You could have used him as a bookmark. It took a good shake to get his shape back and three hours before he came out of shock.
After this we went to the bar so we could have a coffee and I could harangue Tony for squishing Bobby, and on the mantelpiece was a box of little key ring bears, on sale for the local hospice, so, of course, we bought one. (We think his name is Dafydd, but we're not sure.) Anyway, I told him that he'd meet Hamilton, who was in my tote bag at the time.
Perhaps I was too hasty. I thought that all bears knew about Hamilton - well, they do, but this bear thought that Hamilton was like Robin Hood or one of King Arthur's knights, or even a Narnian Bulgy Bear, not a bear you could actually meet. If I'd understood that, I would have explained, gently. As it was, I just held him up to meet Hamilton.
He fainted.
He is now recovered enough to tell us that he doesn't want to be a keyring any more. I'm not surprised. Would you?
3 comments:
Poor Bobby! Did he have a coffee as well--or is it too much caffeine for a small bear?
Oh, dear...with all of these squashings and faintings, you may need to look into opening a Bear's Hospital. I'm sure that Hamilton would make a great Head over things...but then again, his presence might be too much for such sensitive patients.
You're right, I don't think caffeine would be good for a little bear like Bobby. He had a little rum and raisin ice cream for medicinal purposes.
It almost is a Bear's Hospital. All the bears who come here are in need of some sort of Bearapy, and most of the humans, too.
Bobby definitely needed Bearapy. I rescued him from a shop because his arms were reaching up from underneath a pile of other toys who were clearly trying to bury him underneath. He was so desperate to escape, I had to take him to the House of Stories.
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