His ears are tattered from being dragged everywhere that kid would go. The ink on his eyes rubbed off many years ago from being snuggled each night tightly in her arms. They don’t make things like him anymore, it was part toy, and part plush with a big heart that carried her through years of elementary school ups and downs. He was there for her when she won the baseball pennant by making the winning catch at short stop, and listened for hours to her recant the tale of childhood heroism. He was there for her when she faltered in friendship and in health. He was always the last thing packed for vacation, and the first thing to come out. Her parents had to double and triple check that they had him as they left each place on their whirlwind adventures because he would never be able to be replaced. She got older and grew out of such things, but he, the lone toy from her childhood still remains. Her daughter now has a special someone of her own, and although she keeps hers with some family heirlooms, away and out of sight, he is always there if she needs him, if she needs a hug that only he can give. He is comfort, he is memory, and to her, that is priceless.