April 10, 2014 by Sez
There had been a piece of red felt, stitched onto his face for a smile. He had no clothes, but his plush fur was dyed to suggest the idea of dungarees.
He was loved, oh he was loved.
At some point his smile had come loose. For a couple of years it had lolled, creating an illusion of impudence.
Eventually it had detached, leaving a quizzical moue.
One day, in a time when the cuddles were less frequent, less urgent, they noticed that the smile was gone altogether. His face silent, blank.
Yet he was loved, oh he was loved.