Dog

Now, if you've met Crowbar, it's highly likely that you've also met Dog. My mom gave Dog to him when Crowbar was first born and it's rare for the boy to be without him.

Dog.

Crowbar carries Dog nearly everywhere and, over the past three years, Dog has gone from a soft, fuzzy stuffed animal to a mangy mutt. Even though I wash Dog regularly, he's got this smell -- a combination of playground wood chips and old bedding. But still, he's Crowbar's best friend and we all love him.

Despite my best judgement, Crowbar takes Dog with him to daycare every day. The staff doesn't mind, especially because with Dog, Crowbar is the easiest kid to get to take a nap. Without Dog...not so much.

Boy + Dog = peaceful nap.

Well, Tuesday night at pick up, I knew something was wrong immediately. Crowbar came running to me with his eyes full of tears.

"MOM! Look! Look! Dog got hurt!"

He held Dog up for me to see that he had somehow lost an eye.

"It's gone! His eye!" And then he looked up at me with tears streaming down his cheeks and asked, "You fix it? Please?"

I couldn't help it. I started to cry too. I hugged them close and told him that yes, I would fix Dog's eye. We dried our tears and headed out. I told him we'd go to the craft store to find a new eye.

"Yes," Crowbar said. "We go to the crack store. We fix him." I gently corrected him, clarifying that we were going to the craft not a crack store. (That'd be a tough one to explain to his teachers, grandparents and, eventually, the police.)

We searched the aisles for a suitable replacement eye. Crowbar walked behind me, holding Dog to his chest, assuring Dog that we'd find his new eye soon.

"It will be okay," he said.

After a quick lap, we found the aisle with the eyes. Worried, I could only find muppet-like googlie eyes, which clearly wouldn't work. A saleswoman approached and asked if we needed help. Crowbar turned to her and said,

"You find Dog's eye?"

The woman was taken back by Crowbar's sincere look of concern.

"Oh, my. Yes, honey. Yes, I will."

She helped us track down the only remaining packet of brown, non-googlie eyeballs. It wasn't an exact match, but it was close. She wished us well and told me that helping Crowbar and Dog had made her day.

As we were leaving, we walked past a display of Halloween decorations. I picked up a gigantic eyeball candle, a gross green, blood-shot looking thing, roughly the size of a grapefruit.

"How about this instead?"

Crowbar laughed and tightened his grip on the packet of brown eyes.

"No, Mom. You're crazy."

That night I made the necessary repairs and Dog was good as new. When Crowbar woke up the next morning, he thanked me profusely.

Dog, post-op.

"Mom?"

"What?"

"You're my best friend."

You know, I'm actually quite proud of my surgical repair work. I'd made a small cut under Dog's chin, removed the remnants of the old eye, snapped a new one in place and then stitched him up. You can't even see the incision.

Though, Dog now has a new problem. Between his two eyes, the new one is shiny and clear and the old one is scratched and cloudy looking. Crowbar doesn't seem to mind, but if he wants, I'll gladly pull out my scalpel again and try my hand at cataract surgery.