The Rest of My Life: Topsy

            Mum had a dog.  An over-sized border collie that I bought for her on her birthday 16 years ago.  She was overjoyed from the moment she saw it, giving it a big hug before putting it down on the carpet beside her recliner chair. 

            "I love it!" she said.  I'll always remember that. 

            Topsy, she decided to call it. 

            Mostly, Topsy could be found right there, on the carpet next to mum.  Other times, Topsy would take pride of place on one of mum's armchairs.  And sometimes - especially in the winter months - Topsy would lie at the bottom of mum's lounge door, blocking the draught from getting underneath.

            Topsy, you see, wasn't a real dog.  She (mum decided from the start it was a 'she') was a stuffed one.  But she looked real enough.  People used to come and visit and say, in surprise when they entered the room and saw her, "Gosh!  I thought that dog was real."  The big brown beads for eyes were the main give-away.  And the pink tongue, always cheekily poking out.

            Unlike real dogs, Topsy never aged.  She stayed with mum throughout the rest of her life, looking as new as the day she came into it.  And after mum passed away, in 2017, Topsy came to live with me.  Usually, she lived on the sofa.  Sometimes, Daisy would curl up on her back and go to sleep (this was one dog she wasn't afraid of - not that she's really afraid of dogs, anyway!)  If ever anyone visited, though, I put her away somewhere - getting her out again afterwards.  I don't know why.  I suppose I felt embarrassed about it - a grown man with a big, fluffy stuffed dog.  I kept her for sentimental reasons really, of course.  In the early days after mum's death, Topsy was something I couldn't bear to be parted from.  I liked to have her close by.  She was a connection with mum - among many others that I have.  She was something I bought for mum.  Something she loved.

            Last week, as my retirement day loomed, I had a thought.  Maybe it would be a nice idea for Topsy to go to a new home - somewhere where she might be enjoyed all over again.  Where she could bring smiles to faces.  Where she could be hugged with joy again.  Where she could be loved all over again. 

            Loved anew. 

            Something shifted in my head.  Last weekend, I put Topsy in the bath and gave her a good shampoo down.  I think it's probably the first time she'd had such a thing.  As I rinsed her off with the shower head, I was surprised at actually how clean the water was as it ran off towards the plug-hole.  Afterwards, I took her outside, gave her a vigorous shake off, then left her on the patio to dry in the sunshine.  Later, I gave her coat a brush, so that it was smooth and shiny again.  Then I put her back on the settee... and I thought long and hard.

            Today, I carried her down to  Windchimes and gave her to the staff on duty.  I said she could go in the day lounge or the night lounge, wherever they thought best, for the children.

           "H---- will love her!" someone said.  I'm sure they were right.  H---- has a real thing for soft toys, as I remember.  As do several of the other children.  It's what I'd hoped they would say.

            So, Topsy now has a new home - for the first time in 8 years.  8 years with mum, 8 years with me.  She's moved on.

            And I think, in some quiet but important way, so have I.