‘Woke up this morning feeling fine, though I’m covered in a little grime . . .’ sang More-Guin* to Zee this morning.
Zee looked at More-Guin and smiled, gave him a ginormous hug and promptly swung him around by his wing, bashing him into the side of the cot.
That’s when I appeared. ‘Good morning darling,’ I said. ‘Shall we get you up?’
‘MORE-GUIN!’ shouted Zee.
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘More Guin’s coming with us.’
We lazed about for a while and I pointed out that your PFF was looking a little dirty; covered in last night’s dinner, from when you planted him face-first into a bowl of spaghetti.
You looked at me with big wide eyes. ‘More-Guin, bath?’ you asked, before grabbing him and toddling off towards the bathroom.
‘MORE-GUIN, BATH!’ you squealed.
Ah. Nearly. But not quite. Let’s try something with a little more power. More spin.
Off we went downstairs. Lovingly you shoved your beloved pal into the washing machine and slammed the door. ‘More-Guin go round the corner! Go More-Guin, go!’
We set More-Guin off on his soapy adventure; after 30 seconds you demanded ‘More-Guin OUT, OUT NOW!’
But no, it wasn’t to be. You took it upon yourself to pull up a chair and lovingly observe More-Guin as he spun round and round and round. And round.
Then you got bored and it was time to go out, to while away an hour on Blackheath in the sunshine. We sat in view of the church and cherry blossom in full bloom, as you declared every dog to be ‘BLUE!’ and ran around in small circles.
When we came home you fell asleep, More-Guin’s waterlogged ways entirely forgotten. I sent the little fluffball on a final spin before hanging him out to dry; idly wondering if the peg would hurt his wing before reminding myself ‘He’s not real.’
But he is to you.
No sooner had you awoken than you were calling his name. I took you outside, you ran to him. Your reunion was a joyful one. So joyful in fact, that we really must look into buying More-Guin II, for fear of him ever being lost in a park or street or tube.
This whole soap story will no doubt reoccur next week – there was more dinner related face-planting only a few hours after MG was dry. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I hope that in years to come you’ll look back and remember More-Guin with a smile. I thought this post would help with that. Though I suspect it’s me who’ll be far more attached to the memories of you and that little black and grey bird, and the way he’s by your side, morning, noon and night. Washing machine adventures aside.
*More-Guin stands for ‘More Penguin’ as he is the second of two little penguins you own. True toddler logic.