Barely days ago, in Summer 2010, I posted this picture of A's best friend:
In the intervening two and a half years, Bunny has been much loved, much played with. Much cuddled and nurtured.
So much so, that this is Bunny now, scrubbed up and looking at his best for the photo:
Bunny is still loved. Still taken to bed every night. Still clutched through bumps and bruises, fears and frolics, dreams and nightmares. Still sucked and nuzzled into a disgusting, soggy, stinky rag that requires a weekly 90 degree wash.
But we have to accept that the end cannot be far off. And I don't know how I am going to cope, much less A.
The Twelve Labours of Homework Time
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