Friday, March 2, 2012

"Oh, no! He doesn't look good!"

The blanket crate here in the den has been turned into an operating suite.

The patient is decent-sized white bear (complete with snowflake hat and scarf) that I got for Christmas more than 20 years ago.

Golly, I'm old.

Medium and Large are the surgeons who are fixing my bear up.

Medium: Oh, no!  He doesn't look good!  His foot is bwroken!

Large: We need to fix him.

Medium: He needs skwrews.

Medium jabs him with Hubby's chopsticks, leftover from his lunch, and left behind to be so appropriated.

Medium: His tail has blood!  Oh, no!

Large carefully turns my bear over onto its side with a couple of toy wands.

Medium pretends to skewer his tail with the chopsticks.

Medium: Both his foots awre messed up!  He needs skwrews in both!

More jabbing.  (Poor bear.)

Medium: Dewre!  His tail's all bettewr.

The bear is lifted out of the blanket crate and placed on the floor.  Hushed examination follows.

Large picks up the bear and deposits him back in the blanket crate, and then covers him carefully with a fleece throw blanket.

Large: There you go.  Shhh.  Go to sleep.


  1. I'm glad the surgery was successful. I still have a rabbit that I got for Eeaster at about age 3. He has no fur left, both ears are broken and he's missing an eye. That was one well loved bunny.

    1. I still have my Pooh Bear that was given to me when I was born. All his seams are now visible, his mouth is mostly flaked off, his eyebrows are gone, he has no shoulders from me repeatedly spinning him by his arms, and he's got to be blind because his eyes are all scratched up. He still travels with me.

      What cracked me up was that the patient above needed "skwrews," which I had to have put in my ankle almost three years ago, and then taken out last summer. Which, if you've gone through the archives, you'd know about.


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