Today’s guest blogger, Horsey R.
Hi there! My name is Horsey. Gosh it’s great to be out and about again. I’d almost forgotten how sunlight felt. It runs tinglies along my shag-like carpet hide! I can’t help but smile! Life is grand again!
Excuse my giddiness. I’m still feeling frisky from my first bath in, oh, 28 years, give or take half a decade. I’ve been out to pasture for a long time. You see, I’m Rob’s old horsey! He rode me when he was two years old, give or take a few months. We had so much fun! He’d toddle up wearing a cowboy hat and climb on board! I’d rock and rock, he’d laugh and laugh, and we’d have a grand ‘ol time. He almost wore me bald! My mane looks like Michael Jordan’s with a month’s worth of growth!
Those were the good ol’ days. They didn’t last long enough. Rob got bigger and lost interest in me. He found other rides, first a Big Wheel, then a tricycle, and then a Huffy. You just can’t compete with cards in spokes. *SIGH* He never played with me again.
I lingered like Christmas lights on a trailer – I wasn’t needed, but no one would bother to put me away. Eventually I made my way to the garage of misfit toys. There I had plenty of company. I’d spend hours reminiscing with Barbie Doll Makeup Head, My Little Pony and the last of the plastic Mohican Indian toys (or maybe they were Cherokee. I was always too ashamed to ask).
One day while rapping with Weeble-Wooble and the LEGO fireman, Rob unexpectedly came by. Wow, he was so big! He was leaving to go to some place called “Boo-hoon” to attend something called “call-edge.” He was inventorying all his stuff and came across me in the garage. I heard him tell his mom to promise never to “File 13” me (whatever that means). I think it meant he wanted to keep me! How sweet! …. Or so I thought.
I wasted away in the garage for two years when Rob’s mom decided to move. My spacious-though-spider-ridden room was replaced by an overstuffed outdoor storage closet. There was so little room I was forced in upside down. All the wood chips rushed to my head! What a terrible headache I would have had, if only toys could have headaches. Thankfully we only suffer from occasional heartburn (just ask the Operation guy).
I have no idea how long I hung there when Rob retrieved me. I then went from the life of a bat to that of a rat. The shed in which I was soon placed moonlighted as a Holiday Inn for mice. I was surrounded by more mouse turds than Pixar. But I never lost my happy-go-lucky spirit! No siree! Whenever Rob looked in on me I was always there just a’ smiling! I think it made him feel good. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’m incapable of any other expression. Like Paula Zahn, my smile is inked on. I can’t help but be happy!
After a couple years there I was moved to a dark, dank basement. It was so quiet and I was so bored that I actually went into a deep sleep. Some would call it hibernation. I refer to it as lack of cohabitation. I was sure I was forgotten.
One day an odd but familiar noise roused me. Was that a baby crying? I wasn’t sure. It’d been so long since I heard one. They sound like police sirens jogging up a hill.
After a few days, I was sure of it. There was a baby in the house! That meant one thing – I would soon be free, either as a toy or to be sold for diapers. Oh please let it be choice A!
Sure enough, Rob rooted me out. He brought me upstairs and got busy bringing me up to code. I was covered in more filth than a Sharon Stone movie! First came two baths in Food-Lion-brand-carpet-cleaner-in-a-can, then a heavy spray-bottle-of-bleach shower. I was vacuumed twice and scrubbed over repeatedly with a carpet-cleaner attachment. Then I was shampooed. Again. And again. And again. I’ll never loose this scent of Suave! (Thank goodness I can’t smell!)
Once I was dry, Rob made ready for a big introduction. I was idling in the living room when in came a cute lil’ spitfire named Gabrielle. She took me to me like Bugs Bunny to a carrot. Rob set her on my back and she instinctively knew what to do! She grabbed me by my head handles and off we went, rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth! We rocked more than Dick Clark on New Year’s Eve! Oh the joy!
Rob rushed away and came back with a camera. I heard him say he’d been waiting 31 years to take this picture. Gabrielle just laughed! I smiled big the whole time too! (I mean, as I said, how else can I look?)
Weeks later I’m still in action. Gabby – as she’s called – comes by for a ride almost every day! She’s never needed any help getting on or knowing what to do! She’s even practicing riding side-saddle and rocking while standing up! I smell a circus act in the works! If only mom would not scream when she spies us rehearsing and make us stop. Party pooper.
Still, it’s nice to be loved again. Not many toys get a second childhood, especially three decades after the first. Well, gotta go. Gabby’s looking for a ride. Just watch us go!