Sleepy Dog
Sleepy Dog
Sleepy Dog was originally a rabbit, hand-made by a tailor's daughter exactly 100 years ago. She acquired her name from her current child's Great Aunt Janet, when that darling girl was only 6 years old and looking for one more companion for a tea party. She had already taken care of Jan's father William and her Uncle Robert, and before that Jan's grandmother, Sophia, back when the toy's name was Yelysaveta Velʹvetovyy Krolyk. When Jan moved on from dolls and tea parties, Sleepy Dog was trusted with the task of strengthening Cynthia, who was born premature, and the ancient krolyk was proud to nurse the brave girl to health. Today she watches over Kevin, Cynthia's grandson, and has an equally dire mission: Kevin, at four years old, is fighting an aggressive form of liver cancer.
The grandmotherly old toy is severely threadbare. She was originally light blue corduroy, handmade into a rabbit, but that fabric has lost all its fuzz and its color and is now a mottled gray. Her eyes, once bright green buttons, are gone and only one squinting repair enables her to see. She has a large patch over her stomach in a cotton fabric that was once green, repairing an unfortunate encounter with a dog. One ear is a replacement, in blue felt, and is quite a bit shorter than the other. Even that repair is many years old.
Full Backstory
Sophia was not quite three years old when her family left Lviv, Ukraine for the United States. It was 1920, the Great War was over and now the Russian Civil War was over, too. The Ukrainian people knew that Russia would soon turn its greedy eyes on them and many, including Sophia's family, were making their way to the gold-paved streets of the United States. Sophia cried for her rabbit, Бет, that had to be left behind (probably sold to a butcher). On the ship, Sophia's mother, the daughter of a tailor, sewed a toy rabbit from some blue corduroy to comfort her. She stuffed it with scraps of cloth and added bright green buttons for eyes. That was me. I understand that this gift brightened up the little girl immediately but I do not remember. I did not learn this story until I overheard it, years after I awoke.
My first memories are of the tenement building in Newark where Sophia's family had their first home in the new country. Sophia's life was a difficult one, frequently going to bed hungry. I did not understand what it meant when her parents fought, what "drunk" meant, or why the family had to move out of the nice tenement into the awful place. I gave her what comfort I could, but I was still just a silly little bunny and did not know what to do. That was when I learned that there are bad things out there, things that children need protection from, and I did learn, pretty quickly, how to use my anger and my claws. Fortunately, Sophia's father got another job, her mother was able to take in some tailoring work, and finally we moved into a different tenement building. It was not as nice as the first, but it was clean and dry.
Her brother Walter was born the day before Sophia turned 5, and her birthday was completely forgotten that year. Then Pauline arrived 14 months later, and finally Helen, who was a colicky, sickly baby. Sophia's mother would often put me in with Helen to comfort the poor dear. I did my best, but the poor thing was so often in such pain. My heart broke when she passed away. I probably would have gone to sleep forever if I had not had to comfort my sweet Sophia who, at 10 years old, found me again only to cover me in tears.
I stayed in a box for a time, a few weeks or maybe more, when I was brought out and placed on a shelf, looking down at a darling little boy, only days old. Sophia, I learned, was all grown up, and put me on a shelf to watch over her son Robert. I spent time in his crib, and then in little William's, both adorable, chubby lads that often covered me in drool and love.
Then, The Event happened. William bit off one of my eyes, making a rip in my face. I was blinking, wondering if this would make it harder to watch for monsters, when I realized the poor child was turning blue. I tried to shout for Sophia, but she could not hear me anymore. I called for Robert, but he was listening to the radio. What could I do? I thought of the fire trucks that often went down our street, and their flashing lights. Through my own tears, I imagined a bright circle of red and white lights. I spun them faster and faster and finally Robert saw them. "Mommy, what are the lights in baby's room?" he asked Sophia. She waved him off, but he persisted -- what a good boy he was. Finally she came to check and saw William, now blue all over, and she shrieked! It took several hard slaps on his back, but the button came out and he gasped. My special boy would be all right.
The next day, Sophia saw William standing in his crib, reaching for me. I pulled away on the shelf, not willing to risk hurting him again. Sophia grabbed me and I was afraid she would give me to him. What if he chokes again? But she brought me to the living room and got out her sewing kit. She actually said "I'm sorry, Yelysaveta" before snipping off my remaining button eye. I was so surprised she had remembered I was awake that I forgot to be afraid of being blind. But then I realized that she was not talking to me. She was only talking AT me, just breaking up the silence like some adults do. Then she sewed up the hole in my face, giving me one squinted, sleepy-looking eye, and I could see again! Not that well, but I could see. She gave me a little hug, showing she still remembered, at least a little, before putting me back with my darling William. He immediately pulled me close and started gnawing on my nose. The poor boy's teeth were coming in, and I am sure they hurt him. I hoped my nose gave him a little relief.
I stayed with William for years before going to sleep in a box again. Some days, or maybe weeks, later, William's daughter Janet found me. She needed a fifth companion for her tea party. "Oh, you sleepy doggie, wake up! You should come have tea with us." I tried to tell her I was a rabbit, but she did not listen. We had many tea parties that summer, Jan, Baby Girl, Winnie, Barbie, Ken, and I. Barbie was an "Elegant Fashion Barbie" and looked down on us unclothed toys. Much later I understood that Barbie was only hiding her own fears, that she was jealous of us who knew how to snuggle, the toys Jan brought to bed, but at the time it made me angry.
Then came Janet's sister Cynthia, two months premature and struggling for every breath, but what a fighter she was! I gave her what strength I could, and it must have been enough, because she grew to be a healthy, adventurous child. She showed me the woods, I showed her how to have a proper tea party. She brought me to see frogs and snakes, I taught her to love books. I fell asleep one fall in the tree fort and did not wake up until days later when it was already spring. I smelled a bit musty, but she loved me, her "Sleepy Dog," just as much as ever. (The trip in the washing machine was AWFUL!)
Now I am taking care of Kevin, Cynthia's grandson, who found me sleeping in his grandmother's house when he was barely walking. He is here, in the hospital oncology department. I think he has what Helen had; he is in such pain sometimes it is all I can do to comfort him. After his surgery, he went through radiation treatments and chemotherapy, and now he has lost all his hair. We are hoping for a remission, but the signs so far do not look good. I am sure that this new oncologist at the Children's Hospital can bring us some good news. My baby is only four years old, and he has so much life left to live.