Tonight my boy’s world almost came crashing down when we couldn’t find his most beloved stuffy: little dog.

Little dog is black with a tan muzzle and long ears.

Little dog has a red collar and he fits into the palm of my hand.

Little dog is a miniature pound puppy.

Can you picture him?

The fact is you probably wouldn’t look twice at him if you saw him laying about but I never leave the house without checking for him at least once.

Two days ago he disappeared.

In the back of my mind I braced for the crying fit I thought sure would happen any moment but it never came. The boy still had two out of three of his golden trifecta of stuffies: his GP and his cat. They occupied him enough to not ask about Little Dog while I discreetly searched the house.

Tonight however my luck ran out.

Having last seen it in his room I decided it had to be in there somewhere. I removed my little sad boy from his bed (he was sitting cross-legged with his lower lip stuck out) and started peeling back the layers of blankets. Previously searches under the bed and in his closet revealed no dog.

And guess who I found!!!

There between the Dukes of Hazzard sheet and a quilt my grandmother made, kicked way down to the end of the mattress, was Little Dog.

Me: look who I found!
Boy: my daw! loo daddee loo! mama fow-n my daw!
Me: okay, you and dog can go to sleep now.
Boy: o-tay.
Me: love you.
Boy: wuvvu mama, tanku for fining my daw!

There’s nothing like the honest gratitude of a 3-year-old to melt you into a puddle.

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