Finding Forgiveness

Anyone who really knows me will tell you that I have had a connection with the dolls from my childhood since I was a little girl. Maybe it was because I was an only child, or perhaps it stems from my mom's attempt to get rid of one of my dolls and her efforts backfired and made me more attached. I'm assuming most of the time my dolls became my friends during my solo playtime and they enjoyed the tea parties and easy bake oven delights as much as my friends with siblings. But I suppose only a therapist can tell you.

Most of my childhood dolls live at my mom's house in suburban Chicago in a plastic bin in her basement, but the two that I was closest with have remained with me over the years. One in particular, Danny the Snowman, was given to me in the winter of 1996 by a former boyfriend after he let me pick out it out at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.


I thought the Snowman was soft and cuddly so I picked it. It was also one of the lesser expensive items in the shop and I didn't want him to break the bank on an expensive gift so the Snowman was selected. Although Danny came into my life as an young adult, he quickly served a purpose my other dolls never served - practicality. He was so incredibly soft that I would often use his butt for a pillow. At one point I used to travel quite a bit and Danny was easy enough to stuff in my bag and pull out and his backside fit perfectly in the crook of my neck as I slept on long flights. But Danny became more than just a place to lay my head. He became a source of comfort as I traveled the world living out of a suitcase for years at a time. I missed my apartment and Danny was a reminder of that, of home. Besides, he was also damn cute and that permasmile on his face was a small measure of comfort on my worst days. He was eternally happy and was well-loved by me and my friends.




Avery, my Miniature Pinscher, entered my life two years ago a rescue dog from New Hampshire. She was found running around in the woods in the small town of New Boston, New Hampshire and was not claimed at the local police station or on craigslist for three weeks. Through a sequence of events, she found her way to me in Boston. Having grown up an only child I never really had to share (doesn't mean I was spoiled or selfish) and did not grow up with a pet, but I fell in love with Avery and we foraged a bond.


I was amazed at how she could communicate so effectively through her expressions and body language without uttering a bark. At the beginning our relationship when she chewed the heels of a brand new pair of shoes that I had yet to wear and ruined my perfect-fitting Diane Von Furstenberg pants - that I had only worn twice - I almost dropped her back off in the woods to become someone else's problem, but if having a dog has taught me anything it's patience and forgiveness. I can only imagine it is on some level like parenthood.

One day in my Boston apartment, when Avery was still testing me, I guess, she found her way to Danny's nose - chomp, chomp, chomping away at it until she was told to stop. Danny's nose survived the attack and he kept on smiling; his sunny disposition still intact. Over time, Avery mellowed out and could be trusted. She never liked being in her cage and could always find a way of breaking out - either by literally getting the lock off, or just busting out. I swear I am going to get her a talent agent one of these days.


I eventually moved to New York and Avery adjusted to our new living quarters. I could trust her for hours on end if I was out and about and I would play soothing music for her to prevent her from barking or whining while I was gone. I would return hours later to find her, a lump under the sheets, in the same position I'd left her. Until the day I didn't.

Her face registered guilt the moment I walked through the door. Danny's eyes and nose were strewn about the floor and his stuffing was all over the bed. Avery's saliva was still fresh on Danny's wound and she instantly sought cover under the couch, her place of refuge when she knows she has been Bad Avery. I tried to remain calm and tried to see things from her perspective. Was she upset at me because I left her? Did she miss me and smelled me on Danny and got carried away? I really didn't know what to think and was at a loss for words.


There was no time for anger as my friend was on her way over for a dinner and I only had thirty minutes to prepare. My insides felt like Danny's as the night passed. Avery finally emerged from under the couch and was immediately put in her cage where she skulked. Avery and I were not friends over the next week or so as I worked through this emotional drama. Why she chose to ruin Danny when she had her bag of toys and bones to play with I will never know. Avery had never acted out in this way before towards Danny.


Avery had done something horrible to Danny but I would eventually have to get over it. There was something about this that told me it was personal, the look in her eyes seemed to convey this when I caught her in her heinous act. Days passed and being her sole caretaker, I still had to provide for her - food, walks, and belly rubs - as part of the deal of being her Mommy. She seemed to be seeking forgiveness from me as she would occasionally glance at me with sad eyes. She also knew enough to keep her distance, staying on her side of the bed, as we slept. As the days passed she would inch closer and reach out and touch my leg or arm with her paw, eventually snuggling up against me completely again.

A friend told me that even though she destroyed Danny that she still loved me. Avery was obvious in showing her affection for me and it was me who had to learn to forgive and move on. The tears I cried for Danny were justified but I could no longer live in that space. An era was over. I went on to research doll hospitals in the New York area to see if he can be fixed and will be sending him in for surgery soon. He will never again be the Danny I once knew, with his soon-to-be shiny new nose, buttons, and stitching, but he will be transformed into a new version of himself, as I have now been.