When I was a little kid, I had a big stuffed turtle. (The toy kind, not the creepy taxidermy kind.) I loved that turtle so much – I would sit on its back and scoot up and down our hardwood hallway. Up and down. Up and down. I’m sure it either made my mom crazy, or else she loved it because I was a Swiffer prototype.
Anyway, I remember that it had a rip on it’s neck. I would poke my finger in the hole and those horribly static-y tiny styrofoam balls would fall out. I ‘fixed’ it. Several times. Yep, Little Lauren used needle and thread several times and knotted that neck up. Hmmmm…. judging by my current sewing skills, I probably made it worse. That turtle went in the trash, didn’t it, Mom? (Nah. Side note – I found that turtle later when I was older. It was so small! What the what?)
Anyway, I have now added ‘Stuffed Animal Surgeon’ to my resume’. It’s not that I’m good at it – it’s that I’ll do it. I’ve repaired bears, dogs, foxes, snakes – you name it, I’ve stuck a needle in it. In fact, I had a little boy a few years ago who had a ripped animal at home. He told his dad he needed to take it to school, because “Mrs. Sommerer wants to fix it.” Hmmmm… thanks, Austin.
Today we had a donkey that belonged to another teacher’s daughter long ago. It used to have a mechanism inside that made it bray, but it had broken long ago and we could hear the broken pieces rattling around inside. We preformed a broken-sound-maker-ectomy and replaced it with stuffing. The stitches are ugly, but they should hold for now.
Heal up, little donkey.