Barbara Walter Hetler

Christmas 1967.  A long-eared, 28” tall, bright orange plush dog was presented as a promotion by the Chicago Tribune.  If you ordered a subscription, you’d receive the Cuddly Dudley dog.

Our son John was 9-months-old, so we thought Cuddly would make a great Christmas gift.  Oh the pictures we would have in our son’s “Precious Baby Book” of him hugging his new stuffed toy.

For years the life-sized Cuddly Dudley sat in a corner of John’s room. His ears and nose had cookie stains from being loved.  The ribbon around his neck was frayed, but his perfect long red tongue still hung at a rakish angle from his mouth.

Cuddly remained in John’s room until we decided to re-do the bedrooms.   All stuffed animals were given away, save Cuddly, who was relocated to the basement. Temporarily, we said.

Fast-forward several decades. Our church was having a rummage sale.  After filling several boxes, I noticed Cuddly Dudley.  Might as well take him, too.  The trunk was already filled.  I set him carefully on the passenger seat, securing him with the belt.

On the ride to the church, I kept staring at Cuddly sitting beside me looking a bit shaggy, but as adorable as the day he had come to our house.

We pulled into the church parking lot.  I unloaded the trunk.  Then I started to lift Cuddly Dudley.  Those bright eyes, that red tongue. I just couldn’t do it. 

Cuddly no longer is by himself in the basement. He’s been dusted off, has a new ribbon ‘round his neck and sits proudly in a bedroom we reserve for our grandchildren when they come to visit.  And sitting on a bookshelf in the same room is the “Precious Baby Book” with the photo of John hugging Cuddly Dudley.