Pamela Wilsey

As a child I rejected dolls, refused to read any books with human characters, and instead populated my world with animals: stuffed animals, tiny china animals, books with animal characters, encyclopedias of dog breeds and horse breeds, and books on how to draw animals.

My crowning glory was my collection of Steiffs, beautifully made mohair animals crafted in Germany, many of which I still have today and display on the mantel every year at Christmas.

Flopsy, however, is not a Steiff.  He arrived as part of a dime store Easter basket filled with candy and wrapped in yellow cellophane when I was three.  Pale blue with pink feet and ears, and sporting a yellow organza apron with embroidered flowers.  I was enchanted right away.  Although I later carried my sturdier Steiffs to friends’ houses to play, I always came home to Flopsy, perched on my pillow. 

Today Flopsy resides with my treasured Steiff menagerie, sealed in a plastic bin in the attic.  He has lost an eye, his fur is worn away, and it seems he had a tracheostomy from which he’s never quite recovered. As far as I know, the Steiffs treat Flopsy kindly and with the deference he deserves, given his senior status.  I’m comforted to know they keep him company because I see him only when I bring the animals out at Christmas.  On the mantel Flopsy perches proudly front and center, my oldest friend.