When I was little, I just couldn’t do without my gray, ragged, stuffed dog- his name was doggie- and man he went everywhere with me. Doggie was my best friend, the most loving, caring, adorable little stuffed dog in California… and he belonged to me. He had blue eyes- which constantly popped out of his head- floppy ears, and a nubby little tail. He was like a real dog to me, I tied him on my real dogs leash and would drag him around my house exposing my feelings, and he would listen to me; or so I thought. When had him with me, I felt safe in my bed while I slept, and safe as I walked through the busy city, and safe while I watched a scary movie. I felt relieved I had a good companion to protect me. I loved carrying him with me everywhere, he had my back- and I had his, just in case we ran into a cat or something. Without him by my side, I missed him, just as much as a new preschooler misses her mom the first day of school. At the same time, I was wondering what trouble he was up to, and what adventures he was on. I still have him today, but he watches over my closet, making sure no one comes in, without his permission.