Let me put forth in this minimal space to discuss briefly two items in my possession, the relative importances of which it is the purpose of this faltering article to discuss.
They are similar in the object they intend to imitate (namely, a rabbit), but the intents, the usages, and even the fates of each item must be decided individually.
First, let us speak of the green, wire-boned, poseable cartoon effigy that I will simply refer to herein as "Bendy Rabbit Man." BRM came to me in a UPS box from my mother which also contained this year's installment of my wife's and my joint Easter basket. Its frozen smiling eyes stared back at me from the garden of chocolates as parsley might stare back at one from a plate, as if to say, "I'm not to be eaten, but I prove by my very presence that what you see here was prepared thoughtfully."
At this point, a nostalgic Gimcracker like myself might feel compelled to keep Bendy Rabbit Man around on sentiment alone, based on the information given. But a look deeper, I propose, will strip away some of that cloudiest of consumer urge.
I know that my mother added the BRM to the basket out of love and care; but I'm also certain that she did not intend for him to be a mantelpiece. For her part, she's probably forgotten his sticker price, or even the fact that he ever existed. Bendy Rabbit Man is a garnish, not an heirloom, and must be treated as such. I am protecting neither my nor my mother's feelings by keeping him around; I am merely using him to take up the space that might better be taken up with one of my defunct electric shavers.
Bendy Rabbit Man was a gift to me; but the second toy in question was a gift from me, specifically to my mangled cur of a dog, Libby. This particular rabbit (we'll call him Mr. Squeakybuns) was sold to us with the promise of indestructibility, a promise we should have gotten in writing. We learned of his reinforced stitching and removable squeaker, and enthusiastically took the bait.
Mr. Squeakybuns lasted less than a week. Early on, we had to trash his removable squeaker due to the possibility of it becoming a bulldog choking hazard. A few days later, Libby's powerful jaws made a mockery of the reinforced stitching, violently severing an ear. All that remained of the once pristine rabbit was a dilapidated mess of muppet fur and slobber.
My wife (who loves to discard the possessions of others) insisted right away that we make a velveteen bonfire for Mr. Squeakybuns. I, however, objected, quite vociferously.
A dog is intelligent enough to understand when it is being offered food, and sometimes even when it needs to go outside to relieve itself. A dog is not, however, intelligent enough to care deeply about the obsolescence of a plaything. Libby, therefore, according to form, has maintained an interest in Mr Squeakybuns in spite of his condition, an interest that heightens measurably whenever she sees our cat expressing an interest.
Therefore, dogs not being rational animals, I hereby resolve to dispense with the aesthetic in this case and throw my lot in with utility in the case of Mr. Squeakybuns.
Grades:
Bendy Rabbit Man: 2/10
Mr. Squeakybuns: 7/10
Goodbye, Bendy Rabbit Man.
M. Swaim_, M.SwaimMisc_
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