Bear

I have a bear. His name is BooBoo.

When BooBoo and I were in our youth, we were quite inseparable. If I took a walk, BooBoo was not far behind. His Black furry stubb-feet scuttled along by my side as I went to the park, or violin lessons, or the occasional quest for the neighborhood ice cream truck.

Now that we are in our vintage years, BooBoo and I are both a little worse for the wear. His black fur is pilly, his white fur is stained, his tail looks as if it has gotten caught in a few doors.

But BooBoo and I share a secret, even now, even in our old age. If you scratch behind BooBoo's ears, just the way he likes it, you will find that his fur begins to gleam, and his eyes begin to brighten.

Now it seems that he is more fabric than filling, and his button nose must be kissed tenderly, so it will not fall off. But inside of that black and once-white fabrics, lies a soul. The biggest soul a bear ever had. BooBoo the bear is young at heart, and wise with years. If only the rest of the world had the power of BooBoo.