This is the first time he’s been washed in three years–I’m trusting the sun to kill any stray bacteria.

Contrary to appearances, I love this guy. He’s the first stuffed animal I ever bought for MJ, back at the L.A. Zoo in 2010. It was our first trip there; she couldn’t talk yet, but It was clear she needed to have him. Or maybe I did. It’s hard to tell. Anyway, he’s part of the family now, and as such, needs to be maintained. And, family or not, his filthiness has reached unacceptable levels. Mike’s been kidding that the doll was morphing breeds.

“You can’t possibly call that a snowy owl anymore. Is there such a thing as the murky gray kind?”

“There’s a great grey owl,” MJ replied primly. “Remember the one from the bird show?”

“Right,” Mike said triumphantly. “He’s one of those now.”

“No he’s not!”

“Looks like one to me!”

“DADDY!”

“All right, all right, ” I grumbled. “Enough. I’ll wash him.”

And so here we find him, a bird on a wire, a doll suspended, an odd bit of wash dripping onto the concrete.

But a snowy owl once more. And tonight he sleeps in my daughter’s arms.