I’ve seen the world, her world, from my shaggy throne of mobile home carpet. I first saw her in the store, she smiled as she approached, her stern eyes softening at the sight of me. We rode home in her car, and as it struggled up the hills I marveled at the views of golden fields and deep canyons. She placed me with pride beside her television, my perch to see the world. 

Years passed, and I maintained my silent vigil as children began to appear. They squealed with joy and rode on my back, they beat my pointed ears with toys, bottles, and anything else they could wrap their tiny hands around. She did not seem to mind their treatment of me, often taking pictures and showing great delight as the tiny creatures wrestled my rigid form. I endured the abuse. One by one the children grew and lost interest in me, and soon she and I were together alone again in peace and quiet. 

One night she began to cry, her fear and pain growing until someone came to get her, I recognized them as one of the children that used to play with me. He comforted her as he took her away. 

He came back the next day, His shoulders heavy with the weight of loss. He took me in his arms and placed me with care in his home, my new home. He looked at me often, and in his sad eyes I saw her face, but I also saw her smile. She lived on, through me, through him.