Rufus

Rufus and Ru in 2006

Rufus came to us either in 1993 or 1995; I don’t recall exactly, though I do know we were living in Number 15 and he was a birthday present from Ter. He’s a Boyd’s bear, a collector’s item probably picked because his name matched my then-nickname, but I may be completely wrong about that. Ter picked him from the crowd – or he picked her – and, once he was adopted, he made himself at home and began exerting his personality.

Ter says he’s sensitive. I say he’s a drama queen. One year I got a pair slipper socks for Christmas and he appropriated one to wear on his head. Fashionable in a 1600s French-Canadian trapper sort of way, he’s worn it ever since and fusses like mad when Ter adjusts it, which she does quite frequently because the elastic has lost its grip and is in constant danger of falling off. That really upsets him, but he won’t be convinced that adjusting his hat is a preventative measure and not done to vex him. He also wears a bell on his wrist, the summons for bedtime cuddles and smooches because, at heart, he really is an affectionate and loving little bear.

One Sunday, I woke him up with the announcement that it was sanga day for him and his pals. He looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “I know it’s sanga day, Mum. When you and Tanta (what he calls Ter) are home together for a whole day, the next day is always a sanga day.”

Well, I thought, aren’t you smart? Of course I didn’t say it, since that would set him off, but when I mentioned it to Ter later that morning, her response was similar to the look Rufie had given me on waking.

“He’s no bear of very little brain,” she said. “He knows what’s going on.”

I have to agree with that. If any of our bears are comparable to Winnie-the-Pooh, it’s not Rufus. It’s Moon Pie. Before I left for work the other day, the little puffball asked me if I was going to tango with world again. At first I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about, until I realized I’d said on a previous morning, “You guys have a good day while Ter and I are off tangling with the real world.”

Ironically, he’s helped to change my somewhat surly attitude toward workdays. Dancing is more fun than wrangling, right? Now I try to tango, thanks to little Moonie.

Every bear is clever in his own way.