When I was a toddler, my parents found a stuffed Donald Duck toy at a garage sale for twenty-five cents. I don’t know the details of the story – if I found it and begged for it, or if they just thought I’d like it. Regardless, it would become my favorite of all my toys. (Which I heard about later in life: “All the toys you ever got, and that twenty-five cent stuffed duck was your favorite.” I have a similar sentiment when I buy my cats toys, and they prefer Q-Tips or a bit of yarn.)
Apparently, it wasn’t long before I infused enough life into that stuffed duck that my family started treating him like he was indeed a living, breathing thing – another member of the family. My mother has a story where she was washing him and couldn’t bring herself to put his head under the water. I also have a series of photos (below) where I was sick, and my parents, in an effort to cheer me up, tucked him in on the couch with his own throw up bucket (a plastic measuring cup) and captured a moment where he was being sick over the toilet bowl.
When we got a dog, I had a stern conversation with him about leaving my duck alone (which apparently worked because he never once went after him). The only time Donald and I were apart was when my dad had to have surgery, and I sent Donald to the hospital with him so that he wouldn’t be lonely. And it was my dream as a child to go to Disney and meet said Duck (something that wouldn’t happen well into adulthood – though I am still holding out for the O.G. sailor Donald).
During my bookstore crawl a few months ago, I stumbled upon a book I’d never seen before – a ‘biography’ of Donald Duck. This was at the vintage shop – the spine was covered in painters tape, and they wanted fifty bucks for it. Me being me, with my love for the cranky duck (the original angry bird, if you will), went home and hopped online. I found a copy on eBay for twelve bucks plus shipping – the hardcover was still in tact, and they even had the dust jacket, which had some wear and tear. I couldn’t resist.
Donald is still hanging around, sitting on a shelf with a couple other treasures from my childhood, like my baby blanket my great-grandmother knitted for me.
Ami Maxine 