Once upon a time, there was a doll named Emily.

She came to me as a Christmas gift from my parents, when I was probably already a bit too old for dolls. But I didn’t mind, because she was so pretty.

Emily spent a long, long time sitting on a shelf in my bedroom.  Rarely, I played with her. Occasionally, I rearranged her hair, or dusted her.

Then, when I moved out, Emily got put in a box, along with other things that were precious to me.

And there she stayed. For years and years.

Eventually, the box was opened, the contents examined, and Emily was rediscovered. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she looked a bit sad.

Her Liberty print smock and petticoat were a little faded. Although she was still very pretty, she had acquired a rather melancholy air. Something sad and wistful at the edges of her smile.

But I sat her on my dressing table, and she looked nice nonetheless.

Then, one day not so long ago, I had a bit of a rearrange of my knick-knacks in the kitchen. I moved a few things around.

One of them was a small, nameless felt dog; a present from my partner when he went on a business trip to Brighton.

The little dog’s brown felt coat was getting rather grubby with greasy kitchen gunk. So I decided to move him upstairs.

I put him next to Emily on the dressing table as he was just the right size, and promptly forgot all about the two of them.

Until yesterday. When I noticed that Emily’s air of melancholy seems to have evaporated.

She has found a friend.

And so has Nameless Felt Dog, who now looks positively perky.

I wonder if he might even be wagging that felt tail when nobody’s looking. ♥