WOO-WOO

Woo-woo is no garden variety dog. More of a super-action canine deity. His name was chosen by our then 2 year old to evoke the mighty bark that he identified with the little bean bag.

First the toy's fur was drooled on for several months and then his label was rubbed off. The ribbon collar snapped and his paws lost their tread. His left ear grew bald but we loved him just as he was.

We moved house and Woo-woo went AWOL for a bit. Perhaps husband and I felt vaguely threatened by the force of our son's bond with Woo-woo and didn't try hard enough to find him at the new address. We convinced our son that his dog had found another boy to look after until Woo-woo was recovered in a vase, protected by bubble wrap and those squidgy plastic worms they use for packing. To witness boy and dog reunite was stirring stuff.

Last week, our son was responsible for his school bag on a train trip back from half-term break. We reckoned our 5 year old needed to learn about responsibilities so he had been encouraged to pack his favorite things. These were a rubber (no tittering form my North American sisters), an action hero, some pencils, chalk, a matchbox car, random Lego, string, a dinosaur watch, a comic and Woo-woo. When the District Line expectorated us out at our station, we smugly congratulated ourselves for a smooth trip home and gathered our bags. Within nanoseconds, our son was wailing and fat tears were streaming off his chin. "For f*&ks sake" said Husband. "Why he is crying now" asked Daughter. "That's what you get for swinging around the carriage like a deranged pole-dancer instead of sitting like a gentleman" remarked I.

So as we dragged snot-boy home, the bag travelled along its merry way. Was it spotted as a suspicious package? Did a passenger attempt to prod it? Did someone hope it contained valuables? 10 days and 10 nights of suspense as I called and called and called Lost Property. I was being driven mad by the thought of Woo-woo trapped inside a dark book bag at the bottom of a dumpster. I identified with his plight an wondered if he was giving in to the fear or holding it together. LASSIE-WOO COME HOME!!

To us, Woo-woo is very real. Like a member of our family (albeit one that sleeps with dust bunnies under a junior bed, gets peed on and occasionally submits to a laundry cycle). So I had to call TFL one last time. The stern man who dealt with me asked a series of probing questions more Guantanamo interrogation style than kindly Santa q&a. As i figuratively dropped my knickers for the cavity search, his voice quickened---" Did you say rucksack type child's bag?". "I made that perfectly clear in the affidavit I sent you, the scan of the bag and the several densely written pages of descriptive to backup the video reenactment at the scene". Obviously I didn't say that as this bureaucrat was going to make or break my day.

Then, the most wonderful four words: "We. Have. It. Here."

So when I collect the bag, do I slip Woo-woo back into our son's bed and claim that his doggy braved untold danger to return to a boy who still believes in magic or do I sternly reiterate my lecture to the lad on the dangers of pole-dancing on public transport?