Bearald

A Chapter by Patient X

Life through Bearald's eyes.

She named me Bearald. Cute. A play on Harold maybe. Or Gerald. Either way, I appreciate the effort. Her mother rescued me from monotonous shelf life when she was sick in the hospital a few years back. Poor child. I'm not quite sure if the hospital scene is any better than watching overworked mothers drag their greedy spawn through the aisles of whatever store I was in, but at least I now had a friend. As soon as I was handed to her, I received the best gift you can give a guy like me - a hug. Hundreds more would come over time, but I will never forget that first one. Warm, inviting, tight, full of love. She gives amazing hugs. She stroked my fur, looked into my eyes, and smiled the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

"I'm naming you Bearald"

I remained in her hospital bed for the next few days. Always by her side. It wasn't the most comfortable of places, but I didn't mind. I'm sure she was hurting more than I. I was there for her. She clutched me to her chest through the sleepless nights and even soaked my fur with a few tears. I was proudly shown off to every nurse and doctor who entered the room and received more than my fair share of compliments. I'll admit, it was nice. Some of my stuffing may have migrated up to my head. The head that received oh so many kisses.

As our stay at the hospital drew to a close, I began to worry. What would become of me? I was afraid I would no longer be needed. I was also jealous - sure that there were others like me waiting at home. I soon learned my fears were unwarranted. Upon arriving at her lovely home, I received a prime spot on her bed. Right next to where she slept. Although there were quite a few others like me in her room, they had a spot on the floor next to the bed. I again felt very important.

She was better now. No longer the sick girl in the hospital. Not constantly in bed. I was though. Always. Not much different than shelf life. The affection dwindled to being present mostly at night. I'd still get hugs and kisses, just under the fall of darkness. But even those happened less and less often as time wore on. It was fine. I learned to cherish our tender moments. One change I did not like was that eventually I only received attention when she was upset. I loved being needed again, but hated seeing her distraught. My fur started to become far too familiar with the feel of her tears. She had a long period of crying at night. She would grab me tightly and sob her troubles into my soft body. I didn't mind. I hope I helped her somehow. Eventually she became happier. That was quite the relief, but I did miss the increased frequency of love I received while she was depressed. As she grew, she found love in many others. Sometimes she would pretend that I was them. Clutching me again to her her chest, but now saying a different name.

"I love you, Mark"

My name wasn't Mark.

Sometimes I wish we were back in the hospital, when she needed me for me. But I always shake that thought out of my head. I want to feel her kisses, not her tears. She still hugs me every once in a while. Shoots one of those dazzling smiles in my direction. Every new guest to her house gets to meet Bearald. I am still proudly shown off. I am not forgotten. I will always be there for her. In the good times and the bad. Through the hugs and the tears. Hell, I don't even care what name she calls me. But she named me Bearald.

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