On the first day of the 3rd grade, our perm donning southern dialected teacher, Mrs. Sumner, introduced us to the class mascot, "Fluffy" the dog. Draped lifelessly over a chalkboard, the cheaply named plush pup slouched as a non-threatening, non-authoritarian mediator between we, the students, and Mrs. Sumner, the teacher. The plan was brilliant. If I were a 3rd grade teacher, you bet your sweet ass I'd be using a stuffed animal or whatever else I could as a time-buying scapegoat.
Mrs. Sumner had the right idea.
As I recall, we were to start each day with a writing exercise given to us by "Fluffy." Depending on the day, the yellowing, dust accumulating dog would paw out prompts--some problem solving, some free writes, some lesson regurgitation--and we were duped in to doggy style correspondence. All the while, Mrs. Sumner sat in peace and quiet, presumably flipping through a catalog of other clever plush distractions.
This entry is from what I assume to be the first day back at school, when Fluffy and I were just getting reacquainted with one another. (We had the same teacher and stuffed confidant for both 3rd and 4th Grade).
In case the text in the image isn't clear enough, I've transcribed it below.
On vacation I went to Galveston. We drove. On the way there was a bakery in Corsicana. The beach was crummy. We went fishing for crabs. We caught 1 crab. We took a ferry to another Island. We went to another beach. It was better. I caught lots of hermit crabs there. I got a pet hermit crab. My rabbit died. So did Aaron's rats.
[Mrs. Sumner/Fluffy's notes]: Sorry about your rabbit! What did you do with the crabs?*
Apparently, as indicated by the last few sentences, I wanted to assert that I wasn't too good at keeping animals alive, let alone corresponding with them.
Oh, Fluffy, how out of touch and distant we've become. If you're reading this, let me know what you've been up to, what muppets you may have dated, and whether or not Ubu ever learned to sit.
Note*: The kids these days!