There’s a character in Ice Age 2, voiced by the endearing Simon Pegg, called Buck. Buck is a slightly unhinged weasel who is trapped in a time of dinosaurs.
Dave and I watched the movie in 2009, in theaters.
It’s one of those things you do when the bulk of the people you spend time with are under the age of 11. His character made us laugh so much that, in a hyper swashbuckling bout of energy, we drove to our nearest toy store to pick up a toy version of him for our youngest niece. We were successful and proudly returned home with this guy:
I wrapped it carefully, but my newly born kitten ripped into it before it could be gifted. I don’t have to describe the scene for those of you who have cats. There was wrapping paper everywhere– from the ceilings to the kitchen sink– and the tag had been chewed into a ball of spit.
My delicate kitten with a heart of gold was still at the scene of the crime– brutally beating the poor beanie baby with his hind legs.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Flash is one of the friendliest cats I’ve ever known. He’s gentle with all his possessions. He even chews quietly. To see him so passionately respond to anything was distinctly out of character.
It was so strange, in fact, that I took the toy away. We tried other beanie babies, and other Buck-shaped toys, but none satisfied my kitten. We even tried toys of a similar weight, but Flash would just ignore them. He would routinely walk over to where I hid Buck, and sulk– until I eventually gave in, and returned the toy.
Could you say no to this kitty?
Four years later, and Buck is still my cat’s favorite toy.
After he gets in trouble for eating something he shouldn’t, or meowing too bossily, Flash will sulk until we gently remind him to go play with Buck.
Belligerently, he’ll march over to his toy box, fling Buck out, and proceed to kick and claw. A few minutes of that, and Flash is exhausted. He lies down, and cuddles with his dinosaur-aged buccaneer till they both fall asleep.
It is a complex relationship, but he loves his toy.
It is the first thing he saves when the vacuum monster rolls into the room, and the first thing he hides (before even himself) when there are beastly dogs in sight. It is Buck’s belly that he sleeps on at night, and Buck’s scent that calms him when he is sick.
The poor weasel has had repeated surgeries– some when I had the resources to fix him up like new, and some when I had nothing but the thread from my own clothes and (quite literally) twigs that my husband ingeniously sharpened to needles.
He’s an important part of our family, and despite his wear– he has only becomes more precious.
Our Buck, and some of his warrior scars.
To me, he has become a symbol of the sense of rightness that settles into your bones when you find the perfect vessel for the vibrations of your heart. Flash recognized Buck on sight, just as I understood at a very early age that words would be my sanctuary.
Sometimes I kick them around so much that they tear, sometimes I rest on their warmth, and sometimes I watch as they are carefully refueled by those who care for me. My words have become patchworked by experience and roughened by age, and as times goes on, they only become more familiar.
It is a complex relationship, but I love my words.
In moments of extreme emotion, I seek them out and if I forget, family tradition comes to my rescue. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear, “Go play with Buck.”
I pick up my pen and claw and kick until all the poisons have seeped from my life
and nothing is left but the desire to rest my head
and take a little, loving nap.
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