by Karen Shackles-Dotterer
 

        It was my very first Christmas.  I was barely nine months old, but I
could speak well enough to ask my Poppy for a black "goggy".  I was his newest
grandchild, so of course, he got me exactly what I wanted for Christmas.
        My mom tells me that I was very proud of "Goggy".  He was my constant
companion and I carried him around tucked under my arm wherever I went.  Even
when I got older, "Goggy"  always had a special place in my room.  When my
Aunt Jackie went away to college,  I let Goggy go with her to sit on her bed
in her dorm room.
        Goggy has lots of his fur rubbed off and his eyes have been replaced
with buttons.  But even now he occupies a place on my bed atop the quilt that
Mother made.
         Poppy died when I was twelve years old, but one of the ways I'll always
remember him is by looking at Black Goggy.  That makes this favorite stuffed
animal very special to me.