Owen had a fuzzy yellow blanket.
He’d had it since he was a baby.
He loved it with all his heart.
“Fuzzy goes where I go,” a dit Owen.
And Fuzzy did.
Upstairs, downstairs, in-between.
Inside, outside, upside down.
“Fuzzy likes what I like,” a dit Owen.
And Fuzzy did.
Orange juice, grain de raisin, raisin juice, chocolat milk.
Ice cream, cacahuète, arachide butter, applesauce cake.
“Isn’t he getting a little old to be carrying that thing around?” asked Mrs. Tweezers. “Haven’t toi heard of the Blanket Fairy?”
Owen’s parents hadn’t.
Mrs. Tweezers filled them in.
That night Owen’s parents told Owen to put Fuzzy...
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