When I Think of Magoo

When I think of Magoo, I hope I always remember him running down the hill to our house, his fluffy hair bouncing, his little McQueen-crocked feet pumping like bolts of red rubber lightning. I violated my rule of not buying “character” clothes when I saw the look on his face at the shoe store.

They were like the air to him.

It was a good decision.

I never had his baby shoes bronzed. Maybe I’ll do these.