Toys Come Home by Emily Jenkins Page B

on,” the walrus says. “Here are some things about this house that you might want to learn.”
    StingRay sighs. She wishes she could tell Bobby Dot she already knows everything he could even think to tell her, but the truth is, she needs his information. She links her flipper with the one he’s holding out and the two of them hop off the shelf. As they tour the room, the walrus points out important sights and landmarks. “Don’t talk to the people,” he says. “Just stay still and quiet when they’re around. That’s the bookshelf, make sure you put back anything you look at. The Girl pretty much knows about us. I mean, she talks to us. We just don’t talk back. There’s a TV downstairs. You can watch it when they’re gone for the day but not at night because you might wake someone up. The bathroom is off the hall. There are some towels there and in the linen closet, but they keep to themselves, mostly. It’s like a towel club or something. Not very nice. I wouldn’t want to be a member.”
    StingRay follows Bobby Dot and remembers everything.
    She still doesn’t like him.
    The tall rocking horse in the corner can’t get around on his own, Bobby Dot explains, and he doesn’t talk much. True to this description, the horse blinks his eyes and sniffs StingRay’s proffered flipper to say hello, but he doesn’t say “How dya do?” when she does.
    A mischief of toy mice, very small in size, run across the floor to the toy box. The mice giggle among themselves and ignore StingRay. They proceed to pull out a box of small wooden blocks and play a lively game, squeaking and pushing the blocks about with their noses to make a maze. They move so fast StingRay cannot even count them.
    “Mice!” cries Bobby Dot, clapping his front flippers together with authority.
    The mice ignore him.
    “I said, Mice!” He claps again.
    Still no response.
    Bobby Dot heaves his thick body up and down repeatedly, making heavy banging noises on the carpet.
    Whomp!
    Whomp!
    Whomp!
    “Mice, pay attention. I am talking to you!”
    The mice pause briefly, a couple of them balancing on top of blocks. A plump white one chews on his own tail.
    “This is StingRay,” announces the walrus. “She is a marine animal like me. She has come here to stay. Please give her your attention and courtesy.”
    “Sheesh,” mutters the plump white mouse. “You’d think he’d lived here forever, the way he acts.”
    Whomp! “Tell her ‘How dya do!’ ” shouts Bobby Dot, thumping his body again.
    The mice, unafraid but wanting to go back to their game, squeak “How dya do” at StingRay.
    “Let’s move on,” says Bobby Dot.
    . . . . .
    The Girl and her family return in the evening, and when night falls the dad reads a book about a cat and a doll who live in a tree with a large collection of hats. StingRay listens to the story from her spot on the low shelf. Bobby Dot and Sheep are up on the bed where they can see the pictures.
    Then the dad turns out the light and sings until the Girl’s eyes fall shut.
    The first day is over.
    Sheep and Bobby Dot are asleep on the high bed, now. StingRay wants to sleep, too. In fact, she is very sleepy, but she can’t relax, can’t get comfortable on her hard, lonely shelf.
    The toy mice emerge and scuttle about. They pull down a book and open it in front of the horse, who rocks gently as he reads in the near-darkness. The mice begin leapfrogging over one another, squeaking softly. Every now and then the plump white mouse scoots over and flips a page in the horse’s book.
    StingRay thinks about going down the hall to meet the towels, but she is nervous that they won’t be friendly, after what Bobby Dot said.
    She also isn’t sure what a towel is.
    What if it has sharp teeth?
    What if it has angry claws?
    What if the vicious towels become enraged when a plush stingray tries to join their private conversation?
    They might rip her to shreds and eat her for dinner. Or jump on her with their huge, hairy