Everyone, meet savage

Dear savage,

You were made as a present — a birthday present. Gary was turning 32, and what do you get the bloke who has everything?

Gary is the youngest crusty old fella one could ever hope (or want) to ever meet, grumbling that any music other than Motown or Elvis Presley is a bloody row, and was amazed at 19-year old adolescents’ capacity for food. Savages, they were. One couldn’t get anywhere near the food when they were there.

Hence, Neil floated the idea of making a special little savage just for Gary, and you were born.

You’re a playful little dude, always ready for a fun scrap and a girl’s hair to pull. If there is food present, you’re the first one to arrive and the last to leave. You never leave home without your fork (brand new from the Beatrice store, too).

Your hair is a semi-successful attempt to ‘grow’ hair through the top of the sock. I now know how to make a head of hair without going to so much trouble, but you are a labour of love, dear savage.

And you are ’savage’ with a little ’s’ because you are only a little savage. Let’s belabour the point.

The other kids were sad to see you go, but they know that you have another calling. They hope to see you again someday, maybe at Christmas?

Love,
Mum