Good evening. My given name is Jessica, but you may call me Jessica. I’m a duck and have been in faithful service as such since Easter 1990-- that’s when I was given to Rachel by her parents. They picked me out for her because she desperately needed a Pajama Pal like the tiger her older sister had gotten for Christmas.

Rachel loved all her stuffed animals very much and went to great lengths to make sure none of us got our feelings hurt, but I know I was really her favourite. She played with us almost every day in her room or anywhere in the house. Usually we were trying to escape the country or foil the plans of some no-good crook. Often we had to hide in the woods or cross the ocean. At those times I acted as a carrier-- her smaller animals were tucked into my pouch. I usually didn’t mind, except that Li’l Kitten always kicked.

Every time she went somewhere, Rachel would take one of her animals with her. Whenever she went to Jim’s, I’d be the lucky one! I always sat beside her and kept a wary eye on her dad. I did this because I knew it unnerved him.

For a long time Rachel and her sister Angela lived in a town called Sunnyville. Sunnyville and its parks, stores, etc. bore an amazing resemblance to the house we lived in and its different rooms. The newspaper, for which only Rachel and AnJa wrote, came out every month or so. (Hey, it was a sleepy little town.) I and the other stuffed animals were featured in almost every article, bulletin, and advertisement, so we all got our 17.593 minutes of fame. My years of living in Sunnyville were my happiest.

Whenever Rachel put her animals to bed in the pet net hanging on her wall, she would always have a job getting me to stay up there. You see, I am one of the largest and most rotund animals she has, and I’d always roll off the pile and land on her. She eventually started putting me in the net first.

One of the memories that stands out in my mind is not a particularly happy one. One day, a few months after Rachel and I met, she was feeling cold. I sympathised and let her climb into my pouch. She ALMOST fit-- but not quite. Rachel’s mum had to perform surgery on my busted pouch. I didn’t like that very much, but, thankfully, I was good as new afterwards.

As the years went by, Rachel stopped going to Jim’s and didn’t pay as much attention to me or the others. We still live in her room in the pet net, and very occasionally she takes one or two of us out. I can’t really complain, but I do miss those days of fleeing the country and being the subject of the front page article. I hope Rachel never forgets that I’ll always be here if she needs me.