Here's something from Slice reader Amanda Lorenzi.

"Hi, Paul. I have a story to share about an incident that happened to me when I was a child.

"I had a stuffed dog, Rex, that I got about 25 years ago (I'm 28 now). When I was about 10 or 11, I had been out to the lake with my aunt and cousins. We returned to their home to find that their dog, Belle, had gone all Flying Monkeys vs. the Scarecrow on my poor Rex! His head was on the porch, one arm was on one side of the yard, the other arm across the way, his legs in the driveway and stuffing all strewn about. I was inconsolable. My whole family knew how dearly I loved Rex and my cousins cried with me over the loss.

"But. My aunt gathered Rex and his pieces and took him to her friend Julie McDowell, who is quite a seamstress. And the next day I got Rex back in one piece with a snazzy new shirt.

"Eighteen years later, I still have Rex and every time I look at him I think of Julie and the heartache she saved me from."   

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