Doc McStuffins’ clinic was usually bustling with stuffed animals needing stitches or bandages. But today was different. A frantic, high-pitched squeak echoed through the waiting room, followed by a loud THUD. Doc, ever the professional, calmly surveyed the scene. Lying on the floor, amidst a scattering of building blocks and a half-eaten banana, was a plush letter H.
“Oh dear,” Doc murmured, peering at the distressed letter. “What seems to be the trouble?”
The H, its felt arms flailing, squeaked, “H-h-help! I-I’ve lost my… my… horizontal bar!”
Doc chuckled. “Your horizontal bar? Oh, you mean the little bit that makes you an H and not just two crooked lines?”
The H nodded vigorously, its stuffing visibly trembling. “Without it, I’m just… incomplete! I’m… I’m an I! And nobody wants to be an I!” A single tear (or perhaps a drop of spilled juice) rolled down its felt face.
Doc carefully examined the letter, finding a tiny, loose piece of fabric. “Aha!” she exclaimed, producing a miniature sewing kit. “I think I’ve found your missing piece.” With deft fingers, she stitched the bar back in place.
The H, now fully restored, let out a happy sigh. “Oh, thank you, Doctor! You saved me! I can finally feel… whole again!”
Doc smiled. “You’re very welcome. Now, remember, if you ever lose another part of yourself… just… try to stay calm. And maybe stay away from rambunctious toddlers with building blocks.” She winked. “After all, an I is quite a good letter. It’s the start of ‘Incredible!’… and ‘Ice cream!'” The H, beaming, promptly decided ice cream sounded like a splendid idea.
