Furbeast troubles

Larry wasn’t what you would call a “hands-on dad.” Sure, he could barbecue with the best of them and assemble IKEA furniture—not without some questionable leftover screws, but still—he shied away from things that required delicate manipulation, like Rosie’s math homework or, heaven forbid, repairing electronic toys. He was meant to get his paws dirty with sputtering car engines, dig into artificial monoliths and get their gears turning again, not dainty toys. But when the black-and-white monstrosity that was Rosie’s Furbeast started acting like it had just consumed a gallon of expired motor oil, Larry knew he was about to embark down migraine road—one that involved the complete de-skinning of the furry creature resembling a runaway marshmallow that just narrowly escaped being burnt to a crisp at the campfire.

It was a dilemma of parenthood he hadn’t considered, he couldn’t just say no and leave Rosie was a Furbeast that couldn’t sing, even if the peppy songs did give him a headache. So he dragged himself into the playroom after hearing Rosie’s complaint of “Dad! My Furbeast is acting weird, and it’s scaring the cat!” across the house. The room was overtaken by stuffed animals, half-eaten snacks, a very concerned David pressed into the corner, and a Furbeast that looked like it had seen better days. Its little eyes were wide open, and it swayed back and forth as if it were at a techno rave, spitting garbled non-sense, fur twisted around candies and damp with mysterious liquids from whatever hercules trials Rosie made it go through. “Ahh, I’ll fix em up…” he declared, and took it out back.

It’s been sitting on the shelf in his garage ever since, collecting dust, the gum and nasty candies still matted in its fur. Sad eyes peered down at him every time he sidled into the garage, and when he met the toy’s gaze, memories flooded back of Rosie’s laughter echoing through the house when the Furbeast had once been functional. She used to carry it everywhere, talking to it as if it were a treasured friend. But when it had mysteriously fallen silent weeks ago after one last gargling song, a shadow had crossed Rosie’s sunny demeanor. Larry took on the challenge the day it broke down, hoping to restore not just the toy but also the joy it had brought to his daughter. He believed in the magic of fixing things, of breathing new life into what had once been broken, but… Even this was a stretch.

It’s not that he wanted to deprive Rosie of her friend, as annoying as it may be, he just couldn’t figure out how to fix it. But, maybe today, he would. 

He gathered his tools from the shed: a flathead screwdriver, a paper clip, a first aid kit in case he needed to treat any of his electronic wounds, a small tin bucket of water to soak the mangy thing’s hide in the meantime, and swept the toy from the top shelf. He held the wretched creature up like an egg, glazed over eyelids glowing in the iridescent lights of its malfunctioning LEDs. He set the Furbeast onto a workbench of cat hair and crude oil stains. He got to work delicately peeling its fur, and when the last strip of hide slipped off its giant ears, Larry felt a rush of adrenaline. And what he found inside was the stuff of nightmares. Other than the creepy appearance of two bulging eyes and the fact it was completely naked, what he really dreaded was the chromatic wires, circuit boards, and tiny compartments that looked like a guillotine for his fingers. The thing had more confusing plastic bits hiding in its furry exterior than Larry had scales on his head.

It almost made him abandon the mission and leave it up there for another 4 weeks.

“Why do they have to make everything so complicated?” He muttered to himself. Carefully, he prodded the wires, committing the consequential act of disassembly. It felt rather invasive, like exploring a secret that had been intentionally kept, and he was an unwanted tenant prodding his bumpy nose in the door. “Okay, little guy, let’s see if we can fix this...”

An unamused flutter of the lips and he was off, removing two screws from a red circle on its chest under an arch of tangled rainbow wire. The toy’s speaker, now unclad of its armor, was investigated by the crocodile with a few curious plucks and taps. That was, until the Furbeast whirred back to life, its little eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree.

“Wee-tah-kah-loo-loo!” it cooed, completely disregarding Larry’s near cardiac arrest. It was as if a horror movie had collided with a comedy sketch. “Lord have mercy,” he breathed, brushing his sweaty palms against his jeans. He glared at the Furbeast, which had inexplicably started humming and waddling about. He tried prodding it with a screwdriver. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help you, you little menace?”

“Wee-tee-kah-wah-tee!” the Furbeast insisted in its wee, blabbering “Furbish” language and whirred to silence once more. Taking a deep breath, Larry relocated himself back to fix the wires hooked to the speaker. He wrapped the wires as best as he could, half wishing he could give them a strong talking to about the dangers of assembler confusion, and with what scraps he had, he attempted to replace any parts in need. Infuriatingly, like the toy could sense when he was deep in focus, it reactivated and began singing in a disjointed, waning voice, making Larry hiss in frustration and consider hurling the damn thing across the room like he was linebacker going for the touchdown. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of whispering sweet nothings to a creature that seemed to flirt with madness, the surgery was a success. He tightened the last screw on its speaker panel and clapped his hands together with flair. “Thank goodness, I don’t have to look at this ugly thing anymore...”

He fetched the soppy hide from the bucket, which was free of its knots and clingy sweets, and wrung it out. After a quick blow dry, he snugly fitted the fur over the beast, and it was done…

Larry stood in the dim light of his workshop, cradling the once-broken Furby in his hands. It had taken countless hours of meticulous effort to bring the little creature back to life. The monochrome fur was now fluffier than ever, and the electronic eyes sparkled with new energy. He had meticulously replaced the worn-out batteries, painstakingly re-soldered the circuit board, and even managed to fix the little speaker so that it could finally chirp and sing again. Feeling a mix of pride and anticipation, Larry wrapped the toy in crisp wrapping paper so he could dramatically reveal it to his daughter, good as new.

“Rosie, I got a surprise for you!” he bellowed. She was moping in bed, and paid him no mind when he shouldered his way through, that was, until she saw the poke-a-dotted box in his talons. Rosie curiously rises, hair zany from being smothered in a pillow all day. When she carefully took the box and unwrapped it, her eyes widened in disbelief.

Peanut.

For a moment, it seemed like time stood still, and then, in an outburst of excitement, she snatched him from his cardboard prison, her heart racing. As the toy sprang to life, chattering and singing, Rosie’s laughter filled the room, a melody far sweeter than any electronic tune. Larry watched with a satisfied smile, knowing that his effort had paid off; he had not only repaired a beloved toy, but had rekindled the sparkle in his daughter’s eyes. In that moment, he realized that sometimes it wasn’t just about fixing the broken but rather about nurturing the bond between them, one little Furbeast at a time.