I was reunited with one of my oldest friends, a stuffed toy called Henny. Henny is a plain but charming mid-80s chicken in dark brown, and I held them close in my childhood. One time, in around 1989 they fell from the pram and were lost, but neighbours found them and put them in their window, meaning they could return to my arms. When I left my family home for university I left Henny behind in a cupboard.

This January Henny came from my parents’ house to live with me, after a long estrangement. Henny is dwelling on my bed, and has made firm friendships with Daisy the skunk and Sheepy the sheep. Lovely creatures.

Sometimes I worry - only a small worry - that treating my stuffed animals as pets or little friends is (a) delusional, or (b) idolatrous. I tend to assume it’s (c) play. It’s fun to play, and with Henny the game has lasted nearly forty years!

The Bible has nothing to say about stuffed toys. I’m aware teddy bears were a twentieth century, but I feel playing with toys is an ancient and wonderful thing. I’m not looking to the Bible for approval for Henny, on this occasion, but for kinship. We know very little about Jesus as a child. Did he hug a chicken, whether feather or cloth? Toys are one of many secular things the Bible just doesn’t talk about. If you’re ever curious about whether people had beds and pillows back then, or whether they kept animals as pets, showered with affection, there’s no real comment. Cats don’t get a mention, despite having been everywhere, as they’re simply never relevant. Like the enjoyment of fictional theatre, they might have been a regular reality, but the Bible, for all its many words, doesn’t talk about recreational pleasures. They exist in the gap between the narratives. Parents in the Bible give their children blessings and fish, and on a couple of occasions fancy coats, but never gift anything quite like Henny.

When I fell out of the tree, earlier this week, and woke from unconsciousness, and could barely move, I kept asking Ava if I was in a pool of blood - kept asking because I worried my serious condition was being hidden from me. To comfort me, Ava offered to fetch Henny and Daisy from my bedroom, so they could accompany me to the hospital. I think this was the first thing that made me cry. Ava knew my soft little friends would encourage me, but I was upset by the idea of Henny and Daisy seeing me in this state. I feared I might die, and letting Henny know I was dying seemed so sad and so unkind.

Listener, I did not die. The day, the ambulance and the eight hours at hospital were an ordeal, but when I came home I ate a big porridge and went to bed, where Henny and Sheepy and Daisy were ready and welcoming. Home isn’t where you hang your hat. It’s where your fluffy friends wait for your embrace. Dear listener, gently hug your chicken!

One final thought: if I’m looking for parental gifts in the Bible, I should definitely include gifts from our heavenly father God. According to James chapter 1, every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the father of lights. Maybe I’m being too literal, but I can call Henny a good gift, a boon, a comforter, a hen for Ben.