"Wait a second," interrupted Giggle. "When…? So you were first given to this Davy kid in 1952, right?"

"Yeah, that's right," said Woody.

"So… When's this chapter? The, like…?" Giggle tried to count with her minuscule fingers. "So if Davy finished high school…"

"1975?" asked Duke.

"No, uh…" Woody thought for a moment, rubbing his nape. "I guess… The late sixties?"

Giggle and Duke exchanged glances.

"Remember anyone from the sixties?"

"… Bolt-O," said Duke. "I'm pretty sure he's from around that time."

"Yes, that sounds about right," agreed Giggle.

"You spent quite some years on that shelf, then," said Bo to Woody. He shrugged it off with a smile.

"Bah, they went by fast. And after I saw little Jenny, you know, at least I knew what I was waiting for."

Anyway, no matter exactly at what time in history Jenny's infancy happened, a baby in the Oakley home meant a lot more noise and movement. From his shelf in the studio Woody could clearly hear Lillian carrying a shrieking Jenny down the stairs, taking her to the kitchen to feed her, singing sweet little songs to her to calm down her crying. She used to sing the same two songs, but Jenny was not very choosy. Lillian soon got the hang of it and while Jenny still woke up screaming –Woody wondered if even that young she could have nightmares, and doubted the pink puppy plush toy did anything to truly comfort her –the baby's mother was quick to learn how to appease her and entertain her. While Davy was working in his studio, Woody's attention drifted away from the designs his old kid was occupied with and listened, very attentively, to what Jenny liked and what she didn't. Lillian talked to her in a slow, sing-songy voice, repeating everything, apparently to make sure Jenny knew what she meant. After all, Woody thought, babies do indeed don't know how to speak.

Davy soon began leaving the house more often –as if he had gone back to school; a comment at the dinner table let Woody know that Davy had managed to get the job he had applied for. The cowboy felt happy for him –but couldn't help to agree with Lillian when she told him that he ought to help more in the house, that she could barely keep up with everything she had to do. Woody remembered how Davy had to learn to fend for himself when his mother left that faraway autumn, and was certain that he'd tell Lillian he'd lend a hand –but then he lied –he lied! –and told Lillian he had never cooked in his life, and joked that he was afraid he'd poison everyone with what he might manage to prepare. Lillian chuckled, sighed and left the subject.

Woody spent that whole night asking himself why Davy had lied to his wife.

And so it was (like before) Mom, Woody and the kid, little Jenny Oakley, left in the house. Once he got a good idea of when Davy –Dad, he had to remember –left for work and when Mom made the beds and cleaned the rooms and bathroom, Woody would climb down the shelf. He had learnt that if he went forward to the shelf next to his and took a small leap to get to the top of the library, he could get to the floor much easier, taking fewer risks. He would sometimes look around the living room, trying to get a glimpse of Jenny, to see whether she was playing with any new toys –perhaps Christmas or a birthday had come and he had been asleep and missed it –and attempt to guess how old she was now. Woody was getting anxious. He recalled how, in the box, it had once said for ages 3 and up; surely, when she became three years old, that was when Davy would give him to her. Perhaps he'd mock-wrap him and give Jenny his childhood toy for her birthday; Woody fantasized with repeating that wonderful first he had had with little Davy.

Why did Jenny took so long to grow up, when Davy had done so much, much quicker?

Jenny demanded much more from her Mom than Davy did, as well; sometimes Lillian would lose her patience and start yelling at the baby, and those times –when there were only screams and shouting –made Woody remember the fighting between the parents when Davy was a boy. Luckily Jenny would cry, and Lillian would then comfort her, and it would soon be over. But it was clear in her mother's voice, just how taxing baby Jenny could be. Woody was a bit worried she may be more than he could handle.

But then again, the next day, he'd head her Mom playing with her, tickling her and singing her songs and he'd hear the baby's laughter, and he'd imagine her high lilting voice saying "Giddy up, partner!" just like Davy did, and she'd imitate the sound of galloping horses and he'd be the sheriff of the room. Woody could hardly wait.

With the passing of days, and different milestones being reached –Jenny saying her first words, her first steps, her first haircut, her third birthday –Jenny became less of a possibility of a new owner and became more and more a certainty; any day now, Woody thought, just any day now, and Davy would take him down that shelf. He no longer dared to step down through the library, nor to take a peek at the kitchen –even less climb up the stairs; now Mom spent the whole day cleaning or cooking, and Jenny spent the better half of the day also all around the house. Her mother had been right; she was a rowdy one. She was often calling her mother to pay attention to her, either by pure persistence or by loud shrieks. She run up and down the stairs, skipping a step, sometimes tripping and falling and laughing instead of moaning in pain. She was boisterous, treading heavy when playing with her toys –she did have toys up there! –and yelling commands and dialogues. Jenny's mother would often berate her but in a much more different way than Davy's Mom did; this new Mom would tell Jenny to be quieter, to be careful with her clothes, to brush her hair before going out. It seemed all mothers were this preoccupied with being neat, thought Woody.

Once, taking him by surprise, Woody saw Jenny coming into her father's studio. He could finally take a look at her. She could walk, and now had hair the color of straw, and just as unruly as straw, too. She had a few pearly whites, just barely visible when she flashed a little excited smile. While Davy was working on one of his designs, Jenny walked in –without asking, without even knocking.

"Look, dad, look!" she said, raising a piece of paper. "Look, I made you!"

"You did, now?" asked Davy, smiling too. "Let me see –oh, my goodness, that is me! And who's this?" he asked, pointing at another figure in the drawing.

Little Jenny laughed. "You know…!"

"Do I?"

"Yes! You know!"

"Is it mom?"

"Yes!"

"And this one, in the middle? She's a bit short, isn't she?"

"No, I'm tall!" cried Jenny.

"Yes –but is this you?" asked Davy. "Is this Jenny?"

"Yes, it's me!" she said, pointing at the drawing too. "And this is Ann, and this is Barr…"

"Wow, Barr is really tall!"

"She is!" said Jenny, defending her drawing. "But I'm tall. I'm more tall."

"Yes, you are," laughed Davy. "May I keep this, please?"

"Hm…" said Jenny, crossing her arms. "Hmmmm…"

Davy lost his smile. "Please, don't make me beg."

Jenny laughed. Woody noticed she had a very easy, lively laughter. He decided he liked her already. "It's for you!"

"Aw, thanks, darling," said Davy, kissing her on the forehead. "I've got to keep working, alright, Jenny?"

"Can we watch TV?" she asked.

"Later, alright? I've got to finish a thing I'm working on. I promise we'll watch TV later."

"Promise?" insisted Jenny.

"I promise, darling," he said with a smile, and so, satisfied, Jenny smiled, too.

"Jenny, baby, leave dad alone, okay?" said Lillian, calling her from the living room. She obeyed her mother.

Davy chuckled. He thought for a moment. He took a few sketches off his corkboard to make place for the drawing, and pinned Jenny's drawing there, above his desk. From that moment on, each time Davy went into the studio and turned on the light, he saw the drawing and smiled a little. Woody expected this could help him realize how happy he could make her, giving him to her.

It made Woody quite relieved to realize that Davy was a much more loving father than his father was. While Lillian did spend the most time at home with Jenny, when Davy came back from the office where he worked Jenny would always run to the door to give him a hug, and by the sound of it, he was hugging her too. During weekends, they'd go to the movies –Woody imagined it was like the TV, but even bigger –or to the park, or to have some ice cream. Sometimes, Mom would go too. It all seemed much happier, overall, than when he had first arrived. Woody hoped this meant Jenny would be happier, too.

And a few week after her fourth birthday, the moment came.

Woody had been sitting on his shelf, as usual, still slightly disappointed that Davy hadn't given him to Jenny as a birthday gift. But then Jenny came into the studio, with a plastic horse in her hand. Woody stared at them, wondering if they could talk.

Davy continued his sketching, ignoring her. Jenny, on the tip of her toes, tried to get a look at what her father was working on. She spent some time looking at his hand swishing around the paper, and soon got bored and looked around.

"I made that drawing," Jenny said quietly to the horse, pointing at the drawing on Davy's corkboard. From behind him, she couldn't see it, but Woody noticed Davy's smile.

She continued looking around, at the things arranged on the desk, at the books in the library –hanging her head sideways to try and read the names on the spines –and then she looked up, higher, until her eyes finally –finally –set on Woody.

"Dad, what's that?" she asked, pointing at him. Woody yeehawed and whooped silently, truly straining not to move a single fiber of his being. This was it.

Davy looked up. He got off his chair –he stood up –and picked Woody from the shelf.

"This old thing?" said Davy. "He's Woody –oh, dang, your mom forgot to dust it," he said, blowing the dirt off his hat. "He was my favorite toy when I was little," He then looked back to Jenny. "Do you want to see it?"

Jenny swayed from side to side, saying nothing. For a moment Woody thought that perhaps –since Mom had forgotten to dust him and if he seemed too dirty and shabby –then she'd say something like 'no, he's an ugly old thing, put it back on the shelf', and then –then…

But luckily, Jenny smiled and reached out. Woody went from Davy's –now, definitely, Dad's –hands to Jenny's. She inspected him carefully, taking off his hat and fitting it again, putting her small fingers around the sheriff badge, wiping the dust off it. She turned him around to find the white ring, and pulled his string, and Woody said There's a snake in my boot! Jenny chuckled.

"Would you look at that, the voice box's still working," said Davy, rather surprised.

"He's funny," said Jenny. "Woody?"

"Sheriff Woody, that's his name," said Davy, and Woody was moved to notice (or at least he wished to notice) a tinge of nostalgia in his voice. "There was this old TV show… Bah, doesn't matter. You like him?"

Jenny nodded. "He's just like the guy in that movie we watched."

"Which guy?"

"You know… The cowboy. The one with the horse."

Davy laughed. "Alright, I think I know which one."

Jenny smiled at Woody. Davy, in the meantime, watched them both.

"… Would you like to keep him, darling?"

Jenny looked at her father.

"Of course, you must promise to be careful with him."

"Alright," said the girl.

"Will you be careful?"

"Yes, dad."

"Promise?"

He was to become Jenny's toy –but even still, Davy –Dad –still cared for him.

"Yes, dad, I promise."

Davy smiled. "Alright, then. Go on, I've to finish this."

Jenny smiled widely, showing her budding teeth. And then, she ran out the small studio, away from the shelf, and through the living room filled with sunlight, and then she ran up the stairs –and Woody felt like he was flying, soaring through the air –and landed on Jenny's room.

It had changed a lot since his days as Davy's toy. The wallpaper, the furniture, everything was different, to accommodate a young girl's tastes. She had a small collection of six horses of varied sizes and colors –some of them seemingly hand-painted by their owner –standing all together in a spot on the brown carpet. The bed had a floral print and a white wire headboard, with a matching little nightstand. Beyond the bedding and the dust-pink curtains, the toys were another thing entirely. Woody had expected several dolls, all primped and dressed up, like the nasty puppy had said some time ago. He could only spot four of them: a flat plastic doll –which, disturbingly, looked almost like if a regular doll had been crushed or stamped brutally –two ragdolls, made entirely out of cloth –and a Barbie, the one he had heard so much from the TV commercials. She was very thin, entirely made of plastic, with long black eyelashes and long, tangled blond hair. Curiously, this doll wasn't dressed like the others in old-timey dresses: this Barbie had a long black overcoat, a black hat, a white top brown boots and black pants.

Besides these dolls there were a few smaller dolls with childlike faces, chubby cheeks and adorned with fabric flowers as hats; a baby doll, with an uncanny resemblance to baby Jenny; and another disturbing image, a similarly childlike doll but with a deformed grin and colorful, messy hair.

No matter, Woody thought, feeling thoroughly out of his depth. He had managed a room before, this wouldn't be that different just because there were more people to keep track of. And, if the horses and the black-hatted Barbie were any indication, Jenny had inherited her father's love of the Wild West.

"There's a new sheriff in town," said Jenny in a low voice, moving Woody around the horses and the dolls. Woody thought, that's right. If said from her own mouth, there'd be little doubts regarding his authority. "So I hope you all are ready to see some law and order put into this place."

Jenny immediately grabbed one of the ragdolls. "Finally, the post office heard our pleas!" she said, in a high voice. "At last, the horses will be safe again…"

And then Jenny began humming a song. Woody was left on the carpet, just like the ragdoll, as the little girl hurried to grab the Barbie and sit her on the biggest horse. "Not if I'm here," she said, moving the Barbie's head. "I see we got a sheriff now," said Jenny, in a slow Southern drawl. "Well, we're gonna see how that turns out, won't we, Bella?"

Jenny let out a sinister neigh as she moved Bella, swaying the horse's long braided hair. So the Barbie was the villain, thought Woody. He should have guessed by the black hat.

"Jenny, come to dinner!" called Mom from downstairs. "And wash your hands!"

"In a minute!" cried Jenny in response. "Don't dare think this' the end of it, sheriff," she continued, again with the Southern accent. "You'll soon see who's the fastest, quickest, swiftest shooter in the whole land."

"Jenny!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she said, dropping her toys and running downstairs.

Silence. A few seconds passed.

The first to move was Bella, having to make some effort to get back on his hooves.

"Hey, Barb, help me out with this knot –will you," he said, cocking his head.

"She's a kiddo, you can't expect her to braid like her mother," said the Barbie.

While they were occupied with that, two of the smaller dolls helped Woody back on his feet.

"Oh –thanks," he said.

"What's your name, Mr Sheriff?" asked one of the ragdolls.

"I'm Woody. Sheriff Woody," he corrected himself. "I used to be Davy's toy."

"Who's Davy?" the ragdoll asked.

"He's Jenny's father."

"Oh! You mean Dad," laughed the ragdoll.

"Yes –Dad," Woody said.

"Well, welcome to the great old town of Jackalope, Mr Woody," said the ragdoll. "My name's Felicity, and these are—"

"Please address me as Sheriff Woody," asked Woody. "Or Sheriff, for short."

Felicity looked at him up and down, unimpressed.

"… Alright, as you wish. These are Polly," and she gestured at a ragdoll with black yarn hair. "And Annie-Lou," she gestured at the ragdoll with blond braids and a large straw hat.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sheriff," said Annie-Lou, taking a bow.

Woody tipped the edge of his hat in return. Felicity then gestured at the shorter plastic dolls.

"And these sweet babes are Rosy, Sunny and Tiny."

All three, the one dressed in red, the one dressed in yellow and the one dressed in purple also took a bow. Woody tipped his hat again, but also took a little bow, wondering if that was the correct greeting now.

"This is Joey –he manages the horses during playtime," said Felicity, gesturing at the grinning, crazy-haired fella, who also, of course, took a bow –and Woody was already too distracted by the cowgirl-outfitted Barbie and her steed to focus on the rest of the toys in Jenny's room. "And this pretty lady is Sophie –she's our head of security and rescue…" By this point Felicity also noted Woody wasn't really paying attention.

"These are –a lot of names to keep track of," commented Woody, still with his gaze fixed on the tall blond doll.

"Yes, but you'll get the hang of it –right, sheriff?" said Felicity, more than a bit annoyed. "Right?"

"What? Ah, yes…" said Woody, and then pointed –as politely as he could –to the Barbie and the horse. "Tell me –who is she?"

"She is public enemy number one, notorious thief and outlaw Barbara Ann "Bandit" Barlow," said Felicity. "Barbara Ann to her friends, Barb to her real close friends."

"So she's the villain, I assume," said Woody. It was a bit strange for him to have a gal as a villain, but he supposed it shouldn't present any problems.

"Villain? Oh, sheriff, things don't work like that here," said Felicity, clearly holding back a chuckle.

Woody frowned. "Oh, how so?"

"Barbara Ann is the leader of the pack," said Felicity, pointing at her. "She's Jenny's favorite. And she knows it –you weren't thinking you'd just strut in and get top billing, didya, sheriff?"

Oh. So that was how things were.

"Please –excuse me a moment, Frances," said Woody as he hurried away from her and towards Barbara Ann.

By the time he was less than two steps from her, the big horse let out a loud neigh. Woody automatically jumped back –and tripped over his legs –and fell to the brown carpet. Barbara Ann let out an amused snort.

"Hello there, sheriff," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Just a piece of advice, you shouldn't get too close to soon to Bella, he's a jittery fella."

"You scared me," said Bella in a low voice.

"Well I –I'm Sheriff Woody Pride, miss," said Woody, still unsure of how precisely he would make Barbara Ann come to her senses and realize that as the eldest toy and as Dad's previous favorite, he probably should get at least shared authority on the room –but trusting he'd come up with something. "And I was Dad's previous…"

"Yeah, I heard," said Barbara Ann. "You aren't a quiet speaker, are you, mister?"

"That's sheriff Woody—"

"I know, I know –cut the crap, sheriff," sighed Barbara Ann. "Listen now, I'm not in the mood to deal with this right now, you get me? Leguizamo here," and she made a gesture to one of the horses, a brown one with white spots, the only one who was still perfectly still. "Is still in pain and healing from her broken leg, and we're running out of Band-Aids, and the tape is below in Dad's studio, where we can't go… And as if that were all, our last newcomer, Sophie, suffered some kind of shock coming here and won't talk to us –which is an issue, since Felicity decided to name her our head of security –without even asking me—"

"Would you rather I be head of security?" asked Woody.

Barbara Ann turned to look at him. "What'd you say?"

"I've gone up and down these stairs a few times. When we're not in playtime, I can help with that…" he said. It was already clear to him that Barbara Ann wasn't very patient (was that a normal trait in girls?) and if she was indeed the favorite, it would do him no good to get on her bad side. "That way you and Faith can try to find some job that shocked gal could be useful in."

Barbara Ann, to his surprise, smiled. "That's quick thinkin', sheriff. I like that in a toy," She did indeed carry that Southern drawl even out of playtime. "It's a matter of time, here, mister. Whether you're quick enough to get to your spot –whether you manage to take care of yourself…"

"This new sheriff is mighty dusty, Barb," said Bella, sniffing Woody's dusty vest.

"If you get too dirty too fast, too broken too quickly, then that's one way ticket to the dumpster, mister," said Barbara Ann. "If I were you I'd take care not to get these feathers too ruffled."

"Oh –miss, if you could tell me—"

"It's Barbara Ann to you, sheriff Woody," she said. "No missies to me."

"Alright…" Woody thought that name was too much of a mouthful, but –what else could he do? "Is there a pink dog plush toy here? I've met her a few years ago, and—"

By Barbara Ann and Bella's expression, something had happened to her –and it sure didn't look pretty.

"Yeah –Peggy, we called her," said Bella, hanging his head.

"Peggy was Jenny's first toy. Ever since she was a baby…" Barbara Ann let out a chuckle. "Gosh, she was a handful, you know. But she didn't deserve what she got…"

"What happened to her?"

Barbara Ann looked at Woody straight in the eye.

"It got dirty, and ripped, and forgotten under the couch," she said gravely. "We tried getting a rescue mission to get her back to the room, or at least to sneak her with the rest of the dirty laundry –but Mom found her, and…"

"She was dirty and broken beyond recognition," murmured Bella. "A shadow of her former self."

"Hear, hear," said Barbara Ann, gently patting Bella's hide. "Peggy was tossed into the garbage. We never heard from her again."

Woody gulped. He had hated that plush toy –listening baby Jenny laughing, probably playing with her, delaying his arrival into Jenny's life –and he had wished the pink puppy would just leave –but he never wished for something like this.

"I'm sorry," said Woody, the only thing he thought he could say.

"Let it serve us as a warning," said Bella. "That we shall never be lost on the lower floor; that we shall never become lost toys."

"Hear, hear," said Barbara Ann again, sighing. "If we take care of ourselves and of each other, Peggy's parting won't have been for nothing."

Woody took a moment to put himself in Barbara Ann's boots. He imagined what would have happened if the plush toys in Davy's room –heck, even someone closer to him like Applebite or Professor Atom –had been thrown away on his watch. By the time Davy's mom had decided to dispose of them, they had barely exchanged any words with Woody –and neither Woody nor any of the other toys in Davy's room really had any system to help the other if one became lost or ripped or especially stained. He should have thought of that as soon as he got there, Woody thought bitterly. But then again, he was a wide eyed young buckaroo, fresh out of his box, just arriving to his new home. How could he have known what was expected of him so soon?

Jenny came back after dinner, meaning to keep playing for a bit more; but Dad –now, definitely, Dad –ordered her to brush her teeth and get some sleep. So Jenny did so, changed into her star-print pajamas and snuggled under her floral quilt next to Barbara Ann "Bandit" Barlow, while Woody –thankful to be played with again, thankful for having been seen and accepted and included, despite it not being what he had expected –spent the night not in a shelf, but in a toy box.