Teddie tried not to be noticed, but he was the odd bear in the box. The rest of his siblings were white. A little boy yanked him out, inspected him, threw him on the floor and ran away. That’s when I saw Mama psycho-consumer speed by on the way to the beef jerky with her cart. Teddie saw her, too, scrambled to his feet, and hurled himself into the box like a high jumper in the Olympics. He made it just in time before he became road kill and sample meat for the food demonstrators across the aisle. His siblings were no help. He wanted to bury himself deep in the box and recuperate from his harrowing experience, but they didn’t even twitch a paw. They needed their space, they said.