The perspective of the rubber duck on the cresting wave gives the bathtub its own independent space, while George's small, one-cannon boat transcends being a toy and becomes a indispensable vessel of high seas adventure. Like most of his "shrunk" scenes, there is a heightened sense of drama that mixes with a grounded aplomb. *We* know he's dreaming, but there's just the slightest hint of doubt that *he* knows it.
I mean, it's cute and everything that Humphrey's mom ties his jim-jam pants' pullstring with her trunk, but the thing that makes me smile great and large is the term "jim-jams" itself: We adopted it immediately and it stuck with mad staying power.
When we would come to this page during the nightly heyday of "Go, Dog. Go!", London would always stop me (even if I were in a rhythm and had moved on to the next page) and ask me, pointedly - like it was the first time every time - what the dog with the hat was. She just couldn't figure out why he was there, why he had a hat on and who knows what else. She was comprehending things brilliantly, but this was like a tear in the fabric of logic: She. Just. Had. To. Know. Every time.
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