That's cool. I have my dad a stuffed animal too. It was a beaver and it's name was Rick. My dad hollowed out Rick's asshole stuffing in order to hide booze from my mom. It didn't work. So in a vodka-fueled rage he bought a German Shepherd that he never trained and that dog ate Rick's eyes out. I cried, so my dad called me a pussy and slung a spoonful of refried beans at me while proceeding to fall flat on his ass. He called the stove a "n****r" then tried to drink drain cleaner. My brother kicked him in the head and knocked him out before he could. My father has been sober for 12 yesrs now and he recently showed me that he still had Rick. We both cried. It was the best parole hearing I've been to since my mother's.

So, yeah, same.