I love ripping up stuffed animals. I can’t help it. It’s the canine in me. They’re like prey, and I get wild when I have one. I don’t think it hurts them.
This fuzzy mess used to be a stuffed elephant before I got to it. At least I think that’s what it was. My mother gave it to me, even though she knew it would last only a few minutes. She gets stuffed toys at the pet store. I can smell them when she drives up. They’re one of my favorite things.
As soon as she takes the toy out of the package, I grab it and shake it back and forth.. I drool. I whine. I can’t wait. Then I start to rip.
All that’s left now is this bunch of fluff, the empty elephant, and the little squeaker. But the ripping was worth it. Now I have to find something else to destroy. Like one of my mother’s good pillows.