I have had this little stuffed red velvet lion, named Herbie, for as long as my memory serves. (All evidence to the contrary, my memory is sometimes longer than two days ago.) As far as Herbie goes, I think I got him as a gift from a little old Italian lady when I was around four years old. He has been accused of being worn out and ordinary and misshapen and even butt ugly, but he stuck with me through childhood moves to several states and another country; to all my college dorm rooms; and into marriage and all our various apartments and houses.
And today, Herbie came to the end of his long life, with his sawdust stuffing brain (that's how old he is! older than laws regulating the stuffing in children's toys!) spread all over my office floor. Don't look at the following photo if you have a weak stomach. It is quite disturbing.
This is the accomplice, who doubtless snuck up onto my chest of drawers, where Herbie lived in a place of honor, and brought him downstairs. From the look on her face, you can tell she is contemplating the fate of her next victim.
And here is the guilty party. Forget the "innocent until proven..." part. I found Herbie clutched in his jaws, as he unsuccessfully tried to hide his act under a cone of plastic.
I strongly suspect Dustry is trying to get back at me for the additional sentence he received today of five more days in the collar. He also peed all over the stairs and foyer floor. Apparently, it's war.