The photos above are that of my stuffed animal, whom I received when I was about two weeks old from my great grandmother, and who, after I was able to talk, I promptly proclaimed was named Kyle. After I got him, my mom went in search of a replica that she could use to replace him if he ever got destroyed, but she never could. She could find other stuffed bears attached to blankets, but never another Kyle. Once, when I was about four years old, I wanted to see what would happen if I cut him with some scissors, and, when the obvious happened (he was ... cut), I immediately burst into tears. You can still see the little cut in the picture on the left. To take this picture of him, I wanted the background to be interesting, so I propped some pillows up against the wall and posed him in from of them, and I think it turned out pretty well!