This is Sleepy Time. He was my dad's, then he was mine, and now he belongs to the Kid. He had been resting on a shelf in the Kid's room until, one night last week, the Kid randomly decided that he should accompany us to bed.
I won't pretend that I wasn't delighted. Until I picked him up and he made a crunchy sound. He's almost 55 years old, so I shouldn't have been surprised, but I could feel the stuffing disintegrating as I squished his body. It was a little gross.
Saturday afternoon, while the Kid napped alone, I decided that I'd better look into the state of Sleepy Time's stuffing. Just as I feared, it had basically turned to dust, but thankfully it wasn't moldy or anything like that. I carefully shook the stuffing out through a small incision in the back of the sleeping pup's neck, getting a good chuckle as the squeaker (that red thing) came tumbling out, too. (My dad always said that he used to squeak, but I never believed him.)
Once most of the former stuffing was removed, I replaced it from my bag of fabric scraps that I keep for just such occasions. (Really, it's the bees knees for filling knitted critters.) Then I re-stitched the neck back together with a wonky whip-stitch that looks just a little like a surgical scar.
Sleepy Time looks perkier than he has in years, and the Kid was happy to give him a (non-crunchy) squeeze when he awoke from his nap.