When I was sixteen, a boy gave me a stuffed dog. It is almost a perfect cylinder - presto, neck pillow for two decades now. When I mentioned Snuffy's continued use and existence to that same boy at our 20-year HS reunion, he replied, "what do you want, child support?" Charming.
Gedalya (my five-year-old son) told me that Snuffy doesn't like to be squashed, and he almost convinced my mother to buy me a neck-pillow instead. His humanitarian efforts have started expanding throughout our local animal kingdom.
This winter, it was cold, but when I pulled up the covers, Gedalya complained that the stuffed moose couldn't breathe. When I didn't listen and carelessly covered him anyway, I heard a small voice, "Marvin, Mommy says you're not real so you don't get to breathe."
So I had the audacity recently to lean on Clifford, a frog-shaped "pillow-pet". I was told in no uncertain terms, "Mommy! My frog is not an arm-rest! Your arm is a frog-rest!"