One was a stuffed Cocker Spaniel named Dandy, a Christmas present from my maternal grandparents, and the other was this little baby doll. He had been salvaged and pieced together by an elderly woman in the church. I loved him from the first, and named him Timothy William.
Years later my daughter, Carina, played with him, re-naming him Melissa and dressing him all in pink and ruffles. During this time, at least once, he was submerged in a bathtub or a pool. I'm not sure who the culprit was, but, unbeknownst to me, the metal mechanisms that operated the eyes began to rust and the doll began to go blind. He was relegated to the attic, where his condition worsened by the year. When I re-discovered him, he was in no shape for bequeathing to any heirs.
I removed the eyes in pieces with a hemostat, hoping I could buy new eyes and pop them into the front. That proving impossible, I cut open the back of the eye-pouches inside the head, took out the rusted mechanisms and glued the new eyes in with a glue gun. Then I cleaned the skin as well as I could and offered him to my grand-daughter.