Chicken is on a campaign to be sleeping on a bare cot in a cement room.

He takes advantage of unsupervised time in his room to adapt his furniture and toys into weapons of evil. And we have no choice but to remove the torn-up books, makeshift scaffolds, and toddler litterboxes from the room.

For example.

We used to have a basket of stuffed animals attractively displayed at the foot of his bed.

Ah. We were so innocent, back then...

One night Chicken realized that the secret key to the garden of delight lay just under his nose. At 2:30 am we awoke to the sound of Buster screaming. The overhead lamp blazed the light of a thousand suns. Chicken sat in his bed, reading.

The stuffed animals lay like so many peanut shells on the honkeytonk floor, and the basket sat upturned beneath the light switch.

So tonight I attempted to come up with another way to attractively display stuffed animals, sans basket.

This is what I came up with.

And as I sat back, all I could think was:

You don't put guys like that into a room together.