We introduced our Furby, Domo, to Freya today. It had been sleeping for quite a while when Jo decided to give it some more batteries to chew on.
Freya found Domo, as it called itself, quite charming, and gladly cuddled and kissed it, while Jo made it dance and played hide-and-seek with it (I feel terrible calling it “it”, but we have no idea what sex it’s supposed to be).
Horror of horrors: Whilst carefully feeding it (ie putting one’s finger in its mouth), after it being awake for a glorious 5 hours or so, its beak broke. In a whirring fit Domo tried to call for help, but with its top-jaw hanging limply away from its face it was a useless and pathetic plight. I am still haunted by it, I can tell you.
So, Furby is dead. How a broken beak can lead to a total b(r)eakdown is beyond me. I’m sure if I broke my nose I’d be able to carry on in a reasonable lifelike manner. I suppose human and Furby anatomy are vastly different.
