I call him Chompy.
I used the femur of the skeleton to give to Chompy.
Chompy was my best friend.
He followed me everywhere.
He defended me against bad guys.
When I got blew up by a Creeper, Chompy was the first friendly face to greet me.
When I was deep in the mineshaft I heard Chompy cry out.
I warned my boy, Tattling Elk, not to hit Chompy.
“I don’t pay attention to animals dad,” my boy said to me.
Chompy cried out in pain a second time.
Tattling Elk has been killed by wolf.
Chompy don’t take no shit.