The missing ear is the evidence, not the damage

One rabbit fills the chest in bone-white woodcut lines, drawn exactly as it is. One ear hangs on; the other is gone at the seam. One eye is missing. The pile is rubbed bald across the face and belly, and a repair seam runs down the middle in stitching too coarse to have been the maker's own.

Every one of those marks is proof the toy has been needed, and a replacement bought in a panic carries none of them.

Why print the damage instead of the toy as it looked when it was new?

Because the damage is the whole point — a clean rabbit and a rabbit missing an ear aren't the same object to the child holding it, even though they came off the same production line.

A new one usually exists already, bought as a backup in a moment of panic and rejected on contact. It has two ears, two eyes, and a pile that hasn't been rubbed anywhere, and none of that reads as the same thing at all. Printing the worn one instead of the catalogue version is the entire decision this design makes.

Does the damage need to be drawn accurately, or can it be tidied up a little?

Accurately — tidying it turns a specific object into a generic one, which is a different design with a different subject.

An ear drawn back on, an eye restored, a seam smoothed into an even line: each of those is a small kindness toward the artwork and a small removal of the truth. Flat, hard-edged shapes are also what actually survives being printed on fabric, which happens to line up with keeping the damage as it is — no soft gradient standing in for wear, just the missing ear drawn as a missing ear.

Why doesn't it just get washed like everything else the child owns?

Because washing changes the smell and flattens the pile, and this particular object is being relied on for exactly how it currently smells and feels.

Most households learn this the hard way: a normal wash, followed by a child who notices immediately and wants it back the way it was. Some run a second, identical toy through the machine in secret and swap it in overnight; some stop washing it at all and accept whatever state it settles into. Either way, leaving it exactly as worn turns out to be a real decision with a real reason behind it.

Is this actually a comfort, or is the child using it for something more specific?

It's a tool. It gets carried into a new room, a car, a waiting area, and put to work the moment things get difficult.

Calling it a comfort undersells the job it does. A child reaches for this one specific object at a specific kind of moment — tired, overwhelmed, somewhere unfamiliar — in the same way an armchair worn into one shape by one sitter tells you who actually uses it. The rabbit is doing work, and the wear is the record of how often it's been asked to.

Whose design is this, and does anybody need to grant permission?

The family's. An invented, unbranded soft toy carries no maker's mark worth licensing, and nothing here copies anybody else's artwork.

The harder question isn't permission, it's timing. A child grows into an opinion about what got printed of theirs, and a worn comfort toy is a more exposed subject than most: some are glad to see it kept; some would rather that stayed private. Ask once they're old enough to have a view of their own, rather than deciding for them in either direction.

What happens to the toy later, once it stops being carried everywhere?

Usually a drawer. It doesn't get thrown away, and it doesn't stay in daily use either — it moves sideways into being kept rather than needed.

That in-between state is exactly why printing it now is worth doing: a toy in a drawer stops accumulating anything new. A picture book worn down to its cover ends up somewhere similar eventually, but the version worth having, for either object, is the one still mid-use, not the one already retired.

Does it print well?

Yes, provided the linework stays close to woodcut — solid bone or black shapes with a hard edge, nothing feathered or airbrushed.

Fine detail like individual worn threads on the repair seam won't survive at fabric's scale; block the seam in as a few thick, coarse stitches instead of many fine ones, the same way a marbles tin's dents read as dents without needing shading. One ink against a dark garment is enough — the missing ear and the bald patches read clearly with no second colour.

How do I get one made?

Describe the toy at JustOG — which ear, which eye, and how the repair was actually stitched. Pick a direction, drag the crop frame, see it composited on the real garment, and it's made to order and shipped.

Designs other people have published are in the shop.

It will end up in a drawer eventually. It just isn't there yet.