At least my hands have, and he's called Bruno.
Bruno is a puppet. A monkey puppet purchased for $4.95 at Ikea. Bruno speaks in a high-pitched voice and, because he has limp, lifeless arms, does everything with his mouth. He's orange with oversized eyes and a ridiculous springy tail. Bruno is quite possibly the ugliest monkey puppet on the face of the earth.
Bruno is part of The Boy's inner circle. Whenever something significant happens the puppet is the first to know. Confidant, co-conspirator, and best friend, Bruno can make him laugh and sooth him when he cries.
The fact he prefers a puppet over me is something I'm still coming to terms with, but it makes The Boy happy so who am I to complain? Not to mention Bruno can impart pearls of wisdom that would otherwise be ignore if they came from P or me. Things like "Don't stick chopsticks in your ear", or "Jumping off the fifth step will probably hurt", or "Gaaaah, give the box-cutter to Daddy".
Being Bruno is not all that bad, except The Boy wants him all the time. And only I get to be Bruno, a testament to my ugly-monkey-puppeteering skills I suppose, but there are times I wish the monkey would just stay down. Because I have to wear Bruno all the time, he has "helped" me do all sorts of things like vacuum, chop vegetables, apply sunscreen (it's as messy as it sounds), and followed me to the bathroom.
"Can you put Bruno on Dad?"
"Uh, well can Bruno help me wipe my ass?"
"Of course he can Dad. Bruno can do that."
The astute among you will quickly realize that, yes in fact, I have two hands. But once The Boy gave me the green light there was no turning back (Note to self: Cross "Monkey wiping my ass" off my list of things to do before I die).
And if you're wondering, Bruno got tossed in the washing maching right away.