I haven't seen this mentioned here before, so I would like to tell you how traumatic the Dr. Dolittle talking doll was for me. It was issued in 1967, by Mattel I believe, to tie in with the film of the same name starring REX HARRISON. In 1967 I was three.
I don't know if I had even seen the movie, but somehow I knew I wanted a talking Pushmi-Pullyu doll (the furry, cute, two-headed llama from the film). My mother, in her generous nature, told my grandmother that this could be her gift to me for Christmas; so my grandmother was to get me the Pushmi-Pullyu and make me a happy child. My mother should have known better. My grandmother was notorious for completely messing up her gift-giving (going back to wind-up swing she was supposed to get me as a toddler, which I never got, which also traumatized me, but that is another story). Needless to say, Grandma bought me a talking Dr. Dolittle doll instead. When I opened the box, and saw that evil looking plastic grin, I let out a scream, burst into tears, and threw it on the floor. This creepy thing makes the evil clown doll from POLTERGEIST look friendly. I NEVER wanted to see it again.
However, the story gets worse. Did my parents get rid of this Devil Doll? Are you kidding? Not a chance. This damned doll moved with us TWICE. Each new house we moved into, the doll had to be hidden away so I wouldn't have to look at it. I finally was able to convince my cousin to take it off my hands when I was about 11 (I am not sure what he did with it, but hopefully it involved gasoline and matches). Why didn't my parents give it away, or toss it? I am convinced it was some sort of parental plot to keep me in line: "Behave or Dr. Dolittle will get you while you sleep." Shudder. Even now at 44.