I never learned a single word, yet all day long I babble. I wander where the land allows, while stones shape my laughter.

You say it this way and I say it that way; you potato, I say potato, but let us not call the whole thing off. Many people do not like me sliced, nor eat me like an apple; yet made into a condiment, I become a favorite. Can you name this fruit, oft mistaken for a vegetable?

I spend my life hiding below, while only my hair is left to show.

A couple, two of a kind, shoes, socks or scissors. A yellowish-green fruit with a big bottom. And the act of peeling that fruit with a knife.

I may not be man's best friend, but I easily steal their hearts. Long and lithe or squat and stout, my silky fur and great big eyes are my most endearing parts. Fish I crave and mice I hunt, I'll always find my feet with nary a grunt.