This dejected mix of abandoned, once-loved, now abandoned stuffed animals was spotted by Amanda S. outside a convalescent’s home in Flatbush, Brooklyn, this past Fall. Lying in an empty patch of dirt amidst overgrown weeds by a bus stop, these little guys stared helplessly at passers-by oblivious in their headphone psychospaces to this sad and fluffy scene, until Amanda noticed them, took a single photo, and moved on.
As a tribute to this collection of discarded vessels of affection- this aftermath of a Care Bear battlefield, Sad Stuffed Animals would like to take this moment to go through an Honor Roll of sorts, and give these lost and lonely toys that one aspect of “humanity” denied them by their pathetic circumstance: a name and a story.In no particular order, let us pause for a moment to recognize:
Stompy. A blue and purple spotted Tyrannosaur. Enjoyed rainy afternoons, and playing with his grandkids.
Hopsy. A now-white but once-pink bunny. Known for his sense of humor, which friends suspected was forged by a rough childhood in the Bronx, that he never spoke of, but was apparent in his accent, from time to time.
Charles. A brown bear in a red sweater, about whom not much is known, other than his name, and his occupation: welder.
Geronimo. A grey elephant. Though she suffered from dementia in her later years, according to her nurses, when her memories went her true nature revealed itself: kind, generous, friendly, even to people she didn’t know, which - at the end, was everyone. The one thing she could remember, though, were the lyrics to the songs of her youth, sung on summer nights out on the Savannah. Somehow, dementia never touched those songs. Doctors never knew why.
Eli. A brown rat. Found clutching a single, faded photograph of an unnamed brown rat, sitting on the hood of a 1957 Hudson, squinting and smiling to the camera.
Robert “Red” Wellington. A bear. Lost an eye during a home invasion / gang initiation when he refused to hand over his father’s watch. Raised his two brothers, ages 3 and 9, when his aunt slid deeper into the ravages of hoarding and madness.
Fluffy. A pink bunny.
Fluffy Two. A pink and white spotted bunny.
Mr. Hoots. A wise old owl, who wrote a bestseller as a young man, but never finished his second novel, and took to alcohol and the Internet as a combination procrastination device / anxiety reliever. Neither provided much relief from the nagging sense of a wasted life. Until, enough time had passed, and he knew it was impossible to finish his book, so he gave up, and was in that sense, finally a free owl.
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