Am I the only one who anthropomorphizes my stuffed animals?

I’m glad I got a positive response for my “Piglet has a bath” thread in MPSIMS. But it seems like no one who read it has ever done what I do: give my stuffed animals characteristics and made them talk and interact with each other, and with us.

It all started with Piglet. When Mr. Rilch and I started living together, I had a couple of stuffed bears, and a frat-boy doll, and I think that was it. Mr. Rilch knew I love Winnie-the-Pooh, and one day we were in Puzzle Zoo, in Santa Monica. They had a huge display of all the 100 Acre Wood characters (the Ernest Shepherd incarnations, not Disney), including Christopher Robin, who I have not seen before or since. I squealed with delight and hugged almost all of them. Mr. Rilch said, “If you could have any of these, which one?” “Piglet!” I said, and thought no more about it.

The following week, I came home to find a Puzzle Zoo bag on the couch, with Piglet inside. I took to him immediately, and not long afterwards, Mr. Rilch and I were having a discussion, or maybe an argument, and I decided to have Piglet put his two cents in. Mr. Rilch thought that was terrifically clever, and we both started talking with Piglet. Then I got Eeyore, and later Tigger. When it really took off, though, is when we found Frances: a little green-and-blue bear abandoned in the Galleria parking garage. We took her home, and now she and Piglet are sweeties.

We’re still adding to the collection. Ah, heck, I’ll make a (partial) list.

—Sam the Bear, or Samwise, was hung by the neck from a stop sign by a yard sale. We were horrified by the sight of a bear being lynched, so we bought him for a dollar. He became Samwise after I started reading LOTR: he talks a lot about his journey with Master Frodo.

—Babs, from Chicken Run, is always a treat. She pecks at everything. Once she pecked at the pepper shaker, which made her sneeze, and when she’d recovered, she kicked it.

—Perry the Pirate Parrot is the guy who growls at me to get out of bed in the morning. He has to manage a whole team, so he’s a good motivator.

—Alison, the rag doll, is very special. She was part of the Valentine’s day display at Hallmark. She has a wooden heart around her neck. Mr. Rilch and I like the heart theme, so when VDay went and she stayed, I asked Mr. Rilch to get her for my birthday. Things were tight at the time, but I didn’t realize they were too tight, on his end, for a $12 doll. He told me she’d already been sold, but I saw her the next day and called him from a payphone. He said, “All right, if it means that much to you it means that much to me.” Later, he came home hiding something in his jacket. “I’ve got someone here who wants to meet you! Told her all about you!”

—Griselda the Smiling Witch was lent to me by someone who never asked for her again. Scummy, I suppose, but she has a good home here. She accompanied me to the release of Harry Potter 4, and charmed the little ones with her humor. There was a magic show at 11pm (the release was at midnight), and Griselda declared afterwards, “I’ve seen better magic shows at Denny’s!..You know, you go into Denny’s, waitress comes up, she’s all nice and friendly, takes your order and then she disappears! Heh heh heh heh!”

So am I the only person who does this? The way Mr. Rilch and I see it, if you’re going to pay as much as $20 for a stuffed animal (Piglet and pals), you should get more use out of it than just having it sit on the bed. At any rate, it keeps children happy, and consequently well behaved.

I bought a Kipper toy a few months ago because I pressed his hand at Meijer’s and he told me he wanted to kiss me. How can you refuse something like that? For his constant displays of affection, he gets the priviledge of sleeping on my bed, along with Russell the Aerdale and some Jack Russell terrier whom I haven’t named yet.

My big polar bear, Mistletoe, is the wisest of all of the animals. I’ve had him ever since I was very small. He was probably bigger than I was for at least a year and a half.

Lion went through a tonsillectomy with me. He even got his own ID bracelet at the hospital. Later, when I was a few years older, I gave him a haircut. He now lacks the majestic mane every lion should have; I think he looks rather sharp in his crewcut, though.

I have two Dalmatians, a male and a female, each bearing a red bow. I got them from different people on different occasions, so it is a happy coincidence that they’ve found each other. Proof of destiny?

One member of our household is a stuffed gorilla name of George.

Some years ago he was ‘adopted’ by the girls in the office where I was working. He would accompany me on business trips and was required to send faxes to the office, telling of his safe arrival.

When one of the ladies wished to take George on holiday to Barcelona, I had to get him a passport. The photo was an interesting experience. I went into a photo kiosk, sat on the floor and held him up in front of the camera. This manoeuvre attracted no little attention from the people waiting in the queue.

The rest of the document was cleverly forged, but it got him through immigration without a problem. The Spanish official even stamped his passport.

Regrettably, George exceeded his alcohol allowance on return to the UK and the British confiscated the lot.

On another occasion I was driving south from Glasgow and stopped in the small town of Moffat. This is where I had the urge to buy George a kilt. He is too small to fit an ‘off the peg’ kilt so it had to be ‘made to measure’.

I had to hand him over to the shop assistant to suffer the indignity of having his inside leg measured (2") by a complete stranger.

The shop staff made the kilt and sent it on to me, together with a sporran, tam o’shanter and a tartan bowtie.

So no, I wouldn’t say that I anthropomorphised George. Such behaviour is eccentric and I disapprove most strongly.

I used to play with stuffed animals a lot when I was in elementary school, but I abandoned them once I hit junior high. Two days ago, however, I was at the Toys R Us in Des Moines, goofing off with my friend, when I discovered the most unbelievably soft teddy bear I have ever touched. Although it was a bit silly to spend $8 on a teddy bear, we both had to have one. Mine is purple, and his name is Rufus. I pet him lovingly while listening to the musical stylings of Rufus Wainwright. He loves me, I think, but I’m not quite sure of how I feel about him just yet. I definitely like him. Seriously, he is amazingly soft. He’s in my lap right now, as a matter of fact. Animal Alley Collectibles, if anyone is interested. So soft…

I’m smiling…

You know what this reminds me of?

http://www.drducky.com/sexstudy.asp

runs

Meet Kittycat . . . my son picked him up at the department store while out one day with his grandmother. He was about 3 at the time, and when they passed the display, he put up such a fuss that she broke down and bought her. (Note Spielburgian foreshadowing; Matthew never indulged in this sort of behavior. Cue ominious music.)

For a lot of years, Kittycat went everywhere, and Matthew being Matthew, would sometimes leave her behind. Since I am still traumatized over not having any of MY toys from childhood, it became imperative to my sanity not to leave Kittycat behind, nor Mika, the meercat doll (I insisted on turning back and fetching her from the Chinese restaurant before she ended up on the menu). At times over the years, grandmother would suggest that it’s unseemly for a boy to be playing with a stuffed creature, and I would suggest that it’s not her business to decide that, and if Kittycat disappeared on a visit with grandma, that she – skinned and stuffed – would make an adequate substitute.

Somewhere along this time, my wife discovered that Kittycat had a voice (a raspy falsetto), and a personality that’s probably closer to Calvin than Hobbes. She adores being hugged, but never calls Matthew anything but “the Kid.” She adores bacon and other meats with the entheusiasm of a 3-year-old. She also has pretty good taste in literature and is not afraid to look over my shoulder and comment on what I’m reading, usually along the lines of “What kind of crap is that? Do people get paid for writing this tripe?”

When I’m writing, she’ll sit on top of the monitor and encourage me with things like “Get to work!”.

When Matthew got a little too old for dolls, she would sit on the shelf and sigh, but took her fate philosophically. Then, my wife and I had two more children, and she’s joyfully back at work again, being pulled, dragged, hugged and occasionally washed.

Oddly, of all the stuffed animals, she’s the only one who has a voice (Meeka speaks too, but only her name). Lately, Kittycat’s been talking about writing book reviews for amazon.com. Maybe she will.

I just couldn’t pass up this thread!

I have about a million stuffed animals, although they are (sadly) in my closet since my room isn’t big enough for them all to be comfortable. The leader of my animals, though, is my teddy bear, Radar (named after Big Bird’s bear, who in turn was named after Radar O’Riley off of MASH). He’s sort of the Woody from Toy Story of my group. When I was growing up, he was my travel bear. He was known for going with me on airplane trips. When we moved to KC, I was fourteen and not embarassed by the slightest to have him sit next to me in an empty seat (the guy sitting next to Radar thought I was a little odd, though).

The “vice president” of my animals is a white humanoid bunny (walks on two legs, has arms–like a stick figure) named Buster. My best friend gave him to me for my 11th birthday, after I had been admiring him since I first met him when I was six (she had recieved the bunny for Easter 1988) and he had a little purple shirt. I named him Buster (after Tiny Toons). He and Radar get along, but there is some hostility over my attention.

I also have about 20 Beanie Babies, and they have their own leader: Quackers the Duck (he was the first one I got, in a candy store at Disneyland seven or six years ago). He’s pretty sarcastic, Quackers is. His enemy is Stripes the Tiger, for reasons I’m not sure of. He won’t tell me. He’s quite the little snot, though. Whenever I think of Quackers, I get an image of him giving a speech at a podium with his picture behind him, ala Citizen Kane.

Gosh, I thought everyone had a stuffed animal or two to help them through life. Do you mean to tell me that some people don’t? Oh, the horror!!

I hve numerous bears, snow leopards, dragons, unicorns and the like–and all the Winnie-the-Pooh gang, of course. My oldest bear has been with me since my first birthday–he’s named Teddy–you expect originality from a one-year old? Actually, he’s now Teddy, Sr. A boyfriend gave me a bear when I went away to college, and Teddy, Sr. took him in as a son, and passed his name to him. Teddy, Jr. graduated from college with me, and now works with his father keeping all my books in order–guardians of my library.

I recently remarked that, at forty, perhaps some of my animals should be moved to less conspicuous areas of my apartment, but my friends all assured me that they did not interfere with the classy elegance that is my home.

They all have names and stories, and one or the other will join for for a nap on the couch, or keep me company while I watch a sad movie. A life without whimsy is dreary, indeed, and max, the cute, very soft little bear who sits on my computer, agrees completely.

Should we have a Teddy Bear’s Picnic?

NOOO!!! I just wrote a big page about my teddies, and accidently hit Clear Fields! Why, oh WHY, does it have to be next to the Submit Reply button???

Well, the point is (or was) that I do in fact anthropomorphise my teddy bears and other animals, and have conversations with them, and paly with them with my boyfriend.

Arrrgghhh…!!

:mnemosyne stomps off to mope:

I anthropomorphize the individuals working at the DMV. With a little imagination, you can picture them being just like real people.

When I was a kid I had several very favorite stuffed animals. Especially a white cat named Susy and a koala bear named Koali (so original!) I adored them. Talked to them as if they wear alive. Just like any kid (or most kids).

A number of years ago I moved and the box they were in got misplaced. I never found them again. It broke my heart and I still have twinges of guilt that somehow I failed them by not paying enough attention to where they were.

How lame is that? :rolleyes: If I ever have kids and anything happens to them, like losing one in the mall, I’m going to be a basket case.

So I still have stuffed animals, but don’t let myself get too attached.

rivulus

I have 20 dolls and animals facing me now. My daughter is grown, but insists the dolls and animals live with me and be out at all times. We have full conversations, and they join in for games like Monopoly that she likes that can’t be played by 2.

Great stories, all!

Mr. Rilch once had some cow-orkers to visit, whom he didn’t know very well. After he’d moved Herbie the elf dentist, Neil the Giant Eagle, and others of the menagerie off the couch, one asked, “How many kids do you have?”

“My wife collects these,” he explained. He didn’t offer further explanation, of course.

All my stuffed animals have names, have different personalities, their own voices, and they all sleep on the bed with me. Is it any wonder I am getting divorced? Teddy T. was the first teddy I ever got–for my first Christmas. He has no fur, no eyes, no stuffing from his waist up. He lives in an archival storage box under the bed. because he’s too fragile to live with the rest. He and I sing hymns and Christmas carols. Jerome is my big stuffed moose. My soon to be ex bought him the year we got engaged. Since we never had any children, Jerome calls us Mom and Dad (except he has decided that he doesn’t want the s2bx to be his dad anymore). Jerome is a perpetual adolescent who has never graduated from the 2nd grade. His favorite foods are pizza and Peanut Buster parfaits from Dairy Queen (except he calls them Peanut Butter barf-aits). In the summer he wears a turquoise bandana around his neck, in the winter a beret from Paris to keep his ears warm. Jerome talks a lot, and refuses to get a job. My main man is Lance. Lance was the official Preppy teddy bear, and came wearing a plaid madras jacket and polka dot bow tie. Lance is the only one of the dudes that can drive, but he has to put blocks on the pedals to reach. Lance and I communicate telepathicly (is that spelled correctly?). Like George the gorilla (see above), Lance has his own passport. Lance has travelled the world with me. So far he’s been in Ireland, England, Wales, Germany, Jamaica, Mexico and Korea. Lance has a tendency to eat too many eclairs, so he’s a little pudgy.

There are countless more dudes, mainly of the moose variety. Lance, Jerome and Monte (small stuffed moose who wears a green velvet Santa cape) have been invaluable in all the emotional turmoil surrounding the impending divorce. Monte looks into my eyes, and tells me (OUT LOUD!) that things will be o.k., and that it’s all right to cry.

They will all be moving with me on Friday, and are very excited about their new “digs.”

I have so many stuffed animals scattered about my room. Most of them are just there, but a few of them are terribly special.

When I was younger, I had my white stuffed bunny named Fuzzy. Fuzzy hung around for a while, but managed to depart for the grand jungle that is my bedroom closet and hasn’t been seen since. I fear that Fuzzy was given away in one of my mother’s grand toy sweeps for Salvation Army.

On my 16th birthday, a friend gave me a stuffed monkey. He doesn’t have a name, but he’s adorable. He listens to me read out loud to myself or write in my journal. He also tolerates the occasional crying jab into his fur. Sleeps in my bed with me. So cute.

I also have a bunch of other stuffed animals, most of which were recently acquired. I have a few tagless Beanie Babies (a flamingo, fish, manatee, and gorilla) that magically move through my bedroom. The flamingo usually travels with me on school trips. I also have a stuffed mama pig (came with three piglets attached) that hangs out on my bed.

Hmm, you know, I never really named most of my stuffed animals. Maybe I should get around to doing that some time. My monkey would be terribly happy if I gave him a name.
jessica

No, though I’ve been a life long owner of stuffed animals, I haven’t thought of them as having personalities since I was about 3 years old. However, I do own a baby alien doll, Blix (pre-named. I don’t name objects. He was designed by people who work on x-files) which I bought because I thought it was cute in a weird sort of way. My brother decided it was “lonely” in my room on a shelf so held it hostage for close to a year :wink: * He * frequently feels bad for inanimate objects- he’s a weird kid.

When I was little I would play with my stuffed animals all the time. I love them and I’m totally convinced they have feelings and personalities (If someone tried to tell me otherwise I would just stick my fingers in my ears and sing)
I have this little stuffed elephant named Eleanor that I still sleep with. I’ve slept with it all my life and now I can’t go to sleep without hugging something. I’m just hoping that when I actually do sleep in the same bed with Brian he won’t mind me hugging his arm :smiley:
~Kittie