The Stuffed Toy We All Need

Some stories arrive quietly and then sit with you for a long time. Like tiny Punch's.

Pic courtesy of Eshana Raj

A baby Japanese macaque living at the Ichikawa City Zoo near Tokyo, Punch was abandoned by his mother soon after birth leaving him to fend for himself. Sans the warmth of his mother’s embrace, he was pushed, pulled and bullied severely by other primates in the zoo. The little fellow, struggling to find a niche of safety, could be seen in videos walking around the zoo - alone, sadness awash in his large round eyes.

That’s when zoo keepers had an idea - a Djungelskog for little Punch.

They knew that baby macaques survive by clinging — literally clinging — to their mothers. It is how they learn to move, how they feel safe, how they understand the world.

Punch, they knew, might not survive, if he had no one to cling to. Unless, that is, they could give him something to cling to.

After some thought, they gave him Djungelskog, an orange, stuffed orangutan plushie from Ikea, soft, furry, and just about the right size for the small monkey’s arms.

Instinctively 7-month-old Punch did what any lonely baby would do. He wrapped his arms around it, hugging it, cuddling it and, later, began carrying it around everywhere he went. He slept with it. He groomed it. He clutched it the way a baby monkey would cling to its mother’s fur. For li’l Punch, the plushie was a patch of warmth and comfort stitched into an otherwise cold world.

There was something heartbreakingly tender to see a small creature holding on to a stuffed toy as if it were hope itself.

In truth, what Punch was really holding on to was more than just cotton and thread and fabric; he was holding on to the feeling of not being completely alone.

In many ways, part of the world today feels a little like Punch’s enclosure.

Tensions simmer. Uncertainty prevails. Alertness rules. A quiet ache of anxiety and disbelief clouds minds even as people are desperately trying to steady their lifeboats.

It is in such times that people begin seeking comfort in the mental equivalent of a Djungelskog to hold on to.

This time though the stuffed toy plushies come disguised as kindness. A message from a friend. A stranger’s encouragement. A reassuring word. A moment of unexpected grace in the middle of a difficult day.

Beyond warm comforting gestures, they are reminders that someone cares and is there to offer a comforting hug or a shoulder to lean on.

They may seem small, almost toy-like in their simplicity, but they can be the very things that keep a person going in trying situations. Like the plushie Punch clasped and carried around, often laying his head on its soft furry belly to rest on after fighting off his bullies, they give us something to clutch when the world feels a little too hard.

Perhaps, in these uncertain times, the best thing we can do is become someone else’s stuffed toy of hope.