While walking home from town earlier today I happened upon a huge unwanted soft-toy of an elephant, sitting quietly at the end of somebody’s driveway, with a cardboard sign propped against it with the word “free” written on it.
I’m not quite sure why, but it really affected me.
The elephant had such a hopeful smile on it’s face. Suddenly my thoughts were flooded with happier times that might have been - of the elephant being loved by a child, holding pride of place on their bed, or snuggling up with the rest of the soft toys in a hopelessly untidy bedroom.
I almost went back for it - to save it.
But how does a fifty-something grown-ass man walk up to a soft toy in the street, pick it up, and then explain it’s for him? That he felt sorry for it?
While walking the rest of the way home I smiled at the predisposition I seem to have to anthropamorphise just about anything. I quite often find myself projecting emotions onto inanimate objects. I know it’s a bit mad. It could be anything from the mug at the back of the kitchen cupboard that rarely gets used and feels left out, to the book in the corner of the bookshelf that was never read and never got to tell it’s story.
It’s now twelve hours later, and I’m half tempted to go back in the early hours and save the elephant - otherwise I might not sleep.