Words Cassidy Nunn
Photo Nunn Other Photography
“Woof, woof,” my mum said softly, hovering over my crib with a stuffed dog puppet in her hands. He had brown floppy ears, a smooth button nose and dark marble-like eyes. “Woo-woo” I’d coo back excitedly, not quite able to say the “f” sound yet. And thus the namesake of my favourite childhood toy came about. Woo Woo the stuffed dog, a gift from when I was born.
Almost 39 years later, he’s the definition and image of threadbare. His stitching is coming apart between tufts of packed-down brown fur – the criss-crosses poking through – each patch of white threads an indelible mark of his importance in my childhood. One of his eyes is larger than the other – a replacement eye my dad somehow surgically added (with super glue, I’m sure) after the original eye fell out. Then after Woo Woo took a tumble out of my arms and onto the pavement one day, the replacement eye cracked in half. I sobbed, thinking I’d really blinded him this time, but Dad came to the rescue with his super glue once again and all these years later, the crack remains but the glue has held.
A name tag is sewn onto his bottom from when I went away to a school overnight camp in Grade Two, the first time I’d ever slept away from my parents. Woo Woo kept me company that night, helped me feel secure and brave without my family there. When I was around six years old, I once lost him for an entire month and was inconsolable when I realized he was gone. My Opa found him weeks later, wedged between his couch and the curtains, squished and dusty but no worse for wear. Though he was largely ignored in my high school and university years, I never hid him away. He travelled with me when I moved from Vancouver to Victoria for university, accompanied every move, of which there were many over the years, until he finally settled with us in our forever home.
My daughters recently discovered him sitting on the shelf in our living room. He’d been perched there for the past few years, tucked in between three gifted stuffed rabbits with their perfect untouched fur and shiny, unscratched eyes, but they hadn’t noticed him until recently. “Why does this one look like he’s falling apart?” my eldest asked, holding him up by a scraggly ear. As if realizing his ear might rip right off from his raggedy body, she quickly cuddled him like a baby, squeezing him in a tight embrace. The girls peppered me with questions about him – where did he come from? Why is he called Woo Woo? Why is he falling apart? What was his favourite adventure? Why is he a puppet? What happened to his eyes? They’ve been busy making houses and forts for him, bringing him on car rides and shopping trips. And while my girls are incredibly lucky to have two baskets overflowing with stuffed animals, none have become treasured. They’ve had seasons with one becoming a favourite for a few months, but no single stuffie has held their attention like Woo Woo did for me. And I have to wonder, if I were to find a brand-new version of Woo Woo, would my girls still seek him out? Perhaps it’s his scraggly appearance that gives him such life and wisdom.
When my eldest recently asked to bring him to school for sharing, I hesitated. I have such a strong sentimental attachment to him that I immediately balked and imagined everything that could go wrong. What if she lost him? It’s a risk, of course, but he’s done with sitting on the shelf collecting dust. Woo Woo is ready to be zipped into a backpack and loved by a child again. He’s ready for new adventures and while he may lose some more fur and stiches in the process, I can’t wait to see what they get up to together.
