Duck, Duck.....Gosling.

A few weeks ago I got a call which I'd been expecting, regarding an unusual pet a friend of mine was keeping.  It seems that his baby goose, or gosling, had passed away quite randomly.  My friend had found the little guy while out on the water one day; he was paddling around on his own and took to his new human companions well.  So well in fact, that they brought him home.  For the next few weeks this little goose dined on gourmet and locally grown fare, enjoyed plenty of love and lived what could be considered a very charmed life.  I had expressed my desire to mount the specimen once the time had come, however it came sooner than all of us expected.  One day he just croaked.  And this is where I come in.



I'm starting to think  should explore the business of pet taxidermy.  It's an aspect of the trade many people inquire about, and an extremely divisive topic in the taxidermy world.  Most taxidermists look down upon pet-mounting; in fact the first rule in my old taxi-text book was to never, ever stuff a pet.  The main reason for this is that you can't recreate the exact creature that was known and loved by its human.  I often look at my own cats and wonder if I could ever come close to replicating the little wrinkles in the nose, the expressiveness in the eyes and exact position of the mouth.  I don't know if I could, but I am so intimately familiar with the way my two cats move that if I were succeed on any creatures if would be them.  (Sometimes though I look at the way my one younger cat lays about, and the bizarre angles he puts his neck and limbs into just screams Bad Taxidermy).  If I were to attempt this on a stranger's pet, however, it would be nearly impossible, seeing as I'd never met the pet in its living days.  Sure, a photo would help but I have another, slightly twisted idea.  Suppose you know that you'll want something creative done with your animal after it passes: contact me while it's still living and we'll arrange for several visits in which I can get to know the pet, the way it moves, etc.



I understand this all sounds very far-fetched but I'm just throwing it out there.  Also, I like the idea of incorporating fantasy into the pet-mount.  For instance, this baby goose I've been commissioned to do:



He will be embellished with some angel (white pigeon) wings and a halo, and ultimately serve as a Christmas tree topper.  Does this sound tacky?  Perhaps, but I think if executed with taste could actually be a sincere and touching tribute to a lovely creature who brought happiness to many people.  This is a genre I'd very much like to explore further with pets.



Back to the goose.  I was excited to handle the premature skin, as it was still covered in down and had yet to grow any real feathers.  The wings were very much under-formed, rather cute actually:







Upon skinning I was treated to a relatively fat-free creature.  Geese are known for their ridiculous fat content, and after working with virtually nothing but ducks for so many weeks it was a relief to just find skin.  Greasy and paper-thin, delicate skin, but I'll take that over spending hours trimming fat away any time.  The humans were curious as to what had brought on the little guy's demise, but I didn't really see anything out of the ordinary.  While cleaning out the skull and beak I noticed some food still in his mouth, so I suppose choking is a possibility, but I don't know much about goose behaviour so I really can't say.  I think the fact that he was alone when they first adopted him speaks volumes, as in there may have been a reason his parents left him behind.



 



More to come!

Perhaps the only nursery I'll ever feel comfortable in.

Today I was gifted with an unexpected litter of little ones while skinning what I had initially thought was just a chubby mouse.  I was splitting her open and couldn't seem to keep the guts under wraps, so to speak.  I just kind of figured I'd have a messy one on my hands and then I really looked at what was spilling from inside the carcass.  Two little fetuses!  I gasped, apologised to the mouse and left the studio to collect my thoughts.











I'm constantly surprised at what rattles me in this practice; I'm OK with death, guts, blood, gore, just about everything that comes with the territory.  This marks my first encounter with a pregnant specimen, however, and I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't break just a little bit.  I recalled finding the mama mouse on the sidewalk while on a jog through South Philly and sticking her in my spandex so I could get home and put her in the freezer.  While I ran, I speculated on the cause of death, which I assumed to be poison seeing as it had no marks and was just lying right in the middle of the concrete.



Then I thought about how I never find female specimen; I'm always skinning male mice, male squirrels, male foxes, and lamenting over how annoying it is to work around their genitalia.  I get my first female and she's a total doozy!



I collected myself and got down to business, extracting each adorable little unborn mouse from the carcass and burning sage for every one, which totaled 8.  EIGHT!  I can't believe there was room for all of them.  Most still were encased in their umbilical sacs:











I carefully freed them all from their casing and laid them all out. Each one was in just a slightly different position; some had arms outstretched while others kept their itty bitty paws crossed.  I saw what was clearly the runt of the litter, much tinier and paler than the others with an underdeveloped left foot.  I imagined the types of personalities they might've developed had they come to term, and then I thought about something a friend said to me once' about fetal positions.  I'd been remarking to her about how I constantly sleep in this one pose with my arms up and crossed behind my head, to the point of cutting off my circulation nightly.  She suggested that perhaps I'd slept like that in the womb, and the notion stuck with me.



So what am I doing, a taxidermist assigning personalities to unborn mouse fetuses?  My instructor would laugh at me if he were to read this.  The very hunters whose business I desire might wonder just why they should entrust me with their fresh kills.  Well, I guess having emotions doesn't affect my skill set.  Perhaps this experience just triggered something in me, seeing something so tiny and vulnerable that never even got a chance.  When I resumed skinning the mouse, I saw that the cause of death was a blow to the head.  Her skull was cracked and bleeding internally.  Note the dark red spot on the head:







Maybe she fell, or got hit by something, I'll never know.  But I feel honored that I was the one to find and preserve her and her family, saving them from an undignified end like rotting on the street.  I hope my honestly as far as how this experience has affected me feel doesn't rob me of any street cred, per-se, in the eyes of potential clients.  What I'd like to convey is that I understand death is a part of the way we live, I accept it, I embrace it, and I treat the dead with respect and compassion.  I think this philosophy holds true with most taxidermists; something the general public would be surprised to learn.



As I write this, I've got my litter sitting in a jar, preserving, keeping me company.  My morbid little nursery.







Next up was a baby bird, of sorts, one that deserves his own post.  More to come!  For now, I need to turn up the volume on the Bill Burr podcast I'm listening to so I can drown out the sound of what could possibly be my biological clock ticking away.

If there WAS a hat contest, you would've won the whole thing.

Last Sunday I took my gals back out to the Brandywine Polo Club for the 1st annual Philadelphia Cup.  This time we didn't work so hard; we just snagged ourselves some VIP tickets and hung out in the tent with the open bar (where the bartenders were pouring the BlueCoat with very heavy hand, if I may say so.  No complaints!).  While bringing our own tailgating supplies is fun too, on a super hot day it's nice to have the luxury of a VIP tent and everyone else doing the work.  Plus a DJ.  You's almost forget why we were there...







Oh yes-the game!  In between getting to know some of the members and networking with my hats  (it really was too bad there wasn't a hat contest but I'll take being showered with attention any day) we caught some excellent polo-pony action, and luckily wound up rooting for the winning team!







However, I think it's agreed that we all know who the REAL winners are.  My fascination with all things anatomical has me quite interested in horses; particularly polo ponies.  It takes a certain breed of horse to play polo; one that is shorter in the back and able to turn on a dime, one who is also capable of short bursts of speed comparable/greater than that of a race horse.  I imagine they're pretty intelligent too, as some basic understanding of what they're tying to achieve on that field must be present.  I can't help but marvel at their graceful, delicate looking ankles and how they hold up all that weight while gracefully trotting, running, turning, ect.  Having dissected a horse leg myself (I'm still working on the shoe; updates next month I swear) I have  a more vested interest in seeing these muscles in action for reference, as well as appreciation.



Those bandages on the front keep them from getting hurt when they get inadvertently whacked with a stick.







Speaking of sticks, one fo the female players from the winning team happened by and chatted us up while we admired the horses.  She was a darling by the name of Kathy Whitman and even gave us a brief lesson in hitting the ball.







That's Rachel Lynn K, our photographer for the day, and as you can see a real beauty.  All the ladies wore my hats swimmingly.







And look who we ran into!  One of my adversaries from hat parade past, Lauren St. Clair!  It's more fun to compete with people you really like, so we've become fast friends.  She even invited us on one of her gastronomical adventures taking place later in the day.  If you haven't heard about her eating her way through Philly, act like you know, fool.  Where all the food goes on that little frame is beyond me, though.



I know, I need a tutorial on how to mug for pictures.  I look like some kind of crazed animal.







Here's Eva in my squirrel hat; she was gracious enough to wear it and I think it gave her super powers....the unexpected side effect of wearing taxidermy on your head!







At halftime we all went out on the field to stomp the divots and surprise a sweet little red Ferrari (OK, I know nothing about cars so that's all you get) drove out on the field with Miss. Philadelphia sitting on the back with Maria Papadakis, both of them waving to the crowd.  While they're pretty and nice and all, the REAL sweet stuff was in the trunk which was filled to the brim with bottles of Veuve!  Those were promptly opened and we all enjoyed a toast ( or two or three) on the field.



When the game resumed we all took turns imagining ourselves driving such an exquisite piece of machinery.











Back in the tent, my hat was still commanding plenty of attention.  These ladies were pretty bummed about Mexico losing their world cup game earlier in the day but I think petting my duck lifted their spirits somewhat.







Handsome creatures:















And the winners!  What a fantastic day.

Kids and guns and ducks and bikes.