Just the Skull, Please

Meet Z the Pitbull.  His humans had planned ahead as he was sick for some time, and brought him straight to me from the vet after euthanizing.  They just wanted the skull cleaned and articulated, the rest was up to me. 

Aside from burying skulls to let nature do the job, my experience in this department is limited to smaller creatures like rabbits and pheasants.  This was a more labor intensive job than I'd anticipated but nothing too difficult.  It really doesn't take any specific skill set to clean a skull, just a willingness to scoop brains out and get your fingernails really dirty underneath.

 After cleaning off as much muscle tissue and flesh as I could with a scalpel and my bare hands, I scooped the brain out with a fondue fork (also doubles as a rabbit ear splitter and cocktail stirrer when I'm in a pinch) and then boiled it for an hour to get the rest of the little bits to loosen up out of their crevices.

Round 2: Getting the rest of the little bits of (now boiled) brain out of the skull cavity,  You can see the bits and bobs in the photos above.  Everything must come out or, come Summertime, the client will have a very unpleasant surprise when flies start dropping their larva off at Camp Doggie Skull.

 There was still some stubborn matter hiding deep in the brain cavity so I reboiled, carefully (too much boiling can crack the bones, and if there is still oil and flesh on the bones it will soak into it, making it greasy.

 After the second boil I cleaned him off with a wire brush and used a needle to pick any little bits of anything hiding between those very serious looking teeth.

 After the last picking and poking, I soaked it in a bleach bath.  Bleach is not recommended for skulls, typically, unless its hair bleach.  I find that a very light mixture (1pt bleach to 10 or 12 pts water) works just fine for a finish and sanitation purposes.  Just keep your eye on it, take the skull out every 15 minutes or so to check progress. 

 Lastly, I drilled holes where the lower jaw met with the skull and articulated it with steel wire.  I left it long enough so that some movement would be possible.

 

Z's human came to get his skull last night and she was quite pleased.  I think this is a thoughtful and palatable option for pet preservation when having your whole buddy mounted just isn't a good fit.

Windsor

Meet Windsor, a 120 pound Akita who was the apple of a couple (probably more but I only met the two) humans' eyes.  When his time came to pass into the next dimension, they wanted to do something with the absolutely stunning coat he left behind, and that's where I come in.

Thia is actually my second pet preservation dog-hide-turned-rug commission, but my first employing the services of an industrial tannery.  My workload has reached the point that I can no longer tan everything in-house, and hand staking a hide to reach the level of suppleness you see in these photos is beyond cost-ineffective and insanely time consuming. 
So I ceded a portion of the workload (a significant step for anyone who knows me and my history of control issues) to a professional tanner and I couldn't be happier with the results.  I also got some rabbit hides done that I'll post about later.  For now though, just look at this magnificent beauty:

 

 That's a size 12 Men's cowboy boot to scale:

 

 He drapes like a dream!

 I think this is a fantastic alternative to getting a full life size mount in terms of pet preservation, and am happy to offer it on the regular starting now.  I know my client is happy; she looked perfectly natural with him draped around her as we spoke outside on this freezing, bitter night.  Her darling Windsor keeping her warm even in his afterlife.

 

Bye!

Tyrone

Meet Tyrone.
He is the very beloved member of a family in Ohio; his human contacted me over a year ago when she thought an other one of her dogs was on the verge of passing, however that pup recovered but then months later she reached out to me with the sad news that Tyrone had passed.

We made arrangements to have him shipped from his home to my studio, packed in a cooler with dry ice.  The little guy arrived safe and sound, and actually took several days to thaw out enough for me to begin any sort of work on him.

Tyrone was famous for his robust rear end.  It had a zip code of its own, I was informed.
And goodness, did it.  It's almost like someone fused two loaves of bread to this guy's backside.  Needless to say she wanted him in a pose that emphasized this physical attribute.
This was by far the most specialised form I've ever had to make; I made a mold of the actual head from his carcass, and made a cast of it, then went about adding copious amounts of bulk and adjustments to a prefab grey fox form I purchased online.

Tyrone had gotten some sort of surgery before he passed; the stitches were still so fresh when I got him that they didn't stay in the skin.  I did my best to recreate them on his chest as they were in life.  I think he may have died due to complications from this operation but I'm not sure.  I tend to let the humans give me this kind of information; most times the cause of death is simple old age.

That rump!

I don't do this for all my clients but I felt like Tyrone's human would appreciate a baculum charm made from his penis bone.  I threw it in as a thank you for her patience. 

 Thankfully she understood and appreciated the gesture.  And also didn't mind all the assorted animal hair in the jewelry box I sent it in!

So that's Tyrone.  He was a significant project for me and had a large presence in my studio.  It will feel a little empty without him for a while.

Tell Frankie I Said Hi: Secret 1st episode!

My amazing friend Carmen was gracious enough to let me interview her about being preggers for my first ever podcast, and she bore with me thorugh the bumps and whatnot.  After I get a little better at this podcasting process I'll get this operation up on itunes but for now I'm using soundcloud and this first one is on Podbean.  It's neat to hear Carm's pregant past self from a few weeks ago now that she's a new mom.   Give a listen, won't you?
CLICK HERE FOR EPISODE 1 OF TELL FRANKIE I SAID HI

Nieve

Say hello to Nieve.  Her name means snowflake in Spanish, and her human brought her to me not so much in the state of distress I've become accustomed to as I usually receive these pets freshly dead, but in a more eased disposition as she's had some time to deal with her little one's passing.
Nieve had been stored in the freezer for months and months while this woman searched for the right taxidermist to preserve her.  She brought her to me, still frozen looking just like this:

Nieve was an old gal, and quite thin by the time she expired.  The request was to have her in the exact pose as the one she held when brought to me, but I took some artistic liberty and put a more lifelike, relaxed element to her recline:

 I used a ready-made form that I had to aggressively alter, and made a carcass cast of the head since it's such a unique shape.  Here's a peek inside the mold:

 The end result is whopping success.  All this dog experience I have is starting to show, if you don't mind my saying so.

 I'm extremely proud of this mount, and the icing on the cake is that the client was thrilled.  I don't know if it will ever NOT be a nail biter (I'm in double digits with pet preservation mounts now and the nerves have not gone away) when I show the finished product to the pet owner.  They've projected so much emotion onto this little creature, just like I have  my own, and want to see the very best.

 Thankfully that's just what I provide.

 Sweet dreams, Nieve.

VINTAGE POST: MY FIRST DOG

My orders for pet preservation always seem to come in flurries, and I'm in the midst of one right now. Since I've reached double digits in terms of the number of dogs & cats (and a couple exotic pets!) that I've worked with, I thought I would reflect back on my very first one, Elke, who not only was a delight to work with but won me several accolades over the years,

Just so you know, it never gets easier, emotionally.

 

 

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Man's best friend

I've never owned a dog, yet I feel a connection with them which compels me to stop at dog parks and slobber at the sight of the happy creatures leaping and bounding, exploding with happiness.  When a friend contacted me recently to inform  me about a friend of his whose dog had just passed, and would I be interesting in collecting the body, I jumped at the chance.  The dog, 14-year-old black and white rat terrier, died in her sleep on Saturday and I picked her up on Sunday.  It was a most unusual way to meet someone but the owner, a lovely woman with two children and a chef husband, was graceful and composed so I followed her lead.  The dog was on her deck, on ice and in a blanket.  I kept her in the bags and then loaded her into a large IKEA carrier sac for transport.  I had imagined that the specimen would be much smaller but when the weight and size of this one hit me, it became apparent I had to take a cab home.  Slouched in the back seat of a taxi, I leaned against my cargo and caught a whiff of some early decomposition odor.  Still hung over from the night before, the smell made me gag a bit and I wondered just how infuriated the driver would be if he knew what I'd brought into his car.  At moments like this it hits me, how bizarre and twisted my little world might appear from the outside.  So much of my time is spent retrieving dead things and carting them around in my messenger bag, then stashing them in my freezer.  Sometimes I wonder if there are hundreds of little ghosts drifting around the house that make my cats go bananas.  To some, I'm sure this seems sick.  However, this is my normal, and I simply forget that people might see me as a very disturbed individual until quiet times like this in which I occupy a tight space with a dead dog I've never met and a man driving  a cab who I'll most likely never meet again.



It turns out there was no room in the freezer for Pooch so I skinned her upon getting home.  The enormity of what I was about to do didn't hit me until I pulled her out of the bag.



Her collar was still on.



I started weeping and just stared at her, wondering if I could do it.  I get teary and cry a bit with almost every animal I skin, but this was different.  It was if I could feel all the love which had been poured into this creature for the last 14 years, and the profound role this four-legged little girl had had with her humans became clear.  I fondled  the paw pads a bit, imagining them padding around the wooden floor just a few days before.  I was a little bit afraid she wasn't completely dead (I always am, it's my worst fear that I'll make an initial cut and suddenly my specimen will come back to life, panicked and crazed) but the bloat in her stomach made it quite clear.  I burned some incense, said my little prayer and got to skinning.







It was an intense, emotionally wrought experience.  One interesting part was when I came across what I'm guessing is a tracking device that was implanted between the shoulder blades.  Aside from that, nothing too different from skinning a coon or a fox.  After I had the carcass completely separated, I marveled at how we're all just skins.  No one would ever recognise this naked corpse as a beloved pet.







For reference, this is a picture of the breed which I worked with.  Out of respect for the dog and her owners I chose not to take any pictures of the corpse.  I got my measurements and that's all I needed.  I hope to do her justice.

Pumpkin

Back in January I received an email from a grieving woman about her dog whom had just passed away. I always get a pang in my heart upon opening these messages, along with a sense of urgency.  In these cases, it's most likely an unexpected death and the person is unlikely to have the room or desire to accommodate a corpse in their freezer.

Meet Pumpkin:

 Pumpkin was/is the dearly loved Chow/German Shepard mix rescue dog of a young woman who was absolutely heartbroken the day I met her.  It's emotionally taxing to meet new people under these circumstances but rewarding just the same, in that I feel a sense of honor in being entrusted as a steward of sorts of the creature in which this human has poured so much emotion into.  Also as someone who has struggled with vulnerability and allowing others to see me in that state, I feel a genuine sense of respect and compassion for the people coming to me in a state of grief.  I've always been a highly sensitive and compassionate person and these moments are what remind me that we are all made one way or another for a reason.
 

 

As I'm sure you may have guessed, there are no off the shelf mannequin heads available for purchase in likeness of this specific dog breed.  One feature in particular that would be important to recreate was the fleshy jowls and his goofy smile.  My best bet was a carcass cast.

Here is the silicone mold I made using Pumpkin's head:

 

I cut it into two parts, took the head out, joined the halves back together into a container and poured the expanding foam inside.  After peeling the silicone away I was left with a perfect cast of Pumpkin's head:

 This would be the manikin for the mount.  From there it was a matter of setting the eyes, making ear liners, adding clay to the right parts and getting the expression just right.

 

Thankfully I was provided with dozens of pictures as reference material and was able to recreate his happy, sort of silly and completely lovable expression fairly well.  I'm especially happy with the eyes.

 She wanted the hide tanned as a rug as well; this coat was too beautiful to let go:

 

Most of the clay went into modeling the jowls:

 

And just for fun here's an underneath shot:

See you later, Pumpkin.  It was a true honor to work with you.