"You Betcha."

Today we began prepping our deer forms and capes for a trophy mount.  These are the capes we skinned out back in January, and they were sent to the tannery as a rush job so as to get them back in time.  Usually hides can take around three months to return from being shipped out for tanning, which has me tempted to try it myself.  It's not recommended, though, as it's easy to ruin the skin.  I went ahead though and bought my own solution and intend to tan some of my own stuff in a couple weeks.  Wish me luck!



Anyway, these hides were "wet-tanned" which means they have to go into the freezer immediately upon return, until they are to be mounted. At this point there is usually a little bit of excess flesh that may have escaped the initial round of skinning so we went in and split the ears a little more, opened up the nostrils, thinned out the skin, etc:







Here is the bullet hole, which needs to be sewn up in a specific, top-secret-taxidermist-fashion.  The hair around the point of entry is scorched so you can't just leave it. Plus it'll get stretched over the mount and look terrible.



Those little holes to the right are actually Xs punched in a formation to mark your cape for the tannery so when multiple skins are sent in they won't get mixed up.







Here is my deer form, with the rack screwed in and the eyes clayed up.  This is just practice clay though, we had to set and reset multiple times until we felt confident in our mastery of the shape, size, symmetry, alignment, etc.







All of this under the watchful eye of my fox, sitting behind me on his table.  I hope when I take his ear cards off and finish up his face he appears more serene.  A day-dream face is what I was going for but that isn't translating quite well at this point in the process.







I was feeling particularly cranky because when I stopped for gas on the way home the little snot behind the counter called me "ma'am", and not in a respectful way.  Seriously, what woman likes being called "ma'am"?



I cheered myself up with more of my new favorite show, "Honey West".  I love that womens' bodies looked authentic, and their faces made expressions.  Plus, one punch could knock someone out for minutes and then they'd be right back on the horse again.  Hardly any guns, but they found ways for a fight scene to use everything in a room:







And the dialogue!  Nonstop wit!

"We call 'em slut bugs."

Today we began working on our coyote rugs, using hides purchased from a distributer already fleshed and tanned.  My fellow student also brought in a huge skin from an Alberta Buck her friend had gifted her, and I helped her flesh it out a little.  I've got a knack for getting my little fingers on a hunk of flesh and ripping it from the skin which is more economical, time-wise, than knifing it out.  My nick-name for the day is "The Ripper."



Here is my head form for the coyote, with artificial jaws set in.  Original skulls are rarely used these days because over time the teeth crack and break.  I think when I'm doing this on my own, however, I will use original skulls, simply because I have a disdain for all things plastic.  Maybe I'll cast metal ones, who knows.







I wanted to challenge myself so I studied some reference pictures and carved a snarling shape into the form.  Creating this expression also involves various sculpting techniques with clay but I'll keep that info to myself.  I'm trying really hard to keep my inner-brat from emerging as my patience grows thin with all this conventional, commercial mounting.  I think when I'm getting paid to do it, I'll have no issue, but I long to be putting jewels on paws, false lashes on eyes, pheasants on stilts, etc.







Pinning the face.  Mine had a scar just inside his eye, and since a typical client wouldn't want to feature that in his prize rug, I learned how to obscure it.  Top secret!!!!







When Mr. B came back from lunch he had a present for me- one of his hens had died over the weekend and when he'd mentioned it to me in passing this morning, of course I asked him what they did with it.  "Well, we usually bury 'em..." ...but surprise!  He brought it in for me!  She's a real looker, too, and she's all mine to mount however I wish.  Stay tuned.



After we finished mounting the head portion of our rugs, the hides were soaked and stretched on a table.  I am not so adept with hammering; I whacked my thumb several times.  What's even more tantrum-inducing than smashing a digit repeatedly with a hammer and staying silent about it so as not to draw attention, is your instructor catching it every time and reminding you  "not hit your thumb with that hammer.  It really smarts."







I noticed several lady bugs on the table; the other student and Mr. B were eager to destroy them.  Apparently there is a huge LB infestation in the area and they are not viewed as the luck-spreading, charming little guys we here in the city know them as.   In fact, they are a different breed.  The LBs up in the Poconos are an Asian beetle which look exactly like Ladybugs, and were brought to the US to aid in pest control.  I guess they then became the pest themselves.  I'm told they reproduce like crazy and clog up vents, eat through stuff, and bite.



Not so cute:







I took the scenic way home, via back roads, and stopped for coffee at a little shop in White Haven.  I'd wanted to stay and enjoy it there while I soaked in the environment, maybe get some networking practice, but it was just myself and the "barista" I doubt he'd call himself that) there and I felt him eyeing my every move so I stepped out.  I hate feeling watched when I haven't made it clear I'm looking to be the center of attention.  I start to second guess my every move and can't think straight.



When I got home, I took a walk around the hilly fields behind the cabin and then took a nap with the dogs in front of the fire while the boys made dinner.  They ate and headed out, and I went to bed.

"Tell ya what-your husband is one lucky man."

Today I finished my fox mount.  Here he is, face still unset.  My classmate's mount is in the background.  You can see the carded ears, which keep them from moving while it dries.  I'll take more pictures this week.



It was a short day; I drove home the long way, on back-roads, and lazed about, reading "The Glass Castle".  Great story.



More next week!

"You're bein' too feminine with it."

Today I finished skinning my fox, and de-greased/fleshed the pelt.  Here's a pile of some of the scraped out residue:







That oblong red object in the center would be a fox penis.



I chose a mount in a supine position with one leg curled under its body. This made sewing up the legs a little tricky, but I was up for the challenge.  Unfortunately I was taking too much time and my instructor was getting on me about it, reminding me of the perils of lolly-gagging with skin.







I managed to get him sewn up almost all the way, and had to store him in a cool spot overnight.  I really need to pick up the pace.



My thoughts drifted a lot today as I wrestled with my moral boundaries, and where I'm comfortable setting them.  I hate that fur-bearing animals, like fox, mink, racoon and possum, are typically caught in traps.  It breaks my heart to imagine  this creature snagged by the neck or paw, waiting for the trapper to come finish it off.  I see so much roadkill everyday and am repeatedly thankful for the millions of happy accidents that placed me in the life I have today, as a human, on top of the food  chain, living my dream and doing it quite comfortably.  I silently apologise and thank each animal I skin, imagining a different scenario in which I as a human would be out for a stroll and then snap-my foot is caught in a trap and I wait around for two, four, maybe ten hours before something comes along with a giant rock to break my back.  Or if I was sitting in my living room one day and some mammoth space craft landed right on top of my home, crushing it and my family. The thing is, I love taxidermy.  And I am really, really, good at it.  I don't want to stop.  And I am okay with they fact that death is part of the circle of life.  I just have to figure out where to set my moral boundaries in terms of justifying killing.  I think as long as I face it head-on, and am honest with myself about the fact that this isn't a pretty craft, and as long as I remain thankful and appreciate the fact that what I do costs lives, I'll be on the right track.



When I got home I finished watching "This is it."  It was decent, as far s the dancing and how involved a production the whole thing was, but I found it creepy watching MJ dance suggestively with women.

"You're gettin' all NCIS forensics on me now."

I finished mounting my squirrel today, here is the skin stretched over the form, sewn shut, but not tucked and pinned in the face:







BOO!







I think the blow-drying is one of my favorite parts.  I imagine clipping barrettes and bows on furry heads and tails.  Unfortunately my skin had some oily spots...possibly the grease had transferred from the inside to the outside via the many beebee holes in the pelt.  This will be remedied later after the mount has dried.







Finished mount, hanging in dead pose.  I took particular care when pinning the eyes to give it that "deathly downward gaze" appearance.







A guest taxidermist was in the shop today, skinning a porcupine.  Amazingly, he didn't prick himself once.  I had the bright idea of using a porcupine pelt as a bike helmet cover, and as usual was greeted with blank stares when I voiced this thought.







When Porcupine Guy learned about my penchant for wasting no part of the animal, he gave me a tooth from his specimen.  I was amazed to see how much marrow is stored inside those fangs.







I began skinning my fox, which had been shot by my classmate's husband and generously gifted to me. I spent about twenty minutes combing briars out of the fur with a metal comb before I could begin.







Briar pile:







For lunch, Mr. B treated us to lunch at the local diner.  He said we absolutely had to try the burger; it was an experience. When our meals arrived, I damn near crapped my pants.  The pattie was the diameter of the plate, with a regular sized bun sitting atop it, looking like some kind of joke.  Unfortunately I didn't have my camera at the diner, but I took a picture of my leftovers.   This is the half of the burger I didn't eat.







After lunch we got a brief tour of the area, and Mr. B showed us around his property.  There was a duck pond, a skating pond, barns, tractors, a horse corral, a chicken coup, and acres of woods and fields.  I was a little overwhelmed.  Country life is so different.  It seems just as busy and crowded as city life but in a more autonomous way.



Back at the shop, I finished skinning my fox. The stench of a fox is mind-blowing.  Their diet consists mostly of skunk,  and the odor they emit can best be described as a combination of halitosis and burnt rubber.  I think I lost a little of my tough chick street cred with everyone when I started gagging.



I've always marveled over the colors found inside a skin and assumed it was bruising.  Apparently this greenish hue is actually oxidization on the pelt, which is one of the reasons taxidermists must work quickly.  Taking too much time to skin a specimen allows bacteria to set in, and then once you get the rot, you've got a spook.







We tossed the carcasses outside because they were so stinky.  Because the cold, they will remain undetected by other creatures until they can be properly disposed of.  I took it upon myself to saw the heads off, which had Mr. B in fits.







I guess I gained my street cred back.  It may seem disturbing, but I have a plan for these heads:







On the way back to the cabin, I dropped off "Little Ashes" at the rental joint and picked up Michael Jackson's "This is it".  It was too cold to play on my hoop so I watched a bit of the movie and went to bed at 7:30pm.

"Beth Beverly, the diamond-toothed acrobatic taxidermist"

Today was my birthday and I was greeted by a thawed out dead squirrel holding a card for me at my work station.  Also, Mr. B gifted me some paint brushes.  Pretty neat. Unfortunately I forgot my camera so I have no images of today's activities.  My squirrel mount will be in a dead pose, kind of draped over a tree limb.



I skinned my squirrel, which was absolutely filled with beebees-I stopped counting at ten- and managed to get the skin stretched over the form but that's as far as I got.  I enjoy the process too much, I think, and tend to move very slowly.  The other student had her mount almost completely finished by the day's end.



I'm getting antsy to break out a little and incorporate some artistic flare into my mounts,; these conventional ones are really boring me.  I keep reminding myself that I'm here to build a solid foundation of skills which I can then apply to the most fantastic and unbelievable mounts the world has ever seen.  For now I just need to keep towing the line.



I got home to an empty cabin, and felt a little lonely.  I haven't spent a birthday all by myself since I turned 21.  I took a nap and then ate dinner while watching "Little Ashes".  It's the most touching movie I've seen in ages.  What really impressed me was the wardrobe.  Men dressed so well back then and the clothes were all tailored impeccably. So much attention to detail; a time when people didn't rush.  Time was taken to do things right.



-



My favorite ensembles are featured in this scene, which is too charming for words:

Country Music Picks ofthe Week

I have taken to listening to the country station even when I'm not in school.  There are a couple songs that I genuinely like, and occasionally they play the classics.  Some that I find quite shocking though, and worthy of review, are those following:



Randy Houser- "Boots On".  This one is another example of a song proving just how COUNTRY this guy is, but I guess the only reason it really sticks out to me is that it took me about two weeks to realise what he was talking about when he says "Copenhagen Ring" in his "dirty old jeans".  My husband has recently enlightened me to the plethora of dipping videos on Youtube, and honestly dipping is something I kind of forgot about after 11th grade when all the WT kids from Garden City would spend period after period with their faces attached to a soda can, nursing their habit.  My teeth ache just thinking about it.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSfiFuVoR_E



Tim Mcgraw-"Down on the Farm": I like how at the end of the video a simple farm party has turned into an event larger in scale and production than any evening out at a bar in NYC.  And by "like" I mean, I think it's dumb.  Also, the beginning, where you see a bunch of tanned, strapping young folks joyfully tossing party supplies out of the back of a truck and riding together on a plow? I tensed up just watching it.  If there is a Hell for me, that would be it.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9e96T8dFyo



Jake Owen: "8 Second Ride": I actually like the sound of this song-but once the lyrics come it, it's all downhill.  A shame really, because Jake Owens has a pleasant voice, rich and deep, and is a good-looking guy to boot.   Then I watched the video just now while looking it up.  Christ, WHO is making these second-rate videos?  I mean, let me get this straight.  A teenager is wearing a child-sized pleather jacket in the middle of a humid summer day in some god forsaken swamp area and pants that scream yeast infection, yet she manages to strut into a bar like it's totally natural?  And the "ride" that they take doesn't, in fact, look the least bit wild to me.  In fact, aside from the seizure-inducing strobe light, it looks like a very tame love-making session.  If I were directing this video, they'd be riding that truck over mud piles and into ditches while she shotguns beer out of a PBR can. Topless.  Plus I would've recruited a model older than...twelve.  Just sayin'.  Also, my favorite part is where he tells her to climb on up but mind the cup where he'll be spittin' his dip tonight.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVxt-Qr8ml0



Miranda Lambert: "White Liar"-I actually really, really like this song.  I guess my favorite country is when a female vocalist is involved, judging by my love for Dolly, Dixie Chicks, and Holly Go Lightly.   I listen to this song on my school commute several times/day, and I adore her accent.  I imagine her lips and teeth forming all the words around a glass marble in her mouth.  A cursory search online tells me she's from Texas.  Too bad, AGAIN, the video is crap, but I really like the song.