"Want me to mount him with his eyes shut so it look slike how he did when you shot him?"

This is a joke I hear tossed around often between Mr. B and his friends

"Have a donut."

Today is Fasnacht Day, a Dutch tradition in which everyone eats donuts.  I have never heard of this but my instructor brought a box in and insisted we eat.  The origins of this tradition have something to do with emptying the pantries of  all things dough-related before Lent begins (while in Philly and everywhere else it's Mardis Gras and we're busy boozing it up) but these days it's kind of a fund-raiser thing for the local schools.  Regardless, I was happy to contribute to my  expanding waist line with some delicious fried dough.



I got started on my second buck trophy mount; this one is in an aggressive pose whereas the first one was a semi-sneak.  I found the aggressive to be a little bit more tricky in terms of claying up the face but all in all I'd say I did a fair job.



Before getting the hide on the form, I had to sew up some holes.  In Pennsylvania, hunters are required to tag their deer on the ear and many of them cut through quite haphazardly which results in more work for the taxidermists.  I'm learning more about the love-hate and obviously symbiotic relationship between the killers and the stuffers.







Another thing common in deer is ticks.  I found several while fleshing out the initial "green" (raw) hide, but was quite surprised to still find more even after it had been tanned!  They were dead, of course, but are often still quite alive when on a green-hide.  Lyme disease is something taxidermists have to be on the lookout for, but Mr. B tells me that no one he knows has ever gotten it.  Oddly enough, I know at least three people with it and all of them live in the city.







Here's the hide on the form.  I think they all look like Eeyore the sad donkey at this point, before the face is set.







One of the details in setting the face is the tear ducts.  They must be opened up and then properly set into a groove which the taxidermist has carved into the form.







I went home that afternoon and took a nice walk around the hills behind the cabin.  One of the boys stuck around to watch over Mr. M, and we enjoyed a lovely dinner together.  We had a fantastic conversation about allowing oneself to deserve good things in life.  "Eliminate that which does not serve you," were his closing words.

"We're gonna jazz it around a bit."

Today I finished my first buck trophy mount; I'm ultimately pleased with my work.   The ears are carded and need a few days to dry, and then I'll detail the face with a little air brushing.







I got home from school to find Mr. M, the house cat, resting up after an emergency trip to the vet.  Apparently some feral cat (or coyote?)  had sunk its teeth into Mr. M's back and the bite had created an abscess which got infected.  I recalled feeling a small lump on his back but by the time Sunday had rolled around the boys told me it had opened and was leaking puss.



Ew.



So the vet had to stitch up the one bite mark and insert a drainage tube in the other.  When I walked in that afternoon, after sewing up deer hide all day, I looked at Mr. M for a moment, admiring the stitches and not mentally registering what had happened to the poor little guy.  "Frankenkitty", the boys called him.  Following over the next few days were the inevitable comments about what happens when one leaves their pet in the care of a taxidermist.

Mr. M is schweepy.

If you aren't a cat person, don't bother reading any further.



I was going over my notes from class the other night and this noise get too distracting to ignore.  I could watch this guy for hours.  I adore this cat.  When I had to leave him today I wept.

Two Country songs:

I know this has nothing to do with taxidermy but my entire scholastic experience has been infused with country music so there.



This one song I recall from the early 00's; it's so over the top depressing  that it might make you laugh.  If you can get through it.  When searching for a video I came across this Simms version that someone made, which is way better than the original:







And here's a new one I only heard this past week.  It's kind of dumb and cliché but I like alright, yet.







ps-This song I think, really does capture the attitude up here.  It may not be the South, but it's working class and these people actually drink Folgers.  Willingly. Plus there's the trucks, scratch-tickets, and beer.

I'm Baaaaaaack.

I never made it home last weekend so I'm a tad behind on the posts.  Stay tuned; I got some juicy bombs.  In the meantime, here are my favorite songs from the mountain radio:







http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyXz6eMCj2k



Sigh....I left my heart in the Pokes.  I feel like driving a Chevy with an American flag decal and cuttin' some shit up, yet.

"This guy's a real duck nut."

The main road to school was still pretty snowed up so I was about thirty minutes late to class this morning.  The other student didn't even make it, so I had a chance to catch up to her in terms of progress.



I began sewing the felt around my stretched skin.  I insisted on pinning it all which Mr. B found quite amusing, and offered some criticism in regards to time consumption.  I'm beginning to get exasperated with this "all commercial all the time" philosophy; I prefer to take as much time as I need with my work so it's perfect.  I would not feel comfortable turning in sub-par work just because it's faster.







Here he is, with the felt skirting.  I named him Bruce, after Honey West's pet Ocelot.







Bruce has a freak double hang-nail (thumb claw) which my teacher claimed to have never seen before.  Pretty neat.







GRRRRR.  Almost finished product.







At the end of the day we gave my squirrel another bath and used some degreasing solution to puff his coat up a bit.  Major improvements.







After school I went sledding and unlike yesterday, the conditions were ideal for some stellar runs.  I came across these coyote tracks on my way up to the hill.







Me, myself, and my board.







Her's me sledding.  I had to listen to music the entire time or the sheer loneliness would've swallowed me whole.  Walking up that hill takes some tunes to get me through it, as well.  It's a pretty big hike.  I was amused at how different each run felt depending on what  piped into my ears.  I had a slow mournful run to "The Wall" soundtrack", and amped up flying session when Andrew WK came on, and a kind of mysterious  and comical ride to the "James Bond" soundtrack:







I am about a week behind on the news so it wasn't until today that I learned about the emergency small aircraft landing on the NJ turnpike.  I was listening to the exchange between the pilot and the air traffic controller and found it charming that they use the term "souls" as in, "How many souls on board"?  It seems kind of contradictory that such a high-tech arena would rely on a term so...non-concrete.  It's charming.