There are some things I never imagined would happen in my life, and one of them was that I would be sharing our home with a hat-wearing, one-eyed, one-eyed taxidermy squirrel named Pierre. Always in sympathy with animal rights, the mother thought of a dead stuffed and used as decoration, it really turned my stomach. But as I got older, I realized that just like people, everyone has different stories and not all of them came through the wrong means.
Years ago, we weren’t so concerned about protecting the lives of animals, and they were actually used for sport and food. I won’t get into politics, because we all know that, but luckily we’ve become aware of the impact our hunting pleasure had on the world, and there are rules about what can and can’t become a trophy or trophy. Medium size ashtray.
What once seemed like a very macabre hobby to me is now an art and has become a powerful way to reminisce and examine animals that are soon (or already) nearly extinct. However, my experience with taxidermy is less than exotic and definitely not involving a loved and protected species.
Several years ago my daughter and I used to watch Oddities, a show about a small store in New York City called Obscura. Each week, they would feature a few clients and take viewers on a tour of their rare collectibles; everything from a shrunken head to a medical device that made you cringe just hearing the name. It was an education on the (often) less desirable side of history; a place full of curiosities and questions.
So, for her one year birthday, I decided to take my daughter to the store, as a surprise. She was excited, and luckily the store was exactly as it appeared on TV (even the misshapen wooden mannequin was leaning lopsided outside, sweetly allowing for the Obscura sign).
With all his money in hand, I told him he could buy whatever he wanted (while crossing my fingers that it wasn’t anything horrible). Not everything was expensive, but status mattered, and the most exclusive and pristine pieces were definitely out of reach. Many were priceless which made things difficult for a young lady with birthday money. Still, it was a wonderful place to look around, and the questions just poured out of us. The store was empty so we spent over an hour there.
From time to time, he would go back to the squirrel on the shelf. There were two; one was very handsome, with shiny fur, and the other was very old and very skinny. They told us it was from the 1950s, had been used as teaching aids in schools, and had just recently returned to the store. I have no idea what they were showing, but it was obviously well liked. It was missing an ear and a bulging glass eye, but it was holding a walnut, and the wooden setting was precious antique. I wasn’t excited about bringing him home, but it could have been something much worse, and I understood why he wanted it.
She felt sorry for him and hoped it wasn’t too much money when she asked the price. She took every dollar she had, but she was so happy that she could pay for the broken squirrel at her favorite store. They put it in a paper bag, and she immediately took it out, wandering down the street with a stuffed, dead squirrel in her hands.
I cringed as she carried him through the front door, wondering how the hell he’d fit into our house, what kind of crazy mom I was, and if it even mattered. But, she had a kind face, and her past was unknown. She just needed a place to be. So we found her a shelf to sit on, gave her a little blue hat so she’d feel less hurt, and then, at what seemed like perfect timing, she dropped her tail…