pierre the squirrel

There are some things I never imagined would happen in my life, and one of them was that I would be sharing our house with a one-eyed, one-eared, hat-wearing taxidermy squirrel named Pierre. Always in sympathy with animal rights, the mother thought of a stuffed dead man used as decoration, it really turned my stomach. But as I got older, I realized that just like people, everyone has a different story and not everyone got there through the wrong means.

Years ago, we were not so concerned about protecting the lives of animals, and they were really used for sport and food. I won’t get into politics, because we all know that, but thankfully 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 pastime 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 introduce a few clients and take viewers on a tour of their bizarre 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 birthday one year, 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 propped askew outside, gently allowing the Obscura sign).

With all her money in hand, I told her she could buy whatever she wanted (while crossing my fingers that it wouldn’t be anything horrible). Not everything was expensive, but condition mattered, and the rarest, most pristine pieces were definitely out of reach. Many had no prices, making 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 return 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. We were told it was from the 1950s, had been used as teaching aids in schools, and had only recently returned to the store. I have no idea what they were teaching, but it was obviously well loved. It was missing an ear and a glass eye had popped out, but it was holding a walnut, and the wooden mount was preciously old. I wasn’t thrilled at the thought of bringing him home, but it could have been a lot 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 afford 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 dead, stuffed squirrel in her hands.

I cringed as she carried him through the front door, wondering how the hell he would 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, in what seemed like the perfect moment, her tail fell off…