The Stuffed Duck, Part One

We had a very special little Call Duck who passed away last month after a very long and very blessed life. His previous owner had had many of his most special birds stuffed, thus preserving them for all time, and so we had talked about doing this ourselves for little Pibb when his time came, provided he was to pass while he was in fine feather. Well, he did and he was, so we took him to the man who had worked on so many of Pibb's predecessors.

As someone who doesn't like to see dead animals, or even think about them suffering or being killed in any way, I wasn't sure how I would handle being in the same room with a bunch of them. Oddly though, I generally like taxidermied animals (even the badly done ones), probably because they're a happy combination of a creature looking beautifully alive and acting as a piece of art all at the same time. I surprised myself by not having any trouble maneuvering through a minefield of bloodied and decapitated bodies and heads piled here and there on the floor waiting for their turn to be immortalized. In fact, I was fine with everything: the ugly untreated bits and the gloriously gorgeous creatures in the showroom: everything from the giant moose down to the tiniest birds and everything in between.

The only thing I didn't do so well with was when the man's very young daughter excitedly told me the story of how she had just made her first kill and that daddy was going to stuff her buck for her. Keeping a smile on my face and looking happy for her wasn't the easiest thing I have ever done. Hunting an animal for sport is not something I want to hear about, but a child hunting an animal for sport and being so pleased with herself was almost more than I could bear. But alas, bear it I did for our little Pibb, who I simply can't wait to have back here at home with us, fat little body, bent little wobbly leg and all.

Pibb! When will you be ready for us to come and collect you, little man?