also regarding Reginald Bruce Curry Catsup Wayne Greyfoot
So, to expand on that...
I loved that animal more than I can put in words. A few months in to our knowing each other, I told him I was going to keep his fur when he left, because it would be shameful to have it cremated. I thought I'd learn taxidermy and lovingly, carefully, deconstruct him.
When he died, I was a little out of my mind.
To preface this, I will explain that he'd been in and out of poor health since a bug bite, and then neutering surgery. (as an aside, I spent more than $5,000.00 at the vet. I'd have gladly spent anything on him) He seemed to finally be over health issues, but was drinking in excess and straining to urinate. I suspected bladder stones, as a result of the medication he'd been on, and back to the vet. The vet said he seemed in GREAT health, but ran tests as a precaution. When she said it was severe renal failure and he needed fluid right away- I tried to push back. I said "but if he had bladder stones, and had maybe just gotten over them, would he have renal failure symptoms because of being backed up and physically unable to pass urine?" She agreed, but said we needed to start fluids anyway, then transfer to a 24 hour facility where they would continue him on fluids.
I was angry at myself. I felt like maybe he wouldn't have died if I hadn't taken him to the 24 hour clinic. I knew how much subcutaneous fluid he'd tolerated well from prior illnesses, and I didn't like that the vet wanted to exceed it.
I felt like I could have protected him, and I failed.
Rabbit health barometer is often the eyes- "do your rabbits eyes look dull?". I never understood it. Until I was sitting with his still warm, dead body. His eyes started to dry, and dull.
I would sweep my hand over his face, to manipulate his eyelids into closing briefly, to re-moisten his eyes.
I did this. Crying, apologizing. "I'm so sorry"
over and over. wiping my eyes and putting my face against him. apologizing, crying, scratching him between the ears, manually blinking his eyelid facing me, arms around him trying to keep him from cooling ... I don't know if it was ten minutes or 45.
The option was cremation, or they could make an exception and let us take the body if we made private arrangements. I had Brian ask about the cremation details. 150$ for group cremation.
Group cremation.
AKA take a pile of dead animals and put 'em in together.
I made him go back and ask were there any other options. They said they can't do solo cremation for anything so small.
I remembered what I'd said to reggie early on. That he had the most beautiful soft fur, and that I wouldn't let it rot. So in a moment of calm, I apologized to Brian, and explained that group cremation wasn't acceptable. I also said that since I had no land to bury him in that would stay unchanged, I didn't feel comfortable with that. I said that I wanted to keep him so he could be buried later, and that I was going to find a taxidermist.
Brian was initially not ok with it. He said he thought that it wasn't healthy for me.
Anyway, I made some calls. Few taxidermists will touch anything that was a pet or sentimental, understandably. I found the single one that would, in the area.
I explained that I wanted the fur cured/tanned, so that I could use it in a sewing project at a later point, and I wanted the bones cleaned, so I'd have the option to use them in jewelry. The taxidermist tried to convince me to have him stuffed, and showed me his work enthusiastically. He showed me a tiny terrier of some kind that had been abandoned / never picked up. It was well done but in bad taste. After all, if something happened to me- he would end up a funny thing sold at a flea market. I have respect for funny things sold at flea markets, but I didn't want that for him. I wanted him to keep me warm, some winter. Or to be close to me as a bead on a string, so that I remember how much brighter he made my life.
The taxidermist is a garage with office attached, next to an auto body shop.
It smells like meat and fat gone bad, walking in.
The taxidermist and his wife talk with me. I am composed and strong because they need to know I'm not going to emotionally sue them if something goes wrong. The taxidermist insists on showing me his room of nearly finished and works in progress.
The walls have an african savannah mural all the way around. Painted, faded, and chipped in places. Maybe the ceiling was painted blue but I think it was all yellow. I think briefly about The Veldt while he is boasting about the largest stuffed boar that Guinness is coming to evaluate. I smile and nod and "wow" on cue. He is getting a kick out of this, but I can tell I'm not giving him the reaction he wanted. He says "I got something else to show you. You're going to be shocked. I bet you won't be able to look at this one!" as he unlocks a door.
I am thinking that he maybe in a prior life walked around exposing his genitals to young girls.
I say "I'm sure it's not too bad.".
A door opens on a dark room that could be a film set for a 1920's Private Eye office. Tiny horizontal rays of light from closed blinds illuminate before the lights are flicked on.
"Here, you're going to be so grossed out!" he starts to lift a sheet off what I'm sure is a beetle tank. It is. Mostly wood chips with a few small skulls and many little black bugs.
"Wow, neat. And I bet they clean out all the hard to reach spots..." I say.
At no point did I explain that I'd considered going to taxidermy school as a 16(?) year old.
I wasn't going to fake shock or disgust, though.
Back to chatting in the office while his wife starts paperwork. The taxidermist is telling me that he doesn't understand why some people have their pets done. He tells me "This one guy took better care of his cat than himself. He took his root canal money and spent it to have a rug made of his cat- you know, like a little bearskin rug with the head all done and stuffed"
"That guy made me laaaaauuugh." His wife has pursed her lips and looks a little upset.
He looks at her for support, and finding none, elaborates.
"Well it was just so funny because he comes in here crying and sniveling and barely able to get a word out and the whole time this snot is coming out of his nose, and getting sucked back in!! It was the funniest thing in the world. And this guy with his black rotten teeth and holes in his clothing is spending money on a dead cat."
He is laughing and the office is quiet.
My stomach tightens and I get anxious. His wife says something defensive, like, "that's not a kind thing to say. He was a very nice man and he cared very much for that cat."
I give them payment in full, with the understanding that it would be 3 months for the bones and probably 7 for the fur. My part of paperwork is done.
The wife is kind and asks what bunny's name was. I just say "reggie" and bite the side of my tongue very hard after. I tell her I couldn't check the body when I picked him up, but I was assured it was him and wanted to double check. She agrees, and she helps me unwrap the popsicle he's become. I avoid his eyes and focus on her gingerly removing the medical gauze on his arm. I pet him and say "see you later, buddy." too afraid to kiss him and be made fun of, or break him in his frozen state.
I make it to the car and become a sobbing mess.
I have dreams about doing any small something different that day, and him living. I have dreams about finding him alive and well, miraculously, under the bed. I have dreams about finding him everywhere. It is a month at least before hay is vacuumed from the floor. 90% of things are donated to the local rabbit foster/adoption agency. The condo stands in the corner of the room, empty, a long time. I keep my emergency bag- like for people in case of an earthquake, but instead for rabbit. Litter, food, toy. I keep it in the closet, reasonably, in case someone pulls a "I know you'd know what to do with him because you've had a rabbit before".
I never got a call about the bones. When I got the call about the fur, last month, I knew something wasn't quite right and said "and are the bones ready also, or not yet?" She asked if i hadn't picked them up yet, and that they might still be in the freezer.
So Friday I got the call that the bones were done. I was pretty resigned to the fact I'd be getting back some substitute rabbit bones- but after 4 skull X-rays and many teeth exams, I think I recognized his teeth- though VERY different, so whitened.
Again, the taxidermist shows off his recent work. He gushes about this wolf he's done. It seems like a strange sad dog, to me. He says it's just like a dog. I say the paws are much bigger. He explains his wife was really upset and didn't want him to do it "because wolves are endangered or something and shouldn't be shot". I nod, agreeing with his wife in my head. I try to be engaged- I say "and that crocodile is new, isn't it?". He says it is and tell me about how it got there, and some more.
He then says, "Oh you've gotta see something else- but you're going to be grossed out!"... I debate telling him we went through this 9 months ago.
He goes on, but leading me to a different room. "Oh, the bug tank? Yeah, that's cool stuff! you had it in the front room last time." I say. He lifts the lid and it smells like the time we came back from summer break- the first class of the day to a hot bungalow with a rotting bird in it. I nod as he explains how the bugs eat everything off the bones.
I should explain how it felt, to hold a hollow shell of something that used to always be about 2.3 pounds. How I folded it in way he'd snuggle in to my arm. How I pressed against the leather to push the fur of his head out, from naturally being a bit shrunk and denting inward, to scratch behind his ears.
I put him back in the cardboard box and cried.
A few hours later, I found the hay I'd saved in the closet. I took some of the hay out of the bag and put it in a little grass bowl of his.
It felt good to go through that familiar. The feeling of the thick plastic bag against my hand. The sound of the hay rustling as I grab a handful. The smell of timothy hay and lavender- his favorite, and mine, as I open my hand and let the hay fall in the bowl. I cried and laughed a little and thought about how much I love what he was. How I don't want this to be the last time I pull hay out of a bag, but how it might be. How i'll probably never be able to make a necklace with his spine or a collar of his fur. I don't think I made a mistake, but I'm not entirely sure what to do next.
I still think I'll be sad forever.
I loved that animal more than I can put in words. A few months in to our knowing each other, I told him I was going to keep his fur when he left, because it would be shameful to have it cremated. I thought I'd learn taxidermy and lovingly, carefully, deconstruct him.
When he died, I was a little out of my mind.
To preface this, I will explain that he'd been in and out of poor health since a bug bite, and then neutering surgery. (as an aside, I spent more than $5,000.00 at the vet. I'd have gladly spent anything on him) He seemed to finally be over health issues, but was drinking in excess and straining to urinate. I suspected bladder stones, as a result of the medication he'd been on, and back to the vet. The vet said he seemed in GREAT health, but ran tests as a precaution. When she said it was severe renal failure and he needed fluid right away- I tried to push back. I said "but if he had bladder stones, and had maybe just gotten over them, would he have renal failure symptoms because of being backed up and physically unable to pass urine?" She agreed, but said we needed to start fluids anyway, then transfer to a 24 hour facility where they would continue him on fluids.
I was angry at myself. I felt like maybe he wouldn't have died if I hadn't taken him to the 24 hour clinic. I knew how much subcutaneous fluid he'd tolerated well from prior illnesses, and I didn't like that the vet wanted to exceed it.
I felt like I could have protected him, and I failed.
Rabbit health barometer is often the eyes- "do your rabbits eyes look dull?". I never understood it. Until I was sitting with his still warm, dead body. His eyes started to dry, and dull.
I would sweep my hand over his face, to manipulate his eyelids into closing briefly, to re-moisten his eyes.
I did this. Crying, apologizing. "I'm so sorry"
over and over. wiping my eyes and putting my face against him. apologizing, crying, scratching him between the ears, manually blinking his eyelid facing me, arms around him trying to keep him from cooling ... I don't know if it was ten minutes or 45.
The option was cremation, or they could make an exception and let us take the body if we made private arrangements. I had Brian ask about the cremation details. 150$ for group cremation.
Group cremation.
AKA take a pile of dead animals and put 'em in together.
I made him go back and ask were there any other options. They said they can't do solo cremation for anything so small.
I remembered what I'd said to reggie early on. That he had the most beautiful soft fur, and that I wouldn't let it rot. So in a moment of calm, I apologized to Brian, and explained that group cremation wasn't acceptable. I also said that since I had no land to bury him in that would stay unchanged, I didn't feel comfortable with that. I said that I wanted to keep him so he could be buried later, and that I was going to find a taxidermist.
Brian was initially not ok with it. He said he thought that it wasn't healthy for me.
Anyway, I made some calls. Few taxidermists will touch anything that was a pet or sentimental, understandably. I found the single one that would, in the area.
I explained that I wanted the fur cured/tanned, so that I could use it in a sewing project at a later point, and I wanted the bones cleaned, so I'd have the option to use them in jewelry. The taxidermist tried to convince me to have him stuffed, and showed me his work enthusiastically. He showed me a tiny terrier of some kind that had been abandoned / never picked up. It was well done but in bad taste. After all, if something happened to me- he would end up a funny thing sold at a flea market. I have respect for funny things sold at flea markets, but I didn't want that for him. I wanted him to keep me warm, some winter. Or to be close to me as a bead on a string, so that I remember how much brighter he made my life.
The taxidermist is a garage with office attached, next to an auto body shop.
It smells like meat and fat gone bad, walking in.
The taxidermist and his wife talk with me. I am composed and strong because they need to know I'm not going to emotionally sue them if something goes wrong. The taxidermist insists on showing me his room of nearly finished and works in progress.
The walls have an african savannah mural all the way around. Painted, faded, and chipped in places. Maybe the ceiling was painted blue but I think it was all yellow. I think briefly about The Veldt while he is boasting about the largest stuffed boar that Guinness is coming to evaluate. I smile and nod and "wow" on cue. He is getting a kick out of this, but I can tell I'm not giving him the reaction he wanted. He says "I got something else to show you. You're going to be shocked. I bet you won't be able to look at this one!" as he unlocks a door.
I am thinking that he maybe in a prior life walked around exposing his genitals to young girls.
I say "I'm sure it's not too bad.".
A door opens on a dark room that could be a film set for a 1920's Private Eye office. Tiny horizontal rays of light from closed blinds illuminate before the lights are flicked on.
"Here, you're going to be so grossed out!" he starts to lift a sheet off what I'm sure is a beetle tank. It is. Mostly wood chips with a few small skulls and many little black bugs.
"Wow, neat. And I bet they clean out all the hard to reach spots..." I say.
At no point did I explain that I'd considered going to taxidermy school as a 16(?) year old.
I wasn't going to fake shock or disgust, though.
Back to chatting in the office while his wife starts paperwork. The taxidermist is telling me that he doesn't understand why some people have their pets done. He tells me "This one guy took better care of his cat than himself. He took his root canal money and spent it to have a rug made of his cat- you know, like a little bearskin rug with the head all done and stuffed"
"That guy made me laaaaauuugh." His wife has pursed her lips and looks a little upset.
He looks at her for support, and finding none, elaborates.
"Well it was just so funny because he comes in here crying and sniveling and barely able to get a word out and the whole time this snot is coming out of his nose, and getting sucked back in!! It was the funniest thing in the world. And this guy with his black rotten teeth and holes in his clothing is spending money on a dead cat."
He is laughing and the office is quiet.
My stomach tightens and I get anxious. His wife says something defensive, like, "that's not a kind thing to say. He was a very nice man and he cared very much for that cat."
I give them payment in full, with the understanding that it would be 3 months for the bones and probably 7 for the fur. My part of paperwork is done.
The wife is kind and asks what bunny's name was. I just say "reggie" and bite the side of my tongue very hard after. I tell her I couldn't check the body when I picked him up, but I was assured it was him and wanted to double check. She agrees, and she helps me unwrap the popsicle he's become. I avoid his eyes and focus on her gingerly removing the medical gauze on his arm. I pet him and say "see you later, buddy." too afraid to kiss him and be made fun of, or break him in his frozen state.
I make it to the car and become a sobbing mess.
I have dreams about doing any small something different that day, and him living. I have dreams about finding him alive and well, miraculously, under the bed. I have dreams about finding him everywhere. It is a month at least before hay is vacuumed from the floor. 90% of things are donated to the local rabbit foster/adoption agency. The condo stands in the corner of the room, empty, a long time. I keep my emergency bag- like for people in case of an earthquake, but instead for rabbit. Litter, food, toy. I keep it in the closet, reasonably, in case someone pulls a "I know you'd know what to do with him because you've had a rabbit before".
I never got a call about the bones. When I got the call about the fur, last month, I knew something wasn't quite right and said "and are the bones ready also, or not yet?" She asked if i hadn't picked them up yet, and that they might still be in the freezer.
So Friday I got the call that the bones were done. I was pretty resigned to the fact I'd be getting back some substitute rabbit bones- but after 4 skull X-rays and many teeth exams, I think I recognized his teeth- though VERY different, so whitened.
Again, the taxidermist shows off his recent work. He gushes about this wolf he's done. It seems like a strange sad dog, to me. He says it's just like a dog. I say the paws are much bigger. He explains his wife was really upset and didn't want him to do it "because wolves are endangered or something and shouldn't be shot". I nod, agreeing with his wife in my head. I try to be engaged- I say "and that crocodile is new, isn't it?". He says it is and tell me about how it got there, and some more.
He then says, "Oh you've gotta see something else- but you're going to be grossed out!"... I debate telling him we went through this 9 months ago.
He goes on, but leading me to a different room. "Oh, the bug tank? Yeah, that's cool stuff! you had it in the front room last time." I say. He lifts the lid and it smells like the time we came back from summer break- the first class of the day to a hot bungalow with a rotting bird in it. I nod as he explains how the bugs eat everything off the bones.
I should explain how it felt, to hold a hollow shell of something that used to always be about 2.3 pounds. How I folded it in way he'd snuggle in to my arm. How I pressed against the leather to push the fur of his head out, from naturally being a bit shrunk and denting inward, to scratch behind his ears.
I put him back in the cardboard box and cried.
A few hours later, I found the hay I'd saved in the closet. I took some of the hay out of the bag and put it in a little grass bowl of his.
It felt good to go through that familiar. The feeling of the thick plastic bag against my hand. The sound of the hay rustling as I grab a handful. The smell of timothy hay and lavender- his favorite, and mine, as I open my hand and let the hay fall in the bowl. I cried and laughed a little and thought about how much I love what he was. How I don't want this to be the last time I pull hay out of a bag, but how it might be. How i'll probably never be able to make a necklace with his spine or a collar of his fur. I don't think I made a mistake, but I'm not entirely sure what to do next.
I still think I'll be sad forever.