Come up and taxiderm me some time
I took a taxidermy class.
You’d think I might have been able to find one closer to home, being hunting & fishing country up here in the wooly wilds. Where the general store doubles as deer weigh-station, and moose permits are doled out like winning lotto tickets, dear & coveted.
Though, like the legend about more Jews living in New York City than in Israel, there was at least one more taxidermy class in Brooklyn than in my entire ungulate-culling state. Last week, anyway. Probably due to all the local instructors being out hunting.
I wish I could have documented more, but for much of the time my hands were not fit for photography, as you can imagine. Still, I wanted to have a record of the process, not just what ended up glued to a stand, so I did what I could.
First, you remove most of the fleshy bits.
Next, the immersive bath of borax and salt.
And finally, the mouse emerges from the spa, gathers props, poses on a wooden stand, and declares…