“Want me to mount him with his eyes shut so it looks like how he did when you shot him?”

This is a playful jab I hear often in the studio between Mr. B and his clients, insinuating that they must have gone sneaking up on a buck while it slept.  This is poaching and it’s obviously illegal, but the more people I talk to up here, the more I hear about it happening.  It comes to mind now because as I sit here in bed at 9pm, reading, I was just startled by a loud rifle shot just outside the cabin. I jumped out of bed and paced around a bit, feeling jarred.  There’s a decent amount of undeveloped acreage surrounding me and I’d be lying if I said the thought of some psycho perv armed to the teeth and lurking around watching me never crossed my mind.  I’m fairly certain though that the shot I just heard was…well, I can’t be sure but I’ll hazard a guess that the neighbor saw a coyote creeping too close to his house.  Regardless, hearing a shot pierce through such a quiet evening-I mean, the sound conjured a mental image of a train hurtling through the forest-leaves me somewhat unsettled and mill undoubtedly keep me up past my usual 9:30 sleep time.

Today I finished my second buck; I experimented with positioning the ears in an alert, listening fashion as though he were hearing something slightly behind him.  Here he is, with carded ears and stuffy nose.

I’m getting pretty good at the eyes, as far as the lid creases and positioning.

I cleaned up my coyote’s mouth a bit; not much interesting going on here but I was amused at how dentist-like this looks.  My mouth started watering just looking at him, imagining the saliva building up in my mouth during a cleaning and just dying to spit.

As the nose skin dries out it tends to shrivel so it gets a little coat of epoxy which will be painted later.

I got home to find Mr. M had invented his own cozy little kitty den.  I’d piled up the duvet on the guest bed while the cover was being laundered….and can you find the cat in this image?

Tada!

Poor little guy is getting as much rest as possible and barely eating.

I spent my evening watching more Honey West.  I discovered the “vintage commercial” feature on the discs and found some of the adverts amusing.

My favorite is the Mennan shaving lotion ad which starts at 2:53 in the video below.  I don’t see anything refreshing about the way those paws are manhandling that guy’s face.

“This guy’s a real duck nut.”

The main road to school was still pretty snowed up so I was about thirty minutes late to class this morning.  The other student didn’t even make it, so I had a chance to catch up to her in terms of progress.

I began sewing the felt around my stretched skin.  I insisted on pinning it all which Mr. B found quite amusing, and offered some criticism in regards to time consumption.  I’m beginning to get exasperated with this “all commercial all the time” philosophy; I prefer to take as much time as I need with my work so it’s perfect.  I would not feel comfortable turning in sub-par work just because it’s faster.

Here he is, with the felt skirting.  I named him Bruce, after Honey West’s pet Ocelot.

Bruce has a freak double hang-nail (thumb claw) which my teacher claimed to have never seen before.  Pretty neat.

GRRRRR.  Almost finished product.

At the end of the day we gave my squirrel another bath and used some degreasing solution to puff his coat up a bit.  Major improvements.

After school I went sledding and unlike yesterday, the conditions were ideal for some stellar runs.  I came across these coyote tracks on my way up to the hill.

Me, myself, and my board.

Her’s me sledding.  I had to listen to music the entire time or the sheer loneliness would’ve swallowed me whole.  Walking up that hill takes some tunes to get me through it, as well.  It’s a pretty big hike.  I was amused at how different each run felt depending on what  piped into my ears.  I had a slow mournful run to “The Wall” soundtrack”, and amped up flying session when Andrew WK came on, and a kind of mysterious  and comical ride to the “James Bond” soundtrack:

I am about a week behind on the news so it wasn’t until today that I learned about the emergency small aircraft landing on the NJ turnpike.  I was listening to the exchange between the pilot and the air traffic controller and found it charming that they use the term “souls” as in, “How many souls on board”?  It seems kind of contradictory that such a high-tech arena would rely on a term so…non-concrete.  It’s charming.

“We call ‘em slut bugs.”

Today we began working on our coyote rugs, using hides purchased from a distributer already fleshed and tanned.  My fellow student also brought in a huge skin from an Alberta Buck her friend had gifted her, and I helped her flesh it out a little.  I’ve got a knack for getting my little fingers on a hunk of flesh and ripping it from the skin which is more economical, time-wise, than knifing it out.  My nick-name for the day is “The Ripper.”

Here is my head form for the coyote, with artificial jaws set in.  Original skulls are rarely used these days because over time the teeth crack and break.  I think when I’m doing this on my own, however, I will use original skulls, simply because I have a disdain for all things plastic.  Maybe I’ll cast metal ones, who knows.

I wanted to challenge myself so I studied some reference pictures and carved a snarling shape into the form.  Creating this expression also involves various sculpting techniques with clay but I’ll keep that info to myself.  I’m trying really hard to keep my inner-brat from emerging as my patience grows thin with all this conventional, commercial mounting.  I think when I’m getting paid to do it, I’ll have no issue, but I long to be putting jewels on paws, false lashes on eyes, pheasants on stilts, etc.

Pinning the face.  Mine had a scar just inside his eye, and since a typical client wouldn’t want to feature that in his prize rug, I learned how to obscure it.  Top secret!!!!

When Mr. B came back from lunch he had a present for me- one of his hens had died over the weekend and when he’d mentioned it to me in passing this morning, of course I asked him what they did with it.  “Well, we usually bury ‘em…” …but surprise!  He brought it in for me!  She’s a real looker, too, and she’s all mine to mount however I wish.  Stay tuned.

After we finished mounting the head portion of our rugs, the hides were soaked and stretched on a table.  I am not so adept with hammering; I whacked my thumb several times.  What’s even more tantrum-inducing than smashing a digit repeatedly with a hammer and staying silent about it so as not to draw attention, is your instructor catching it every time and reminding you  “not hit your thumb with that hammer.  It really smarts.”

I noticed several lady bugs on the table; the other student and Mr. B were eager to destroy them.  Apparently there is a huge LB infestation in the area and they are not viewed as the luck-spreading, charming little guys we here in the city know them as.   In fact, they are a different breed.  The LBs up in the Poconos are an Asian beetle which look exactly like Ladybugs, and were brought to the US to aid in pest control.  I guess they then became the pest themselves.  I’m told they reproduce like crazy and clog up vents, eat through stuff, and bite.

Not so cute:

I took the scenic way home, via back roads, and stopped for coffee at a little shop in White Haven.  I’d wanted to stay and enjoy it there while I soaked in the environment, maybe get some networking practice, but it was just myself and the “barista” I doubt he’d call himself that) there and I felt him eyeing my every move so I stepped out.  I hate feeling watched when I haven’t made it clear I’m looking to be the center of attention.  I start to second guess my every move and can’t think straight.

When I got home, I took a walk around the hilly fields behind the cabin and then took a nap with the dogs in front of the fire while the boys made dinner.  They ate and headed out, and I went to bed.

“I love trees, man. I’m a tree hugger.”

Wednesday, 1/13/10:

Today I finished skinning my Merganser, and afterwards came the joy known as degreasing.  It’s actually pretty cool; running the fatty skin along the wheel and watching it dissolve and fly away.  It gets tricky negotiating around any holes in the skin-they easily get caught on the wheel and the next thing you know there are feathers flying everywhere.  On the plus side, my hands feel luxuriously moisturized afterwards.

Cleaning up the machine reminds me of what liposuction must look like.

After degreasing comes the bath, comprised of a top-secret solution that only taxidermists are privy to.

The bird comes out of his bath, gets wrung out and tumbled in sawdust for a bit.  This fluffs the feathers back up.  I had to play doctor with mine before I stretched the skin over the mount, because he’s broken his leg during his dying fall.  It was a delicate operation.

Now be a good boy and eat your medicine!!!

I am constantly reminded of plastic surgery…

Later on I went home, and did my usual hoop work-out routine.  We noticed that there were coyote tracks about twenty feet from the house and grew nervous about letting the cats out.  You know, after what happened to Daisy.  We even heard them howling later that night!

For dinner Sarah prepared the Venison with a cherry/apple chutney.  It was divine.  We also snacked on some deer and moose keilbasi that my instructor gave me.  It’s great with a little mustard and cheese.