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Found two raccoons in the middle of the road during a random impromptu drive out to Pacific City the other day. Sadly, both were still alive when we found them. One was quite easy to kill, as it was already so far gone that a simple shake to its already partially-severed spinal chord was enough to end its suffering. The other raccoon was a different story…

Raccoons are hard to kill no matter how you go about it. Since this one’s neck already had a hole in it, I borrowed Anti-Krist’s folding knife and cut its throat the rest of the way. We thought at first that that was the end of it, but the raccoon sputtered and continued to struggle to breathe, so I severed the spinal column at the back of the skull. It died instantly thereafter.

We stopped at a nearby gas station to clean up, where I noted with dismay a sign which read, “Bathroom for employees only.”

I needed to wash raccoon blood off myself and I was in no mood to haggle about it with the store’s clerks. I assumed right off the bat that they were going to give me a hard time about it, so I walked up to the counter, held up my hands, and said simply, “I just killed a raccoon and I need to use your sink.”

The younger of the two employees gave me a funny look for a brief moment before realizing that I wasn’t actually joking, then shrugged and said, “Have at it” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I was kind of taken aback by this; I’d been ready to argue with him, and half-expected to get kicked out of the establishment, but was instead pleasantly surprised by the young man’s kindness.

The sink was right next to the counter, and the clerk stood curiously by me while I washed up. He finally blurted out, “So you actually killed a raccoon…?”

"Well, it was hit by a car - " I said, and left the sentence hanging; he understood then that I had put it out of it’s misery, and hadn’t just pounced on an unsuspecting animal for no good reason.

"So, like, where is it?" he ventured, noting the freshness of the blood. He was surprised when I told him that the raccoon, and it’s brother, were in the back of my truck.

"Oh. Really? You, like, want us to dispose of it for you? We have a dumpster out back," he offered kindly.

And I sort of laughed, because this was the part where I had to tell him I was a taxidermist. Such information is usually met in one of two ways: People either go, “Oh….” and quickly find a way out of the conversation, or, for some reason, think that it’s totally awesome and want to know more.

This guy thought it was totally awesome, and offered me a plastic bag to put the two raccoons in, as they were rolled up in a retired beach towel in the truck bed at that moment.

We talked about taxidermy and death for a bit while I thoroughly scrubbed my fingers right down the undersides of my nails. The clerk then said something which kind of surprised me: “Putting animals of their misery must be like the worst part of your job.”

He said it almost like an apology, with empathy in his voice, before he quickly went on, saying, “The cool part, though, is that you like, get to bring it back to life kinda - in your art.” And I actually felt like giving him a hug.

This was a young man I had never met me before. His first impression of me was me holding up my bloody hands and announcing that I’d just killed an animal, essentially demanding to use his sink.

And instead of jumping to conclusions, he asked questions, then quickly came to understand exactly why I did what I did and why I continue to do what I do. I was impressed and even humbled by it. It was wrong of me to assume his reaction to my predicament, and resulting plea for help, would be negative.

When I’d finished cleaning and drying my hands, the clerk handed me a big black trash bag and wished us all a good night. But he shortly followed us out to the parking lot to ask if he could see the dead raccoons for himself. I unrolled the two young animals from the beach towel, and let the clerk visually examine them before placing them in the plastic bad he’d given me and closed the canopy of the truck again.

I learned two things that night:

One, killing an animal like a raccoon is better done by severing the spinal column at the base of the skull than it is by slitting the throat, even if it does more damage to the hide.

And two, I shouldn’t be so quick to jump to the conclusion that people are going to jump to conclusions when it comes to me and my work. There are still good, intelligent people out there, and I’m happy to have found one at a gas station in Pacific City.

Description
Found two raccoons in the middle of the road during a random impromptu drive out to Pacific City the other day. Sadly, both were still alive when we found them. One was quite easy to kill, as it was already so far gone that a simple shake to its already partially-severed spinal chord was enough to end its suffering. The other raccoon was a different story…

Raccoons are hard to kill no matter how you go about it. Since this one’s neck already had a hole in it, I borrowed Anti-Krist’s folding knife and cut its throat the rest of the way. We thought at first that that was the end of it, but the raccoon sputtered and continued to struggle to breathe, so I severed the spinal column at the back of the skull. It died instantly thereafter.

We stopped at a nearby gas station to clean up, where I noted with dismay a sign which read, “Bathroom for employees only.”

I needed to wash raccoon blood off myself and I was in no mood to haggle about it with the store’s clerks. I assumed right off the bat that they were going to give me a hard time about it, so I walked up to the counter, held up my hands, and said simply, “I just killed a raccoon and I need to use your sink.”

The younger of the two employees gave me a funny look for a brief moment before realizing that I wasn’t actually joking, then shrugged and said, “Have at it” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I was kind of taken aback by this; I’d been ready to argue with him, and half-expected to get kicked out of the establishment, but was instead pleasantly surprised by the young man’s kindness.

The sink was right next to the counter, and the clerk stood curiously by me while I washed up. He finally blurted out, “So you actually killed a raccoon…?”

"Well, it was hit by a car - " I said, and left the sentence hanging; he understood then that I had put it out of it’s misery, and hadn’t just pounced on an unsuspecting animal for no good reason.

"So, like, where is it?" he ventured, noting the freshness of the blood. He was surprised when I told him that the raccoon, and it’s brother, were in the back of my truck.

"Oh. Really? You, like, want us to dispose of it for you? We have a dumpster out back," he offered kindly.

And I sort of laughed, because this was the part where I had to tell him I was a taxidermist. Such information is usually met in one of two ways: People either go, “Oh….” and quickly find a way out of the conversation, or, for some reason, think that it’s totally awesome and want to know more.

This guy thought it was totally awesome, and offered me a plastic bag to put the two raccoons in, as they were rolled up in a retired beach towel in the truck bed at that moment.

We talked about taxidermy and death for a bit while I thoroughly scrubbed my fingers right down the undersides of my nails. The clerk then said something which kind of surprised me: “Putting animals of their misery must be like the worst part of your job.”

He said it almost like an apology, with empathy in his voice, before he quickly went on, saying, “The cool part, though, is that you like, get to bring it back to life kinda - in your art.” And I actually felt like giving him a hug.

This was a young man I had never met me before. His first impression of me was me holding up my bloody hands and announcing that I’d just killed an animal, essentially demanding to use his sink.

And instead of jumping to conclusions, he asked questions, then quickly came to understand exactly why I did what I did and why I continue to do what I do. I was impressed and even humbled by it. It was wrong of me to assume his reaction to my predicament, and resulting plea for help, would be negative.

When I’d finished cleaning and drying my hands, the clerk handed me a big black trash bag and wished us all a good night. But he shortly followed us out to the parking lot to ask if he could see the dead raccoons for himself. I unrolled the two young animals from the beach towel, and let the clerk visually examine them before placing them in the plastic bad he’d given me and closed the canopy of the truck again.

I learned two things that night:

One, killing an animal like a raccoon is better done by severing the spinal column at the base of the skull than it is by slitting the throat, even if it does more damage to the hide.

And two, I shouldn’t be so quick to jump to the conclusion that people are going to jump to conclusions when it comes to me and my work. There are still good, intelligent people out there, and I’m happy to have found one at a gas station in Pacific City.