The first night we closed the taxidermy museum, aka the dead zoo, was a living nightmare. We have seen the movies. We have read the stories. We know what goes on in places like this. We kept all the lights on, everywhere, until the last possible moment.
After the day we had just experienced, my sister and I were shakily hand writing our resignations in our minds. Unable to voice the horrors of behavior we had witnessed and physically incapable of lifting a pen at that point, utter exhaustion had overtaken us.
Worse yet, I would have to sweep the floor, again, before we could leave.
The first entry of the day had been a feisty 5 year old girl with her highly distracted young mother. While intently gazing into her screen, the mother completely ignored her miniature human as she headed straight for the plastic rice pit of impending doom. The dinosaur bones and fossils are barely hidden among the thousands of tiny grains.
This pit must have emited a children only magnetic-type force field, it drew a lot of attention those first three days prior to its mysterious disappearance. The rice grain-sized pieces become slippery bb’s once they take up residence on the floor, then they become masters of hide and seek and they manage to evade brooms, dustpans, trash cans, and vacuums.
As retired or former teachers, we were excited to learn with the visitors who would take time to come in and see magnificent animals displayed in situ, to discuss habitats, or environmental issues, or history, we had endless topics of interest. Aaah, hope springs eternal before reality dams that piece of fiction right up.
Just like those busy beavers on display we had put Science lessons in motion and in full gear. We could see the laws of physics, magnets, and gravity come to life in hopes of integrating learning into the lives of all of the visitors. That was until we had opened those doors.
Slow motion is a thing. The little girl grabbed the bright red plastic shovel.
She scooped.
She raised that weapon.
She flung the pellets across the room while screaming, “Look, Mommy!”
Mom brushed her own bangs as she continued to dexterously scroll through the internet. Oblivious to the rice she had dismissed and the show that was being performed on her behalf. She never looked up.
And so it began.
More came, the bell jingled, and the door opened over and over again. It was Spring Break in a very hot Texas. Grandparents in rural areas have custody of tiny people and the best option is an air conditioned museum, filled with taxidermy.
A museum stuffed to the rafters with dead birds and furry animals that surely lived perfect lives in story books and fairy tales before being imprisoned here against their will for eternity.
I quickly learned that everyone has their opinions in regards to taxidermy. In addition, I gathered that very first day you are allowed to loudly bellow those fully researched and scientifically proven opinions. I assumed it was to make sure the animals heard that there were folks out there defending them.
Animals held captive, much like the pre-teens ripped out of their usual doldroms in their own rooms forced to spend time with extended family supervision while parents work to pay for their orthodontia, cell phone bills, and future college tuitions.
I led my first tour with three grandchildren and their grandfather about thirty minutes into the day. We made it to the eighth habitat, I had spit out the weirdest facts Siri had offered to help me keep their attention.
Bears do not poop while they hibernate. Ducks can fly 45 miles an hour. What is bigger, a lion or a tiger?
Needless to say, I was failing miserably. The place was filling up and crayons were commiserating with multiplying plastic grains on the floor. Thankfully, the fingerprints and licking marks were growing on the outside of the clear glass displays. A well-used diaper was being left in the tiny bathroom on the shelf near the trashcan.
Luckily for me, the upcoming section was the kangaroo portion, a hopping place. Australia and New Zealand are known for unique critters. Marsupials have pouches. “Do you know what a baby kangaroo is called?” Crickets.
A joey. “The kangaroo baby is called a joey. They can live in the pouch until their first birthday. Isn’t that incredible?” More crickets amidst the bedlam of now twenty children, 3 moms, and 11 grandparents in a small room with a fire department maximum of 55.
“Our next exhibit has many of the animals in Texas, it also has another marsupial. Let’s go see if you can help me find it.” I had one habitat left and I felt confident I could keep on walking straight to my car and leave.
Suddenly, Grandpa grabbed my elbow and said “Just a moment, that kangaroo won’t be having any babies.” I shook my head. There it is, I am getting my first taxidermy joke and I haven’t even finished my first tour, my first hour.
I was prepared to hear some comments, or have weird requests. I already knew every joke that folks would try to pass off as original. Okay, let me have it. I am stiff with anticipation. You can’t mount this moment of anticipation, it is a bare bones approach to humor, I am stuffed with expectation. I had it all sewn up. There is more.
“Little lady, that there is a boy kangaroo. Look at his balls.”
I hadn’t seen that one, or two, coming my way. Turns out, kangaroos are quite obviously endowed.
We moved on.
I do not know how we got to 5 o’clock that afternoon. It was an onslaught neither of us had expected and we were ill equipped to handle any of it despite our age, our experiences, our careers, our IQ’s, or our combined level of common sense.
The locking of the door was not the pleasant click sound of relief, we were locked in with the likes of a 9 foot anaconda, a 900 pound alligator, two lions, and a skunk to name a small percentage of animals that should scare you. It was quiet. Did you hear that?
We had to have a plan and we needed it fast. Sister would stand at the door and hold it open while I turned off the lights and then leave by the exit sign. She would even focus her cell phone flashlight to add visual help to my swift departure from the room. Plan in motion, move!
Turns out, you have to turn off 27 lights in two panels, unplug three cords, and go behind the stack of boxes to flip a switch before you turn around in the dark, navigate the plastic storage totes, turn to your side to squeeze between the wall and the boxes and then run like hell in the dark to round the corner before the light of the cell phone flashlight is visible from 30 long feet away.
Do you know how fast an anaconda can move? Or if that blood pressure roar in your ears is a lion rising from the savanna region or full on nightmare fear taking control. Was this a fairy tale or horror movie come to life? I was too tired to think and too scared to object, and a coyote, two fox, and an arctic wolf, had their beady eyes on me. Literally, my sister had thrown me to the wolves.
I think I had read that plaque, Lupus, big bad wolfus.
Despite being over 50 and fluffy, had it been an Olympic event, I would have medalled. Posthumously, my sister could have accepted that award for me and recalled my valiant efforts, speed, and that daring feat of agility.
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