I don’t own a pet, but I have a girlfriend that does. In my time with her, I’ve grown close to her dog, mainly because she’s often at work while I see her. Toby and I sit on her sofa, watching Barefoot Contessa on the Food Network, dreaming about better days where we can finally declare our canine-human love for each other and ditch the broad.
I imagine that were Toby to meet his end any time soon, I wouldn’t feel too strongly against having him stuffed and preserved for eternity, to cuddle on those cold days when my woman goes out to work and leaves me home alone.
I wouldn’t, however, let whoever was responsible for this do it. King Frederick of Sweden was given a pet tiger as a gift from someone who was really looking to impress in the 1720s. When the tiger died in 1731, my man Freddy had become so close to the tiger that he had him preserved. Badly.
It looks worryingly docile and, well, goofy. In fact, despite being a ferocious big cat, it looks like the sort of domestic pussy you see prowling around your neighborhood.
See? There’s the same close-set eyes and gormless look on the face. In fact, cats of all shapes and sizes seem to be difficult for taxidermists, if these are anything to go by.
It’s not just cats that get the short end of the stick at the hands of preservists, either. Man’s best friend can begin to look like man’s special friend when stuffed and pickled.
In fact, there’s a whole menagerie of badly-preserved animals out there just waiting to keep you awake at night as they stand motionless in the corner.
Can you imagine living with that looking at you every hour of the day?
On second thoughts, I think I’ll bury Toby in the back yard and let him go to doggie heaven unobstructed.
