The further adventures of Flat Stanley and his tragic almost-demise.

Those who have been following this blog for a while, or who have maybe just been putting very odd search terms into Google, may be familiar with Flat Stanley, the result of my first (and so far only), foray into the art of taxidermy. Stanley was an ex-guinea pig, who had been humanely sourced and who I raised from the choir invisible under the expert tuition of Amanda from www.amandasautopsies.com/.

Flat Stanley, as his name suggests, did not turn out to be the most handsome of specimens, but a little Phantom of the Opera costume both hid his disfigurements and gave him a jaunty air. (Original blog post here....)

Since then, Flat Stanley has been happily housed in a glass case (um, ok, it's actually a giant sweetie jar. But we took the labels off and washed out all traces of sherbert lemons), on the mantelpiece. His fame has been such he and his jar have even been on stage:

He was such a diva.

Then, last night, something TERRIBLE happened.

We came home to a scene of devastation. Flat Stanley's sweetie jar, with Flat Stanley helpless within it, had fallen off the mantelpiece. Glass was everywhere. As for Stanley...well. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. Doug the cat (for we know it must have been him, his sister is far too thick to work out how to extricate a stuffed rodent from a jar), had no intentions of letting Stanley rest in peace. This conversation occured:

LL: What is that? Is that, like, a dead bird or somethingOHMYGODITSFLATSTANLEY!!!
SO: Don't look. Oh God. Don't look.
LL: He...he....he has no hands!
SO: Nope. Or feet.
LL: And his FACE! Doug has eaten HIS FACE!!! What is WRONG with that cat? He's a psychopath!
SO: At least Doug didn't hurt himself on the glass or anything while he was carrying out his abominations.
LL: Yeah. I wouldn't have wanted to explain that to the vet.

SO thought that the cats had knocked the jar off the mantelpiece. I maintained that Stanley had been up there since last September and they'd never knocked it down before. BUT I don't think it is any coincidence that this happened very shortly after the arrival of Super Rat (who I think might have evil kinetic powers. SO says I have been watching too many films). Our mantelpiece became a lineup of suspects:

The skull is plaster of paris. I promise.

Whether he fell or was pushed, Flat Stanley had gone from being a slightly odd but kind of adorable ornament to a TERRIFYING FACELESS ZOMBIE RODENT that I couldn't have in the house any longer. I wanted to throw it out, but SO was all "no, I can save him and make him less like the stuff of nightmares". I was off out for the evening, so I gave SO an ultimatum - by the time I got back, the Thing that used to be Flat Stanley either had to be buried at a crossroads or somehow made into something that I could bear having under my roof and that wouldn't rise in the night and kill us all.

While I was out, this text conversation occured:

SO: Flat Stanley looks like a burns victim. in his bandages.
LL: Are you trying to make him into a mummy?
SO: i might have to age his wrappings with tea bags.
LL: I'm not sure if you are a genius. I think you might be. i also think Flat Stanley might be haunted.


So. Long story short. When I got back, this had happened...

IT LIVES!!!!

 If you read this, Significant Otter, thank you. Thank you for fixing my faceless, limbless, possibly haunted dead guinea pig. It's these little things that make a marriage.


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Epilogue: I almost wasn't going to share this last bit, for the sake of everyone. But a problem shared is a problem spread around, so I don't see why I should be the only one holding this hideous information in my head. Shortly after this picture was taken, this occurred:

LL: Where did you get all the cotton wool to reconstruct his feets? We don't have any cotton wool.
SO: Um. I owe you two tampons.

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

You're all welcome.

Meet Stanley. Flat Stanley

Last Saturday morning, I woke up, slightly hungover, and remembered that I had to be in the City of London in an hour and a half, stuffing a guinea pig.

This was not a normal weekend. Let me 'splain. And first, let me warn those of a squeamish disposition that - while I will not include any graphic descriptions or pictures - this post does concern taxidermy. If it bothers you, I won't be offended if you move on. I'll be back with more humorous sewing stories soon.

I am an animal lover. I have two cats that I adore much more than I think I probably could any children (children are noisy and not furry - usually - and much harder to put in a cattery when you go on holiday), and I grew up on a farm where there was a constant stream of wildlife and pets zipping about the house and garden. I also have a soft spot for whimsical taxidermy. It's not like I have a squirrel army in my house or anything (in fact, until this weekend, my house was free of deceased animals. As far as I know.), but I have no problem with it.

Amanda of the gruesomely-named Amanda's Autopsies creates beautiful ethical taxidermy oddities and jewellery, inspired by Walter Potter, whose creations fascinated me as a (admittedly slightly odd), child. Whatever your feelings on the display of animals after-life, as it were, there can be no denying the skill and imagination in these pieces. I am most certainly not advocating killing interesting beasties purely to decorate one's mantelpiece and nor am I eyeing up my own pets to make into catcopters, but I personally think that - as with the case of Amanda's pieces - if given the choice between being snake food and having a whole lot of love and care invested in your remains in order to preserve their beauty, I'd rather the latter. If I was a rodent. And, lets face it, the rodent probably isn't that worried either way.

And as with anything I am interested in, if given the chance to learn how to do it, I will jump at it.

So it was that I enrolled in Amanda's 'Stuff & Nonsense' Taxidermy for Beginners course last weekend, and learned how to stuff my own guinea pig. Except it wasn't my own guinea pig, it was one specially provided; sourced, as explained above, from animals humanely killed for reptile feed.

The course took place in the stunning environs of St Barts Pathology Museum. Photographs of the surroundings aren't allowed as it holds medical specimens, but they regularly hold fascinating lectures in their rooms which look like something out of Sherlock Holmes and Hogwarts combined and I would highly recommend a trip if you get a chance.

Amanda and her equally brilliant assistant ably showed us the right way to skin our tiny charges, which is the most time-consuming part of the business. As we worked away with teeny tiny scalpels, any initial squeamishness soon dispersed and - believe it or not - it actually became rather enjoyable. I don't mean in a weird, psychopathic Ted Bundy sort of way, but in that oddly relaxing way that any delicate work requiring a lot of concentration can be. And when you think about it, it's really no different from skinning a rabbit in the kitchen, or even a chicken for Sunday lunch (for those raised in less rural climes!).

Once successfully peeled, we washed our tiny guinea pig rugs and left them to dry while we had lunch.

Weirdest. Lunchtime. Ever.

After lunch was time for stuffing - which involves wire and cotton wool. I shall leave it at that for those who might have got this far but still have a delicate disposition.

Once finished, we compared results.

Dear god.

I would like to say, in my defence, that I did not have great raw materials. I was concerned at first that, rather than being humanely killed, my particular rodent had in fact been steamrollered to death as he was somewhat battered. Turns out he was in fact probably squished in the freezer. Which also accounts for the freezer burn down one side of his face. Although I will put my hand up to the fact that it was probably my fault his foot fell off and had to be superglued back on.

I had created an abomination.

This is his GOOD side.

When I brought Flat Stanley home ("pleasedontletmeleaveitonthebuspleasedontletmeleaveitonthebus") Significant Otter laughed at him for a good five minutes. This heartened me greatly as I had been expecting screams.

The next day I decided something had to be done. There were two options for dealing with this horrific creation. I could either burn it, then bury the ashes at a crossroads or make some sort of outfit to hide the worst bits. I wasn't entirely sure that it definitely wouldn't come back to life to haunt me after the burning and burying, so I went with the latter.

What sort of costume could Flat Stanley have that would hide his hideous disfigurements? I will admit I am rarely thankful to musical theatre for anything, but just this once, it had the answer.

I give you - Flat Stanley as The Phantom of The Opera.

"Listen to the music of the OHCHRISTWHATISTHATTHING??!"
(Yeah, I know it also looks a bit Jedi-ish. Multi-purpose taxidermy)

With his mask and tiny gondola-punting stick he has stopped giving me nightmares and is now allowed in the house. I have set Significant Otter to finding a bell jar to display him in. Turns out they are really expensive, but as I explained to him, you just can't put a price on this sort of family heirloom.

If you too are interested in the deconstruction and reconstruction of small furry animals, check out the Amanda's Autopsies website for details of the next classes and also photos of past ones - including this weekend's. Flat Stanley is number 71 in the photo album. I'm going to use that picture for his Spotlight application.