Two Dozen Wolves
Words By Zachary Shea, Art By Hailey Renee Brown
People love to pet animals, no matter how many signs we put up. Kids especially love the canids and big cats. They think they look like big pets. I always try to make it a teaching moment. “When you pet these pieces, you get oils and dirt from your skin on the piece, and that hurts them.”
“I thought the doggy was dead?”
“That’s true, but taxidermy doesn’t last forever, so we have to be careful. There aren’t any wolves left. We want these pieces to last a long time so as many people as possible can enjoy them.”
On Friday afternoon, a high school girl takes a box cutter to one of the wolves in the Grady Ellison North American Mammals exhibit, mutilating the beast in front of an elementary school tour. I hurry the crying kids out of the exhibit while the girl screams about capitalism and the Ellisons and the cities underwater: Boston, San Francisco, New York, Miami, New Orleans. She waves the box cutter in my face, and I wonder if she’ll cut me.
Eventually, the cops come to take her.
I’m taken up to see my boss’s boss, where she asks me a few questions. I worry I’m about to be fired, but she says, “Don’t worry. This wasn’t your fault. You did everything right.”
On the news, people with nice haircuts talk about the girl with the box cutter. They argue she’s bringing attention to an important issue. They argue she’s going about things all wrong and will only hurt her cause. They argue we still can’t prove global warming is manmade. They argue about how long the levees in Baltimore will hold.
A picture of me makes the news. People are calling me a hero for protecting those kids.
Next Friday, I’m the guest of honor at the unveiling of a new wolf piece. The museum even rents me a nice tux for the occasion. I get to shake hands with Jasper Ellison, Grady Ellison’s grandson, while a reporter takes our picture. “Pretty lucky you had another wolf to donate,” I say.
Jasper smiles at me like he’s about to let me in on a secret. “I got about two dozen of these things. Grandad loved animals. He was obsessed with getting all sorts of endangered species stuffed. He knew that once they were gone, these pieces would be all we’d have. They’re his legacy.”
“Two dozen?” I remember the box cutter.
“Two dozen wolves. But we’ve got about three hundred total pieces back at the ranch.”
That Saturday, I see a pair of young girls looking at the new wolf. I know from the look on their faces they’re going to touch it before they’ve reached out their hands. I won’t stop them; I won’t report the incident. There are two dozen locked away in a ranch in Texas. And I want to let them out.