I MET DAVE THE SUMMER OF MY EIGHTEENTH YEAR . DAVE DROVE AROUND OUR SMALL TOWN IN HIS RED PICKUP , JUST LIKE MY DAD DROVE AROUND IN HIS BLUE PICKUP . I liked that Dave kept his guns in their cases on the passenger side , rather than hanging in the rear window . He smelled of plastic fishing worms and aftershave - unlike my dad , who usually smelled of the plant , but still there was a certain association . Dave had little to say on our dates and , because I was used to living with my quiet parents , Dave 's reticence was a nice relief from the pressure I felt to converse on previous dates . I thought I fell in love with a strong , silent man . Perhaps I confused being in love with being comfortable . Dave took me to the movies , to dinner , to the park . If he minded waiting in the living room while I got ready , he never said . I knew he was out there , but I changed clothes again and again . I supposed Dave favored an outdoorsy look , so I often ended up in khaki skirts , plaid camp shirts and tennis shoes , though I never started out there . I put my hair in a ponytail , took it down , put it up again . I compromised , untying the bow so the ends of the ribbon hung loose . Dave never noticed , or if he did , he didn 't say . I sat on a wool blanket on the passenger 's side of his truck . After one month , I moved to the middle of the bench seat , where I paid the price of closeness - the long stick shift banging against my knees . " Comfortable ? " Dave asked . I nodded . He took me home early . He 'd come inside to talk to my dad , who was up watching the ten o ' clock news . " I know , I know . " Dad agreed with everything Dave said and vice versa . Mom served us strawberry ice cream and shot looks at me that seemed to say , " In five years you 'll be filleting fish in the kitchen sink and arguing about where the stuffed animals go . " By the end of the summer , Dave whispered in my ear as he slipped a diamond on my ring finger . That fall , he went deer hunting with my dad , while I stayed home and waited with my mom . Their last day out , Dave got an eight - point buck . Early on a Saturday afternoon , he threw the limp body down in my parents ' front yard . He stood over his conquest and beamed at me . I reached down and put my hand on the neck , looked into the milky , lifeless brown eyes . I could faintly smell blood , gun powder and rotting leaves , rustled down from the drying oaks by a slight breeze . " Here one minute , gone the next , " I said . Dave shrugged . Because my dad hadn 't gotten anything that year , he offered to have Dave 's mounted ; a gesture of goodwill from an experienced hunter to one starting out . The first trophy , an exciting moment in any hunter 's life . I rode with them to the taxidermist 's office in the city . The severed deer 's head , in a canvas sack tied with red twine , lay in the back of Dave 's pickup . It thunked against the side of the bed on every hard corner . I sat in the middle , between Dave and Dad , and worried the deer wouldn 't survive the trip . While they carried the head into the shop , I waited in the pickup . I propped my tennis shoes on the dash and turned up the radio . As a child , I had loved going to the taxidermist 's . " Who wants to go with me to Wilson 's ? " Dad used to ask . " I 've only got room for one more ! " I 'd get nervous , worried he 'd take my mom instead of me , but in truth , Mom never seemed to want to go . The shop , in an old townhouse in South city , didn 't appear to have changed a bit . Through the windows , I could see the original cut - glass front door and the wrought iron railings decorating wide granite steps . A hundred years ago , small boys in knickers probably played on steps like those . Even when I visited the shop as a five - year - old child , I had felt the lure of days past . I leaned my head back , closed my eyes , and thought about what it had been like to go inside . To the left of the door , various mounted species mingled behind a low , polished hard - wood fence - hardly an effective restraint . Corralled together in death , the animals waited to be claimed , far more agreeable with one another in death than in life . Mallard ducks , their wings spread wide over deer heads , eyes frozen in the glare of invisible headlights . Wild - eyed bobcats baring tiny teeth , and a fox with a smooth red pelt , ready to run , one elegant paw raised . Another image came to mind . The taxidermist 's dog , lying to the right of the door , an empty water dish by his side . Bosco held his head high , eyes open . As a child , I didn 't find it odd that he had been mounted . I didn 't think about it at all . Sitting there in the truck that day , my adult self saw that it was odd , but I decided it was still all right . Why not mount an animal you love , along with the ones plucked from the woods ; why not consider a beloved pet a trophy ? I looked at the ring on my finger and thought about what an achievement it had seemed . Crystal - clear proof of Dave 's love . What was there to be more proud of than winning another being 's heart ? The lifetime of love and devotion a pet gave was easily as worthy of memorial as a life taken in one brief moment that ended the hunt . I had stayed in the truck mainly because I was too lazy to go in . As I said , I wasn 't fond of small talk , and I remembered Bill , the taxidermist , as a talker . But thinking about Bosco motivated me to go in and see how he 'd held up . I stepped out onto the crumbling sidewalk , walked up the stairs , and pushed open the heavy door . I was caught for a moment by a whirl of odors : embalming fluid , leather - tanning chemicals , cigarette smoke and mothballs . When I recovered , I stepped inside . There were the animals behind the fence on the left , just as I 'd envisioned them , give or take a tail or two . And there was Bosco , lying on the floor to my right . If he 'd been alive , his tail would have thumped on the hardwood floor . I leaned down to brush a bit of dust off his nose . His brown - and - white fur seemed to be in good condition , not falling out as I 'd seen on other old taxidermy mounts . His wax nose shone and his glass eyes sparkled . Bosco was still happy to see me , and nothing could change that . For a moment , staring into his glass eyes , I loved him for that . He 'd never leave Bill alone , and Bill would never miss the comfort of Bosco 's companionship . Dave was filling out paperwork in a workroom in the back with my dad and Bill . They didn 't seem to hear me approach . I was surprised to see that Bill looked to be the same age as my dad , because I 'd remembered a much younger man . The same striped suspenders held up his baggy dress pants . His shirt sleeves were rolled up , but his collar was buttoned . A small , red bow tie dangled at the center of his neck . Bill shook my hand . " Of course , of course , " he bubbled . " A pleasure . " I could tell he didn 't remember me . " Do you still have that moleskin you used to give kids to play with ? " I asked . Why I had to ask that then , I have no idea . Bill 's wife had kept a brown moleskin in the drawers of the reception desk when I was a kid . Smooth with oil from the hands of countless children , the moleskin was softer than any fur coat . I used to pet it forward and backward , rub it against my face . I wasn 't allowed to touch my father 's mounts , or any others for that matter , because the grime on my fingers would dirty the fur . " Ah , no , " Bill said . " A moleskin , you say ? We did once have a coon pelt , something I did for a Boy Scout camp . " He drummed his fingers against the table top . " And there were sometimes mink pelts brought in from the country . Well , we called them that , but they were really weasels ; those poor folks didn 't know any better . . . " Then my dad spoke up . " You remember , Bill . That old hunk of tanned skin your wife kept for the kids ? Janie used to carry it around . Kept her hands off the mounts . " Bill 's face lit up as if my dad had revealed new information . " Of course , " he said , " of course . How could I forget that ? " He turned back to Dave and commenced filling out paperwork . When everything was set , as Dave and Bill shook hands , I asked Bill if he 'd mounted any of his other pets . He looked toward the door . " Like ol ' Bosco ? He was a strange little critter . " " How so ? " I asked . " Oh , he was an odd ball , all right . " Bill shook his head . " Always wandering off , getting into things . But I loved him . Always wanted him at my side , even though he always wanted to go away , chase things , anything but lay at my feet . Course , if I had it to do all over again , I 'd bury him six feet under . Wild animals are one thing to mount , you know . When a hunter shoots a deer , he 's only known that animal for a few minutes before the eyes glaze over . " He gestured with his eyebrows towards Dave 's deer head , sitting out on the canvas bag . " All deer have the same brown eyes , you know . At least as far as the hunter is concerned . But with a pet , it 's different . You know what he looks like when he wants to play , when he wants to be petted . Since I mounted Bosco , all I think is , ' That ain 't Bosco . ' But I can say one thing - - he 's always there when I 'm looking for him . " " Yes , it reminds me , both of what I had and - " Bill stopped suddenly and handed a piece of paper to Dave . He looked back at me . " And of what I didn 't have . Yes , it reminds me , all right . " He winked at me . I wondered if I 'd missed something . " Do you ever mount the pets of other people ? " " Oh , I 've done a few , " Bill said , " but it 's expensive . A ten - pound dog can run you a couple thousand . I have to spend hours looking at pictures so I can get the expression right . You have to capture the eyes just so , and still it comes out wrong . It 's quite a challenge , all right . The nose , the lips . . . Well , suffice to say there are many details to be dealt with . I try to talk people out of it . " Bill flipped open a slim cigarette case and peered thoughtfully off into its depths . Bill pointed Dad in the right direction , then looked at me again , as if he knew I had another question . " What 's the strangest animal you 've ever been asked to mount ? " I asked quickly . A smile stretched his Bill 's lips until they were almost invisible against the mottled skin of his face . " I 've been asked to mount tropical fish , " he said . " Very tricky . The skin tends to . . . Well . I 've been looking into freeze - drying for things like that . No one else seems to have thought of it , but it would be relatively inexpensive . Of course , that 's still in the very early stages . " I nodded . " I had no idea advances were being made in your field . " " Oh yes , " he said , " of course . But back to your question . I 've done birds , parakeets and cockatoos . And someone once asked me to mount a pig , a huge sow . " Bill puffed on his cigarette , the lines on his face lifting with each inhale . He decisively stabbed the cigarette out in an ashtray . " A man once asked me if I could preserve the body of his fiancée , " he said . " She had died in a fall at a carnival . There were broken bones , of course , but her skin was fine . " He made a funny noise , like someone who has gotten a whiff of something good . " I could have done it , " he said . Dave hovered midway between myself and Bill and the door , out of hearing range . It occurred to me that perhaps he 'd feel more comfortable if he had a hunk of moleskin to play with . " But you didn 't ? " I asked . " It 's illegal . I 'm not sure how I would have felt about it . I think the worst would have been thinking about that poor guy at home with his dead fiancée 's body . " Bill shook his head . " However , the challenge of making her look right . . . Well , that was the strangest , by far . By far . " Strange indeed . Dad came back from the restroom then , so I thanked Bill and followed the men out onto the steps . We climbed back into the truck . No one spoke , but I held Dave 's hand When we got to the house , Dad told Dave he 'd better get used to my habit of questioning people until they told me something I 'd have been better off not knowing . " That 's one of the things I like about Janie , " Dave said . He smiled at me and squeezed my hand . I wasn 't sure what he meant , because I didn 't usually ask questions that way , but I felt secure in the knowledge that Dave liked my apparently less agreeable traits . There were many times I wasn 't sure what was going through Dave 's mind . It was clear that he liked me , because he kept coming around and he asked me to marry him , and it was obvious he liked hunting , but why he liked either of us wasn 't obvious . I suppose I thought we got along just fine , and if not fighting were a measure of potential happiness , then we were set . For our honeymoon , we went camping . I remember thinking , without discussing it with Dave , that our future vacations would be more fun . I dreamed of visiting the grand cities of Europe , sipping espresso on hotel balconies . Yet I never told Dave I thought of such things . By the time of our one - year anniversary , we had two turkey tails , the deer head , and a large - mouth bass . After five years , I had two small children . I brought babies into our home ; Dave brought dead animals . Bound to the house while he worked and hunted , I became used to the babble of toddlers below my feet and the silent mounted animals that graced our walls . This was what everyone I 'd grown up with had , children to care fore and a husband who paid the bills and hunted . One hunting season bled into another , and there was fishing to fill any gaps . The years crept by , the children grew . There was always money for another mount , sometimes two , yet if I talked about saving for a trip to Europe , Dave scoffed as if I 'd suggested trading in the boat for a yacht . Then he would buy me some sort of bauble , something he thought would keep me happy : jewelry , a music box , a new sweater . By the time the kids started high school , I could no longer stand the sight of so many dead animals . " They have to go the basement , " I said . It was a Saturday afternoon in the summer . The kids were watching a violent movie on television . There was no peace to be had anywhere in the house , or so it seemed to me . Dave nodded , as if he 'd known it were coming . He spent his evenings down in the basement anyhow , with his dog . He began to move the taxidermy that evening . Where the animals had been , I hung pictures of the European cities I 'd never been to . I stayed upstairs in the family room , usually alone . The kids were busy teenagers with their own car , and when they were home , they stayed in their rooms and talked on the phone or watched television and ignored me . I did crosswords and folded the laundry . Mimi , my little Papillion , slept on my lap . Dave had bought Mimi as a gift one Valentine 's Day . " To keep you company , " he said . This was shortly after I had complained that living with our teenage children was like living with aliens . " Someone you can relate to , " Dave said , handing me the tiniest puppy I 'd ever seen . I looked at him , tried to read his meaning , but he only had eyes for the puppy . I hadn 't wanted a dog , but once Mimi was there , it would have been impossible not to love her . She sat on my lap in the mornings and chewed the edges of the newspaper . I fed her pieces of toast , which she shook , as if to make sure they were fully dead . She even had her own Christmas stocking . Sometimes we stuffed her in it for laughs . I wouldn 't have approved , except she seemed to enjoy it . Dave gave me one of the most thoughtful gifts of our relationship the birthday after I got Mimi - - a dog bed made to match our bed , right down to the bed skirt and throw pillows . It sat on the floor beside my nightstand , but most nights Mimi slept on my pillow , by my head . Dave 's hunting dogs slept in the garage . Dave believed this taught them to be hardy or something . When she was fifteen , Mimi developed arthritis and started to go blind , bumping into walls , if she found the energy to get up . On one of the rare weekend mornings when Dave was home to drink coffee at the kitchen table with me , I mentioned an article I 'd read in the paper about pet shrines . " For four thousand dollars , " I said , " I could have a customized shrine built for her in Arizona . People would pray for her soul . " " It would be cheaper to get her mounted , " Dave said . I laughed , but when Mimi died later that year , I called Bill . " You sure you want to do this ? " he asked . I put Mimi 's body on a yellow bath towel in a cardboard box and wrapped the box in plastic , to keep out the drizzle that fell that day . At the taxidermist 's , I shook off my raincoat , relieved to have Mimi inside , where it was warm . Bill motioned for me to follow him into the back . We went through the pictures and discussed positions . I took Bill 's advice and chose the lying down position , which he said would look the most natural . When I got Mimi back the next week , I looked into her new glass eyes and had a sense of déjà vu - the same feeling I 'd had looking at Bosco all those years before . Mimi could never leave me now . A year later , Bill sold his business to his son and , shortly after , passed away . His wife had him cremated . I didn 't have to ask . Dave told me . When the kids moved out , I had even more time alone . Dave was sometimes there in the evenings , if I counted sleeping in his chair in front of the television as " being there . " When he was awake , even if he didn 't want to converse with me , I felt as if I had a husband . But with his eyes closed , I was lonely . Then his friends began to retire and he went on more and more hunting trips with them . He joined another gun club , took up ice fishing . He was rarely home except to sleep . " Do you want a new dog ? " he asked one Saturday , on his way out to shoot . " Now that Mimi 's gone ? " " Mimi 's not ' gone , ' " I said . " And no , I don 't . " So three days later , he brought home Willie . In the tradition of highly strung bird dogs , Willie struggled to adapt to indoor living . I found myself wiping his nose prints off everything , sweeping his fur off the floors several times a day . He tore around the house in circles like a devil on crack . Mimi , who brought new meaning to the words " good dog , " slept twenty - four hours a day in her bed behind a closed door , where Willie couldn 't get to her . She never peed on the carpets or ate the contents of my purse . But it was only a matter of time . One careless moment in which I left the bedroom door open , and Willie was chewing on her front paws . I laid the edge of her blanket over the stubs and made a mental note never to leave that door open again , yet somehow - Dave swears he was not responsible - Willie managed to get back in . He chewed off her nose the second time he met her . There was no saving Mimi after that . Dave dug a grave for her ; the penance of a guilty man , I suppose . I buried her stiff body . The years continued to pass . The children graduated from college and Dave retired . He hunted some , but slept more . I quit mentioning Europe . I could be content at home , just like always . But as soon as I relaxed into a crossword puzzle , I would hear Dave in the kitchen , rooting around like a blind mole . His irritation with me - I should be feeding him , caring for him , not letting him starve in his old age - radiated throughout the house , yet I no longer felt like feeding him . It seemed fair to me that if he couldn 't keep me company , I should hardly be required to cook . We were too old to change ; it was too late to start talking . The kids were grown . Our parents had died years earlier . I would never have the husband I 'd wanted , not in Dave . And I hadn 't wanted much , only few minor things - his presence in the evenings , a kind glance now and then . One trip to Europe . If I 'd wanted something different , the time to get it had long passed . It was too late to do the right thing , but it wasn 't too late to do something . I decided I wouldn 't have to spend the rest of my life alone if I didn 't want to . Like Bill had Bosco , I could have Dave . First , I called Bill 's son , who still ran the family business , and asked about pets . He said he would consider them . Why , he wanted to know , had Willie died ? " No , " I said . I couldn 't bring myself to ask about people . The conversation ended awkwardly . Next , I turned to the phone book . I called taxidermists until I had a list of men and women who , for one reason or another , seemed to me as if they would consider mounting a person . One hung up when he realized the person I wanted to mount wasn 't quite dead yet . From then on , I said I was doing research on whether or not it was possible . Then I added , " Of course , I know you would never do such a thing , but do you know of anyone who might ? " I did . I had already committed myself to spending a large part of our savings after Dave died , making him correct about that one little detail . But I am sure it will be worth it . I think of trophies , I think of love . I will have a monument to the years I have put in as Dave 's wife , an achievement in itself . I believe if Dave knew , in some ways he might even like the idea . After all , taxidermy has been one of his favorite things , and he will finally join the ranks . He would know I won 't be forgetting about him . And I will have the husband I wanted , one who is home . One who won 't leave . I will finally have the comforting , quiet man I always wanted to share my life with . After a year of making calls when Dave was out of the house , I finally talked to someone appropriate . The challenge sounded interesting , he said . When I would have the body ready ? I told him it might take years . I see , he said . I check in with him every few months or so , just to make sure nothing 's changed . I haven 't yet figured out how I 'll get Dave 's body out of the coffin and over to the taxidermist 's . I 'm considering having the wake at my house , where I could switch the body with a dummy I 'd construct . I 'll need a closed casket and something heavy to fill it with , maybe sand from the nursery at the hardware store . If Dave says anything , I 'll tell him I 've started a gardening project . I 'll figure out how to get him to the taxidermist 's later ; maybe one of the kids will help . The technical details will work themselves out , I 'm sure . I return from the basement with a basket full of warm towels , and stop to look at Dave , snoring away in his chair . The beer can , which has come to look natural in his left hand ; the remote , nestled in his right , even as he sleeps . I know that isn 't how I want to see him for the rest of my life . I put the towels away and take out our photo albums , as I did for Mimi , hoping to find ideas . Willie looks with me and I wipe his slobber from each page before turning to the next . There are endless photos of Dave kneeling on the ground , holding the head of a dead animal up to the camera . He looks happy enough in those . But maybe it would be better to have him standing by the back door , his arms crossed , a satisfied look on his face . The look of a man for whom things have turned out exactly as he suspected they might ; no better , no worse . When Willie dies , assuming he goes second , I 'll have him mounted , too . He 'll sit at Dave 's feet , no longer begging to go outside , no longer slobbering . I close my eyes and picture myself sitting across the room , working on a crossword puzzle . I 'll look up and ask Dave if he knows the solution to a difficult clue . His glass eyes will shine at me , but he won 't look annoyed . And when he doesn 't answer , I 'll say , " I didn 't think so , but thanks anyway . " Anne Earney lives in St . Louis with her husband and several well - mannered cats . She earned her MFA from the University of Missouri - St . Louis . Her fiction has been published or is forthcoming in journals such as Hayden 's Ferry Review , Natural Bridge , REAL : Regarding Arts and Letters , Six Little Things , Night Train , and Versal . She is currently working on a Gothic novel .