Many corpses have spent time in my freezer. Being a renter I never wanted to bury my small pets anywhere I’d move away from. A vat of Dermestid beetles would’ve been handy to keep the bones of my feathered, furry, & scaly friends in my display case. Technically I do still have some bones, in the soil of a huge ceramic pot now hosting crocosmia. My mobile pet cemetery holds the remains of about a dozen lives. At first under a small evergreen shrub (infested to death by some parasite), then some French lavender (never fully recovered after a snowstorm mashed it). I much prefer the flowers because then, for much of the year, it is simply a cemetery. I wanted to make minuscule headstones but now I can’t remember who all is in there.

As a frequent pedestrian I often chance upon those who’ve met an untimely demise. I usually move them off the road or sidewalk to bushes nearby. Sort of a ‘better resting place’ theory. The only thing worse than finding animals struck by cars is seeing their bodies squashed beyond recognition. They deserve the dignity to decompose in peace.

The day I found a male Anna’s hummingbird beneath a large plate glass window I felt differently. Not only am I a bird fanatic, but I’m moved by the tiny. I’d never been this close to a hum [my abbreviation], let alone held one. I was mesmerized by the iridescent green & magenta feathers, the nigh weightlessness. Brought him home. Then called a taxidermist.

Being laughed at for things I’ve said or done is not new to me, but that taxidermist’s response was egregiously rude. He said it would take a very talented child with a watchmaker’s precision to do such delicate work. Then he told me it couldn’t be done for less than $2500. I was miffed & almost retorted “By that logic a bull moose would cost only $2.50 to stuff.”

Aside from a skull & bone cupboard, I’ve not got an obsession with death. Although I’m often likely to find remains, one time they came to me. That evening I was walking home to my Capitol Hill apartment & noticed the power was out all down my street. As I neared my building I saw a City Light truck in front, with a guy in the cherry picker hoisted up by my 3rd floor window. They were working to remove an obstruction on the power line. I got to the entrance & the guy in the bucket called down “It’s a great horned owl! Hey you– do you want it?” I looked around, replied “Are you talking to me?” “Yeah. It’s pretty cool,” he says back. No doubt, I thought, but my freezer isn’t big enough. Plus he was being kinda presumptuous. Can everybody tell I’m a death collector?

One of the saddest corpses I found was a mother opossum. She’d been hit & managed to make it to the curb, her pouch full of 4-inch joeys spilled out all hairless & blind. I counted 12, & one was still moving. Into my coat pocket the tyke went, even though I knew there was no hope. I figured at least they could expire in cushy warmth. I did call the experts, & they confirmed opossums that young don’t survive. The wee one spent their final 2 hrs wrapped in a plush blanket on a low heating pad. I can’t know for sure if it was more humane, but it’s what I would want.

I have placed so many raccoons in untended grassy patches, beneath bushes or trees. Once I slid a mama off the road so that her 3 kits didn’t also get hit milling around & touching her body. They could then mourn her in relative safety. Almost full grown, they’d probably survive on their own. Though many of the dead I’ve met are considered by some as vermin, a life is a life, fully deserving of respect.

There are some raccoon bones in my collection, but they were found already bare of flesh. I have an aesthetic affinity for bones, a reverence. If they were my remains, I would rather be put to use &/or admired than wasted. I’ve wasted enough time in life. I’d appreciate being useful after it.

Came across a Western tiger swallowtail on the grass by the sidewalk one spring day. When I reached to gingerly pick it up, it fanned its wings in that languorous way they do. I encouraged it to climb onto my finger & carried it to the neighborhood store where my girlfriend worked. She mixed up some sugar water & put drops on my palm. The butterfly drank the nectar with its curly ‘tongue’, fanned its wings some more as I took it to the window. I watched as it fluttered away. It’s nice when you don’t always find the dead.

Walking my dog Sydney many years later we saw a squirrel had been hit in the street. In the grass by the curb, rasping little screeches, was a fuzzy young squirrel, face down & feeble & calling out for mom. I kept Sydney back while I called local wildlife rescue. Up in a hawthorn tree above us was a nest, with another crying kit.

It took less than 10 mins for the team to arrive. I hadn’t realized the center was that close when a van pulled up & 2 heavily tattooed young women with gloves, nets, & a pet carrier jumped out & dashed into action. One climbed the tree, getting stabbed by the thorns (the “Fuck, those are sharp!” gave it away), while the other picked up the babe from the ground. She did a cursory exam & pronounced him healthy enough to thrive, then placed him in the carrier. The woman in the tree said “There’s 2 more here,” & she passed them down to her partner. They removed the mother’s body, putting her in another carrier, & one said to me “It’s lucky you found them.” Then they both thanked me at the same time I was thanking them! We had a thank-off.

I rescue the dead, I rescue the playing-dead [looking at you, tiger swallowtail], & I rescue the death-adjacent. It doesn’t matter if it’s a pigeon, a rat, a mouse (I have done all these & more), or whatever is designated a nuisance critter. I paint myself as a pest, a thorn in the side of the status quo. I plan to continue my subversive, verminous ways beyond the veil. I will haunt like hell.