As a preteen, I’m an avid reader of outdoor fishing and hunting magazines. On the back pages of every magazine are advertisements for products and services. The Northwestern School of Taxidermy advertises in every magazine I read, promising to teach you how to mount that grizzly, ten-point buck, or buffalo head above your fireplace. I am captivated and want to be that guy with the grizzly bear head on his fireplace wall when I grow up.

I convince my friend Donny to chip in to purchase the at-home course from the school. While we’re waiting for the course to arrive, we decide that we’ll take the first steps on our own by killing and practicing taxidermy on a bird. Donnie has a Red Ryder lever-action BB Rifle and, in his backyard, we hear the song of a yellow finch, or wild canary as we call them. We stalk the bird to a large willow tree in back of the garage and spot it on a low branch. Donnie lines up and sights the bird and takes a shot. The bird falls to the ground and we rush up to retrieve it. It’s not dead. It’s flapping around and can’t fly or walk. Donnie and I are mortified. The bird is alive. There’s very little blood. What do we do now? An unspoken decision is made to save this bird. We get a small box from the garage, line it with shredded newspaper, and place the wounded bird in it. We try feeding it and putting drops of water in its mouth but after several hours the bird dies. A chilling moment.

We dig a grave behind the garage, bury the bird, and leave bearing a terrible burden of guilt. Donnie and I never speak of this incident again but when The Northwestern School of Taxidermy instruction book arrives, I promptly toss it in the trash with the realization that I am not a born hunter and may never have an animal head on my fireplace wall.