INTRODUCTION
As a lifelong enthusiast of natural history, taxidermy has always held
a certain fascination for me. What I describe as a passion, the less
sympathetic among us might characterize as an aiction, perhaps
justifiably so. I got started early through regular trips to the American
Museum of Natural History on New York Citys Upper West Side.
Many hours of my formative years were spent collecting and orga-
nizing rocks, seashells, fossils, and insects. From there, I moved on
to raising and exhibiting ornamental poultry, including rare breeds
of chickens, pheasants, and peafowl. And, yes, I received my share of
impressive accolades, including county Grand Champion of Poultry
Showmanship three years in a row. These early experiences provided
essential fuel to an already smoldering curiosity about the natural
world and our place within it, and this propelled me to conduct
undergraduate studies at Harvard, where I studied the history of
science with luminaries such as Stephen Jay Gould.
Yet, despite my fascination with the natural world, I
came to the conclusion that a purely academic career
path was not for me. I conjured up a number of decid-
edly pragmatic rationalizations in support of this con-
clusion. To this day, Im not certain that I found any of
them especially compelling. But, they were enough to
convince me that I would surely struggle to support
myself financially as a zoologist or paleontologist.
Moreover, the pressure to publish arcane mono-
graphs on topics of dubious interest would most
certainly catch up with me before long. Perhaps most
importantly, the golden age of great scientific discov-
eries was over, or so I told myself. The vast expanse of
the unknown had long since yielded its dominion to
its insipid cousin, the verifiable fact; what was left to
speculation were just a few piteous scraps fallen from
the table of technological innovation.
So, what was a disillusioned would-be scientist to do?
Well, inspired largely by my parents, both of whom
are lifelong educators and entrepreneurs, I ultimately
choose to pursue a career at the nexus of educa-
tional publishing and technology. Despite this more
traditional career path, my interest in the natural
sciencesand, by extension, historical taxidermy
continued to percolate just below the surface.
But, this book really isnt about me or my life choices:
Its about dogs, taxidermy dogs, specifically. Its pub-
lication was the result of a number of unexpected
events, chance encounters, and other entirely unpre-
dictable circumstances. There is no convenient nar-
rative or logical thread that ties it all neatly together,
making sense of the irrefutably bizarre. Though
surely clich, it is fair to say that the pages that fol-
low do raise a great many questions, but provide few
definitive answers. One peculiar tidbit is that I do not
even consider myself a dog person, with obligatory
apologies proffered to Ruby and the late Tyrone, the
rescue dogs to whom this book is dedicated. To be
clear, I do love dogs, the two aforementioned canines
in particular, but Im not an individual that is so
dog-obsessed that I welcome the sensation created
by the prodigious slobber of an adoring pooch with
outstretched tongue pressed against my face. We all
have our limits, and any exchange of saliva involving
two or more species, one of them being human, is
where I draw the line.
But, to consider what this book is really about, I think
it may be most useful to start by clarifying what it is
not. Despite my occasional regrets about not pursuing
a career in academia, this is decidedly not a belated
attempt at scholarly redemption. It is not a research-
based treatise on the evolution of dog breed morphol-
ogy over the centuries, their temperament, or their
incredible phenotypic diversity. It is not an explana-
tion of taxidermy techniques nor a compendium on
historical taxidermists and their works. It is also not
an attempt to contextualize the Victorian psyche and
prevailing attitudes toward nature and animal hus-
bandry at the turn of the nineteenth century. These
themes have been explored in impressive detail by
many scholars and dedicated collectors, including
John Whitenight, Errol Fuller, and Dr. Pat Morris, all
of whom have served as inspiration for my journey
as a collector. So, what makes dead dogs preserved
through the art and science of taxidermy a worthy
choice of subject matter?
As an avid collector of antique taxidermy and natural
history, I have had the opportunity to appreciate
and even acquire exceedingly rare specimens,
including examples of extinct species, including the
leg bone of a Dodo and the feather of a Great Auk.
Many such items have provenances tying them to
historically significant collections and call to mind