I Shoulda Seen This Comin

When I first walked into my husband's diggs, close to 30 years ago now, I was completely impressed. At 24 I had yet to date a man who collected art. And here was this handsome guy - a rising executive - who adorned his walls with limited edition western art. We're talking about Bamas and Dolittles here - big names in the western art world.

While mountain men and Indians weren't quite my style, I found Kenny's collection intriguing. I certainly appreciated it.

And I love Victoriana. My Victorian lampshades, my antiques, my quilts - all work well with western art. Suffice to say all was bliss on the decor front.

But that forever changed once he went elk hunting and returned with a fur. His plan was to have it tanned and then drape the hide over my antique settee. He didn't notice I flinched and he didn't say a word much later when I moved the hide and the settee into our bedroom.

The next year he brought home a large elk head he'd found at a yard sale. Quickly seeing it was made from plaster of Paris, I suggested we put it outside and let it nestle among my basil and rosemary.

"You know, like a real artifact."

He was thrilled to contribute to my garden without having to dig or weed and by the time he noticed it was slowly but surely melting away, it was too late.

"Gosh Haus, what a shame. If only we'd known it was plaster of Paris."

Next he brought home a turkey foot. I didn't ask where it came from. The more pertinent question seemed to be, "Why do we need one?" I don't really remember his answer - most likely because it's potential use couldn't overcome the fact that...it was a turkey foot!

I'm not quite sure what happened to that turkey foot, but the last time I saw it it was in the back of Kenny's underwear drawer.

Last week he called to say he was going to an auction to bid on a full-grown, museum mounted buffalo.

There was a long pause as I weighed my options. Was this the time for stealth and cunning or was it time to draw a line in the sand? If this animal carcass found its way to my door, it would become a permanent and most immovable guest. It'd be impossible for it to casually disappear. We'd likely end up naming it and I'd be dusting it. Or brushing it?

I chose to step into the game.

"Wow...that's interesting. Why don't I go with you and we'll go to lunch afterward?

My heart lurched when I saw it. It was nine feet tall and had been mounted with its head down and it's back legs off the ground, meaning that, as I'm 5'2 and 3/4th, I was eye level with its....

I was aghast. "Are those his...?!"

"Yeah, they did a really good job mounting it, didn't they?"

The bidding was about to begin.

"How high are you willing to go?"

"$500."

Are you kidding me?! What I could do with $500 this afternoon!

"I've got my fingers crossed for you, Baby."

I was debating the pros and cons of fake fainting over fake heat exhaustion as the bidding began. But it started at $500 and was over in just seconds. The man next to us, the one with the very sad wife, won the buffalo for $1900.

I breathed a sigh of relief but Kenny looked a little deflated. Feeling only the barest of sorrow for him, I squeezed his hand.

"What a shame. It would have looked awesome in our front window. Let's go to Ted's Montana Grill and get a buffalo burger."

Which is what we did. But first he had to show me the stuffed birds lying helter skelter on one table and call my attention to seven amazingly ugly boar heads lined up in a row on another. How can a man one wouldn't ever describe as exuberant work up so much enthusiasm for this? As he seemed barely able to tear himself away from the ready-to-strike, stuffed rattlesnake soon to come up for bidding, I thought it prudent to take action.

"Haus, we better go. I think I'm getting overheated. "

The point here is, I shoulda seen all this comin. A man who likes mountain men and Indians will, sooner or later, start bringing home dead things - or bits and pieces of them.