This morning one of the Zoologist in my office asked if I wanted to see a Fisher necropsy.
I should have said no.
We walked over to the other office building, and went down onto the dark parkade level of the building where the lab was. It was more of a long cement closet with large freezers and a metal sink and long metal counter in it, with a lump of fur sitting on it.
Shiver.
This furry friend had been tracked for a few years, and something had killed it (this is what they were trying to figure out), she pointed out the bruising where the stomach used to be, and how the organs were gone. Not a lynx, it would have gone for the neck. Probably a wolf, a young one, it didn't eat the Fisher, just killed it. Maybe poison, no stomach to test it's contents though.
The smell wasn't so bad, apparently it's the decomposing organs that give off the odour I was expecting. I almost lost my stomach though when she pealed back the pelt that had been partly skinned before we arrived. She "undressed" him, pointed out the muscles and fat down it's back, and where small animals had eaten through the ear.
There was blood smeared on her gloves, the shiny metal surface of the counter, on the lips of the empty labelled bags beside the dead. I was starting to feel light headed, I didn't realize I kept trying to hold my breath. Or maybe it was just nausea.
It was uncomfortable for me to see the way the animal was handled. Not rough, just with a lack of compassion. Routine. Detachment. But they used names. Julie, Penelope, Latcher. They had stories and personalities, but now they lie there, motionless.
I couldn't understand there knowledge and connection with the animal, and how they handled it now.
I don't understand death.
I was standing beside one of the big freezers, that I hadn't realized was a freezer, until someone wanted inside. I stepped back and saw it was filled with labelled bags, white, black, and clear, some looked smeared with red. That was it. I was out of there. If I stayed my breakfast of chocolate and banana-nut cheerios would have been on the cold cement floor. Even if I didn't see the inside of the frozen coffin, the smell that rose was enough to send my eyes to the back of my head and my heels turned to the exit.
Subtle laughs followed me out. Bent over, hands on knees, back into the dark parkade, trying not to puke. I noticed dry red splashes, and smears on the grey cement floor around the doorway. Some lighter then others, and a few roundish drops.
Shivers.
I waited for the others under fluorescent lights, and confirmed with myself that Zoology is not a path I will be taking, and I'd much rather stick to plants.
They have far less blood.