Monday, June 22, 2009

Whacked Groundhog & Pulp Fiction

As you know, dead things don't creep me out. I don't actively cause death, but am certainly fascinated by it. I've been known to even collect and photograph dead things. Death is a popular theme in much of my art work. 

Today was an exception. Even I was completely GROSSED out. My daughter was mowing the lawn today and ACCIDENTALLY ran over an already dead animal. (My rescue greyhound must have been in full chase mode). When she stopped the mower to inspect her handiwork, she wasn't able to ascertain the species, given its state of disarray. Who knew that a tractor mower was such an efficient shredder or that it had such a large projectile. She was understandably freaked out, but left the animal on the lawn for me to take care of.  

I quickly deduced that it was NOT a chipmunk or squirrel. The spilled brains and bloody paws were much too large. The flies had beat me to the site. I spent 30 minutes picking pieces of groundhog parts out of a ten foot plot of grass, so the dog and cat wouldn't eat it. 

I am reminded of the scene from Pulp Fiction where John Travolta and Samuel Jackson are in the car with another guy and the gun accidentally goes off, blowing the guy's brains all over the car. This scene always makes me laugh hysterically and then I feel guilty for laughing. They call in the 'cleaner'--Harvey Keitel, who makes them clean every speck of blood, brains and guts from the inside of the car. 

Let me tell you first hand--it's not that easy cleaning up carcass detritus. Just when you think you are done, there's more. I was not even TEMPTED to save, freeze or scan the debris. What did I do to deserve this?


  1. I could barely read this, not being good in the face of, um, what you wrote about. But I had to comment because -- what are the odds? -- we share the exact same name, are in the same field (art, writing), and live in relative geographical proximity albeit in different countries.

    Perhaps we live in parallel worlds; last night I was thinking about watching the Woody Allen film, trying to separate the man from his work, because his name always makes me cringe...

    Salut! Colette

  2. Oh man, I shot Marvin in the face.