Growing up, my Dad dabbled in taxidermy. He skinned dead animals. In almost all cases the animals died as roadkill. The pelts hung in our house for a long time, the bobcat resided above the piano and looked down with glass eyes as little fingers practiced below...I digress... Seeing dead animals in the back of my Dad's truck isn't too surprising. Or in his garage freezer where he kept the bear, skunk and last fox...again, I digress... People who know my Dad will, on occasion, call him if they have a dead animal situation which is what happened this morning. My Dad came over to fix a broken pipe, Ivy ran out to greet him and as I walked toward the truck I could see they were talking quietly and sadly but had wide-eyes and excitement was building. A friend had earlier called my Dad to let him know a Grey Fox had been hit by a car and died on his front lawn. There it lay in the bed of the truck, so soft and beautiful in it's winter coat. Ivy was upset knowing Savannah would miss all the excitement but my Dad needed to skin this fox pronto and couldn't wait for Savannah to get home from school hours later. So we did the next best thing...we did a little propping/photo taking/LARP-ing.