Your Bear Rug Terrifies Me, or Why I Can't Fully Appreciate Natural History Museums

Once upon a time, I did a blog post about my fears, where I mentioned my ongoing battle with taxidermy animals. At the time, I wrote about how now, I could handle it, and it wasn’t terrible. I’d like to revisit the topic today, because I may not have it as under control as I thought.

I’d like to talk today about my complicated relationship with this monkey on my back.

I’m heading back to Montana in 5 days, which I am anxious and excited about. I haven’t been back since I was fifteen, and things are different now. Do you know what’s not different? My uncle. He sport hunts, which doesn’t bother me a whole ton. I don’t do the stuff myself, but it’s something that I’ve grown up with. I was skyping with my mom today, and she mentioned that he had shown her a photo of a Black Bear my cousin Matt had taken down that they then had mounted in a lifelike snarly-standy pose, and put into his cabin. Uncle has a very nice cabin in the mountains, and I would really like to go there. And it isn’t just the bear. From the sounds of it, Uncle has constructed a magnificent trophy room full of all sorts of creatures that will scare the living daylights out of me.

I have had this fear for as long as I can remember.

The most vivid manifestation of this fear happened when I was probably six or seven. I was in Brownies at the time. My mom had been in girl scouts when she was younger, and I think she was really hoping that I would take to it the same way she did. I think that this incident may have contributed to my leaving the troop.

My Girl Scout troop had gone to the Peter Yegan Jr. Yellowstone County Museum, which is located up by the airport in Billings. In theory, this is a great idea. It’s free, it’s close to the school that all of the girls in my troop went to, and it’s educational, because it’s about the history of Montana. Everyone wins. Well, no. When you first walk in, there’s a whole moose right there staring at you. Little Cait had her very first panic attack, ran outside, and latched onto a support column. Mrs Fick, my troop leader, tried to dislodge me from the beam, but it wasn’t happening. My dad had to leave work early to come and pry me off of the pole. He was not impressed. These days, I don't run screaming from the room, but I do feel very very uncomfortable, and have to leave as soon as possible. Think of it as having a fear of spiders, but watching your friend handle a tarantula. You don't like sitting there, but you can't be rude and sprint out of the place.

What is it that is so horrifying?

A laundry list of things that are awful:

• The more lifelike the pose, the worse it is.
• The American Museum of Natural History is the worst for this, because it has perfect little dioramas of them in their 'natural habitat'. 
• Carnivores are worse than herbivores.
• Bigger is also worse.
• Kodiak Bears cause me significant distress.
• If it is looking right at me, that’s also an issue. Those glassy awful eyes...

The list has exceptions:

• Anything small enough that I could fend it off in a bare-knuckle boxing match
• Includes squirrels, rabbits, most birds...the like.
• Anything behind a sheet of glass.
• It makes it more like visiting the zoo, which does not scare me.
• Fish.
• I think this might have to do with the way they are mounted. They look plasticky when they’re done. It makes it like they aren’t real. I once saw a taxidermy Great White Shark which was not okay, but it was quite large. Normal sized fish are alright.

With this...problem...of mine, I have episodic worsening. Sometimes, it’s fine, and I can sit through a dinner at Outback Steakhouse without batting an eye at the damn horrifying buffalo head that should not be on the wall at all. Other times, we end up ushered to a back table, away from all the dead things. Kind of like Raj from the Big Bang Theory, after a couple of drinks I’m usually better too. You usually can’t pound back a screwdriver at the Natural History Museum though. Shame, it could be a good source of income if they did sell liquor...but I digress. Right now, I’m at one of my more bad times of fear. I am sure that my grandfather, who loves Outback, my hunting Uncle, and my mother will try to beat it out of me. And why shouldn't they? It's ridiculous. I know it's ridiculous. The chance of these animals reanimating and attacking me is infinitely small. It just isn't logical. And that's where the problem is. I know it isn't logical, and that doesn't help me one bit.

Because of my field of study, I have to spend a fair bit of time around taxidermy. It's nearly unavoidable. I have a system that makes it okay, although I am still very uncomfortable and make my excuses to leave as soon as I can. I have to go into the room with my eyes shut, or looking at the floor. Someone must then describe to me where all of the animals in the room are, and what they are. Then I look up at them. I might have to look away a few times for it to be okay. After I've been somewhere once, and I know what's coming, I can eliminate the extra person who has to be with me. I'm actually laughing writing this, because it's just so outrageous. 

I suppose the reason for this is to see exactly how alone I am. Strictly speaking, there must be someone else who has some odd phobia that affects their lives on a frequent basis. One of my friends already pointed out a blog post by OhSoAng that eerily sounds like something I could have written. We’re incredibly similar in this. Are there more of you? Are you maybe terrified by something else equally bizarre? How did your phobia start? Let me know. I’m really interested.

Also, I’ll be in Montana starting next week, and I’m sure I’ll be talking about my summer there!