Death of a Hummingbird

According to my mentor, ruby-throated hummingbirds are "quite easy" to prepare for display. Such small, delicate birds do not have much tissue to worry about, and I was advised to simply inject various areas of its body with ethanol and allow the bird to dry. With a little primping of the feathers, a hummingbird should be ready within about a week. Still, this has become one of the most difficult taxidermy projects I've encountered since beginning my work. 

As an interesting note, this is an unusual preparation. It's on a spreading board
typically used to dry certain pinned insects, as it will be displayed
among other native pollinators like beetles, butterflies, and bees.

The Museum's salvage freezer has gotten a little out of hand. A bobcat, raccoon, and various rodents recently joined a number of bird remains and have effectively filled the standard-sized chest freezer. As a result, I've been making a point to complete more animal preparations lately. While it might be more sensible to make use of some of the larger animals, a new exhibit requires that I prepare a hummingbird specimen soon. So, this weekend I removed one from the freezer and allowed it to thaw for a simple evening project. 

Once I got home, I took the bird out from a ziplock bag and glanced at a single sheet detailing important information about its collection. My heart sank. The bird turned out to be one of my own deposits, and in that instant I was brought back to the memory of a failed rescue attempt. While the ensuing project was indeed mechanically "easy," my thoughts bounced back and forth between the ethics of taxidermy and the horrible memory of watching such a beautiful animal slip into death.

I thought back to last June when I found the bird lying on black asphalt. I had been caring for a tiny dog who very much enjoyed our evening strolls in town and noticed the bird right before he tried to pounce on it. After exclaiming to the dog that the hummingbird was not one of his beloved pinecones, I brought him inside his house and returned with a small produce container. The bird had still been alive and I was determined to do something. After attempting to routinely feed it nectar while waiting for transportation to a wildlife rehabilitation center, the bird didn't survive. I hoped that my efforts helped to subdue its suffering, but still felt a knot in my stomach in realizing it had died.

This ruby-throated hummingbird did
not survive after attempts to rescue it. Immediately
contacting a licensed rehabilitator is an important
step of the process of saving the life of an animal.

Months later I found myself prodding at its body. While I regularly state that taxidermy is an educational, artistic process, I don't enjoy every aspect of the practice. Sometimes it's simply difficult to come face to face with death. The implications of my work do help me to get through those difficult moments, though, because the reality of taxidermy is that it's not a dirty, immoral practice. Through taxidermy, an animal may bring people to a higher appreciation for the delicate beauty of nature--even in death. Knowing that helps to add meaning to what I do.