The Pelican-- Learning to Care, Even After Life

Sami Elfiqhi

     Animal Ark Wildlife Sanctuary recently hosted an Education Expo that taught just about everyone involved in one way or another. It was a beautiful, day-long event, the first of its kind, and it left everyone eager to return next year. I volunteered with the Lahontan Audubon Society, anticipating a day of measuring children’s wingspans, holding up Great Horned Owl talons, and doing my best to answer all bird-related questions. What I wasn’t expecting was how often I’d be asked, “Is it dead?”

     Our table held an endless amount of information, presented in various forms: a poster board discussing the dangers of plastic, displays of different nests, and—most notably—several taxidermied birds. For the first couple of hours, a steady flow of families entered Animal Ark, and our table was one of their first stops. It wasn’t until the third child looked at the taxidermied barn owl and asked what was wrong with it that I began to wonder; what must it be like for a child to come to a wildlife sanctuary expecting live animals, only to come face-to-face with deceased ones—and for some, to hold them in their hands?

     I approached each visitor with the same level of caution they showed as they approached our table. Some were eager to learn, asking as many questions as they could before their parents shuffled them along to the next attraction. Some never attempted to touch a single feather on any of our birds. My favorite moments, however, were with the children who interacted with the taxidermied species the way I imagine they play with stuffed animals at home. I heard some children give the red-tailed hawk a name as it lay in their arms. One child even kissed the stomach of an owl as they gently returned it to the table. As I watched these encounters, I tried to gauge what the child was ready to hear about why these animals were with us. A couple of parents were one step ahead of me, quickly saying, “They’re sleeping,” before anything else could be said. Other parents were ready to turn it into a lesson, urging their kids to “ask the workers what happened to the bird.” Whether the child had endless questions or stayed silent, they all walked away with the same curious look on their faces.

     It didn’t take long for me to see the art of taxidermy in a new light. I started to think about the kind of connection it offers and how meaningful that connection can be, despite its strangeness. There were some questions about the educational value versus the emotional impact of displaying these birds so openly, but I realized how important it is to embrace the possible discomfort rather than avoid it. Taxidermy allows us to get close to birds in a way we can’t through other means. For many children, it might be their first tactile moment with a real bird. That kind of experience can spark a lasting appreciation for wildlife. Holding a bird, even one that’s no longer alive, can make it feel more real than any photo or video ever could. That moment is an introduction to something that matters. It can plant the seeds of care and curiosity for nature at a young age. 

     I’ve tabled many times and seen taxidermy animals just as often, but this day made me understand what this form of education really offers. Before, I thought of these animals as real-life illustrations to accompany facts. I assumed I had already learned everything I could just by glancing at them. But being on the other side of the table helped me realize just how much is being taught through these materials and how deep that knowledge can go. 
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     Lahontan Audubon Society has made this knowledge and these resources accessible and interesting; I hope our community will take advantage of this organization and keep it alive for future generations. 

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