Nothing says Christmas like a bucket of dead animals...


Eldest daughter, the amphibian biologist wannabe, received several ideal gifts from her indulgent parents and grandparents. And when I say "ideal," I mean "related to dissection," of course.

First, there was the complete dissection kit, with scalpels, probes, and all manner of shiny devices. Next came the shrink-wrapped frog, a beautiful specimen, preserved like an Egyptian pharoah for eternity... or at least until someone dissects it. Finally, the coup de grace, a bucket of dead things awaiting the scalpel... worm, perch, crayfish, rat, fetal pig, and who knows what else.

Suggests a whole new set of verses for "The Twelve Days of Christmas."

(As an aside, we ordered the bucket o' specimens from the Edmund Scientific catalog and anxiously awaited their arrival. When the order didn't arrive, we called the Edmund company, and they confirmed that the order had been shipped and delivered. The UPS man apparently just left them on the front porch on a day we weren't home, but when we got home, the box was gone. We were annoyed, but we also wondered what the clever UPS thief thought when he opened his ill-gotten booty only to discover that it contained not a gross of I-pods, but some gross dead things.)


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