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crumbles

Francois, pronounced ‘swa’ as in swat, had developed a Pavlovian tendency causing him to air swat imaginary insects when foreign human mouth holes seized up stating his name incorrectly as Francis.

Lunchtime sunshine routines found Francois basking by the manicured edges of a secluded pond that lie near shadows thrown from the Church of Flowing Water. In these dry sandwich moments, he would study the texture of Canadian geese during their intercontinental freshen up flyover pitstops.

Squirrels would scurry scamper across itchy tree trunks while Francois noted their tail flips and chatter chirp spits. Rolling a portable cooler with him chock full of frozen peas and sliced grapes, Francois would unleash himself in critter land for hours.

Dogs or cats would meander by with leashed owners but the key in animating the mouth creases on the deceased giggle host was achieved from studying the squirrels.

Tranquility in life thrilled Francois who opted to invest himself by immersion of his soul in lucid animal peace moments rather than engage with the epidermis attitude slayers referred to as people.

Sketch books would accompany him on his lengthy half-day meal refresh sessions of inspiration. In order to understand animals, one had to align themselves with all the integral moving parts.

It would appear to bystanders or looky-loos that Francois was a private, distinguished spirit who may or may not have been recently widowed. Neither assumption was on target nor any of their business.

Francois had perfected lifelike taxidermy for twenty-seven years. Full submersion of himself in all facets of his commitments took mindful dedication. In animal taxidermy kingdoms, Francois’ legendary attention to detail was synonymous with ‘breathtaking allurance.’

He spent seven days on every dedication memorial piece paying critical attention to his embellished peacock signature that was camo-airbrushed into each of his lifestyle-posed monument designs. His ability to enrapture audiences by styling a family’s fur child in their best radiating light was a sacred gift delivered to Francois from the animal spirit gods.

In the span of his career, Francois earned eight coveted Smashing Expectations furry awards from the We Are Taxidermy Licensing Committee (WATLC). Francois proudly riveted each stylized urn trophy on a teak beam spotlit near a wishing well adjacent to the entrance of his sugar shack cabin nestled in the toe jam recesses of Crustacean Valley.

Francois’ life was seasoned with loss. Nearly every walk-in or referral that presented to his home business was missing a love branch fur face from their family tree. Francois was a minister of empathy as much as he was a conduit of hope.

His business had evolved from crime scene animal reconstruction for the courts to a catered, focused personal vocation comforting those releasing portions of their hearts onto journeys over the rainbow bridge. Francois wanted to have a more substantial part of those journeys in his own contrived way.

Francois’ unique paper mâché skin creature project started on a whim. A few feathers pinched from Squawkers, eyelashes plucked from Fraidy cat, pronounced cheek fur tufts snuck off Bowzer. Francois never meant disrespect, for this was a creation energized with dignified honor.

There existed an inventoried vault full of stored memory elements garnered from decades of Francois withdrawing fragments that were then quilted into a Frankensteined version of his own fuzzy combobulation friend named crumbles.

He could never bring his hope filled self to the world of pet ownership. After experiencing so much fragmentation of emotions when animal ghosts stirred up vats of missed memory moments for his shattered customers, Francois opted to blissfully bond with crumbles.

Crumbles was a technicolor rainbow spirit that could bark, meow, cluck, crow, ribbit, and slither! Crumbles was magical. Crumbles was eternal.

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Berthed from mischievous leprechauns near technicolor shadow lands surrounding Honah Lee, Theodore Wallbanger rides mysterious sparkle railcars bursting with crunchy cotton candy clouds dispatched from slippery erotic massage vixens who rage pillow laugh hourly within a splintered transportation module that screams along butterscotch wonder tracks forming vibrations for audiences across Sugar Hill Mountain.

Image generated on AI Image Generator, Canva