Disemboweling with Children! Part 3

EXTERNAL ANATOMY OF THE SHARK

Howard. I will call him Howard.

I refer, of course, to the expired and pickled dogfish shark I’ve been carrying around with me all weekend. We’ve certainly spent a lot of time together these last few days, and I think at this point he needs a name.

I brought him home because we- the fifth graders and myself- need to dissect Howard and others of his ilk come Monday morning, and I haven’t the faintest idea of how to go about this, as I’ve never seen the insides of a shark before. I mean, I suppose it has all the normal entrails and accoutrements found in most vertebrates- stomach, liver, gall bladder, duodenum, etc- but unless you know exactly what you are looking for, they all appear to be rather indistinct blobs of grossiness. I thought I’d practice on Howard this weekend.

Friday after work, I’d shoved Howard into the saddlebag of my bike, along with a spare squid, and immediately forgot about him. It was an insanely hot day of the blast furnace variety, and I had worked up a sweat and a parched throat by the time I boarded the train. I knew I had a bottle of water in the saddlebag- although I can’t for the life of me figure out how I managed to forget about the rest of the contents- and reached only to find that I was gripping on the face and skull of a shrink-wrapped ichthyoid. Although ichthyoid means fish. Maybe. I probably just made that up, but no matter, suffice to say it wasn’t pleasant. Howard gave me quite a start.

Earlier, I had texted my friends in some Tom Sawyer-esque attempt to try and get them to dice up this shark with me. They did sound interested, with the exception of Abel, who thought he was getting spam text, although I can’t imagine what sort of company would send a mass message that read “ anybody feel like dissecting a shark tonight?” I wouldn’t reply, either.

And so I brought the shark with me over to the warehouse, the social hub of the peculiar artistic community that I mill around in from time to time. I’ve trotted Howard out several times over the weekend, and by default- the fact that he has been riding shotgun in the saddlebag along with my laptop, books, and toothbrush- he has gotten quite a tour. We went swimming up at the lake, and yes I was tempted to let him ‘free’ strictly for the absurdity of the gesture, but there are small children up there. We drove around the city in a 1961 Chevy Nova painted primer gray and blue and attempted to look cool. I’ve had to stash Howard in lofts and on top of refrigerators to make sure the dogs don’t get at him while we weren’t looking. We even went to see The Mumblers play at the The Guilded Chicken, although Howard had to listen from outside as it was $10 a head to get in, and I didn’t think he’d appreciate the music enough to rationalize spending that kind of money. He’s more of an R&B sort of shark.

I’ve tried to summon both the wherewithal and the moral support to cut him open, but it just hasn’t materialized. I got a few fellows at the BBQ last night interested*, but this being the west coast, they opted to partake in smoking illicit foreign substances before they committed to gutting the shark, and I thought better of it. They were nice guys, but it just felt a little tawdry and violating to let them consider the entrails of Howard as a party trick. Plus it was a BBQ, and that would just be plain inconsiderate to all the people trying to enjoy themselves.

And so, it is Sunday morning, and Howard and I are at the Whole Foods Market, picking up ginger ale, vegetarian ‘chick’n’ patties and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, and I realize I’ve become quite attached to my shark. I'm wondering if he'll be fooled by the fake chicken, being a carnivore. Now that I’ve named him, it’s going to make it that much more difficult later in the afternoon when I have to slice him up. That and the fact that it’s a fucking disgusting thing to have to do anyway.


*Although everyone is pretty interested when you tell them you have a shrink-wrapped dead shark in the other room. If you ever have trouble starting conversation at dinner parties and the like, I highly suggest bringing your own. You may not get invited to any more of them, but people will definitely talk to you.