A PACKAGE WAS WAITING FOR ME ON MY PORCH TODAY WHEN I GOT HOME.

But I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t Ramen.

There were three little jars.

And a note.

It reads:

Aub –

Aftermath of an elk abortion : ) One is an antelope. Read on the lids.

Don’t want them back.

Best Gram

You read that right. In the jars, preserved and floating around in alcohol were three tiny animal babies. I know I blog about Grams a lot – the one that I live with. But my dad’s mom should also get some recognition. The conversations I have with her are hilarious and always worthy of their own separate posts. We butter each other up and tell each other that we’re the best and we’re each others’ favorites. (Which we pretty much are).

But the conversation we had last Saturday takes the cake. It was one of those rare moments when I wasn’t with Kevin – which means I was a lost puppy and wandered over to my moms house for comfort.

And to eat her food.

Which in turn makes Machelle mad and makes both Mom and Dad tell her how I’m a guest in their house and can eat all the Doritos I want.

And I do.

So I’m sitting there stuffing my face and gloating in Machelle’s general direction when “Grandma B” shows up. And I don’t know what got us talking about it, but she brought up the fact that she put in for a Moose tag this season.

“I didn’t know you hunt!!” I blabbed.

“Oh of course I hunt, I even have a baby elk that I preserved in alcohol from one of the first elks I shot.”

“Grandma, that’s gross. That’s blog worthy!! I’m going to come to your house and photograph it and post it on my blog. “

But she trumped me. “I’ll give it to you! I’ll leave it on your porch. So if you ever see a little freaky, dead thing in a jar on your steps just know it’s from me. Treasure it – I’ve spent many years freaking people out with that.”

And I can see why.

They have ribs.

They have creepy caved-in heads. And the top of this jar said it was from ’89 – which means it’s been dead for as long as I’ve been alive.

And this baby elk has hooves and a mouth.

But the oddest of the bunch has to be the antelope.

It was just so developed. from the split hooves to the lungs, ribs, eyes right to the tiny little tail. Now before you think my Grandma B is some heartless baby mammal killer, you should know she had a permit to kill these animals, which means that the babies would have died regardless of if she’d have kept them or not. And you should also know that they used the meat for steaks and it didn’t go to waste.

But they’re still creepy.

After I took some photos I ran the box upstairs and showed Grams. Her reaction was along the lines of, “what the hell!?” and “there’s the garbage outside”.

But I’m not throwing them out. They are a family heirloom that will be scaring kids for generations to come.

Thank you Grandma B.

PS I claim your buffalo head you have hanging on your wall.

Just kidding.

I don’t think I could sleep with that in my house.