I'm standing around a plywood work table in a backyard in Seward Park on a cloudy Saturday afternoon with a scalpel in one hand and a can of Pabst in the other, working up the nerve to slice into the frozen rat in front of me. Most of the people around the table have thawing bunnies in front of them; I opted for the rat because he struck me as more approachable. His eyes are closed and unlike most of the other creatures on the table, his mouth isn't stained with blood.

"Make a shallow cut along the back from the shoulder blades to about the hip bones," instructs Mickey Alice Kwapis, our twenty-something instructor. Kwapis taught herself taxidermy in 2011 and now travels across the country giving lessons on "ethical taxidermy." She buys her rabbit specimens from a meat processor plant that would otherwise throw them out. She tells me the rats were bred for snake food, destined for zoos until they ended up here, on this table, as part of a four-hour taxidermy tutorial instead.

My reasons for taking the class, other than simple curiosity, are personal. I am the proud owner of a chronically sick rat terrier, which means I brace for bad news at nearly every vet appointment. At our last monthly check-up, I met a very nice woman who has taxidermied all of her pet cats for the past 20 years. As she flipped through photos of delicately posed cats on her iphone, I thought, "Could I do that? Would I do that???" I'm here to find out.

Cutting into a frozen rat feels like slicing a frozen banana. That's the worst part, really, the first cut—and the pervasive dead rat smell. After that cut, fascination sets in, the awe of gently pulling aside the (hairy) curtain and seeing what's inside the creature in front of you. If you do it right, the process is not bloody. It simply takes patience and dexterity with both a scalpel and a sewing needle. I am good with none of those things. Coring and stuffing a rat settled my mind; my dog will not be taxidermied. When the time comes, he will be bronzed like my first baby shoes, teeth, and maxi pad.

My eleven taxidermy cohorts were respectful, curious, and full of good questions. Here are the answers to a few:

On taxidermying roadkill: It may be illegal (in Washington, it's definitely illegal to take big game). Check with your state's department of fish and wildlife.
On blood: Peroxide takes it out of anything.
On storage: "My freezer is 30 percent booze and 70 percent dead animals," Kwapis says.

Kwapis will be back in Seattle to teach another round of beginner taxidermy classes September 13-15 at The Belfry in Pioneer Square. Check out www.detroittaxidermy.com for more details.

Photos from the taxidermy class after the jump. Not for the squeamish.