Today my husband and I took my sister Claire and her husband to Woolaroc - thought it was called Willow Rock. It was named by Frank Phillips after his three favorite things about the place - woods, lake, and rocks. And plenty of taxidermy! I didn't even know they stuffed giraffe heads (and necks). And, no, I don't have pictures of all the trophies, but they brought back memories of my mother's parent's home, with all the evidence of my grandfather's prowess as a hunter. I was eleven when the airplane landed on their house, followed by a very efficient fire, which meant I never had to be around dead animal heads again unless I chose to. And I still don't like them all that much, but have more tolerance for them in an art/ museum setting than in the living room. Lots of live guys roaming the grounds, actually very little movement as the heat coupled with those fur coats made standing still under the shade of the trees the buffalo's stance of choice.