I still remember the crisp morning air of Valentine in 1899, the dust settling on my boots as I stumbled upon that weathered poster at the train station. Ms. L. Hobbs’ taxidermy request seemed simple enough at first glance—just a squirrel and rabbit in perfect condition. Little did I know this would spiral into a five-stage odyssey across states, testing my patience, aim, and sanity. How could such tiny creatures demand so much from a seasoned outlaw like me? The promise of rewards and honed hunting skills lured me in, but the true journey became about conquering the wilderness itself. Each rustle in the undergrowth felt personal, each failed shot a humiliation. Was I hunting these animals, or were they hunting my resolve?

Hunting Request #1: Humble Beginnings

After settling into Chapter 2, I found the first notice pinned inside Valentine’s Post Office. The assignment? A perfect squirrel and rabbit carcass. Armed with my trusty Varmint Rifle, I scoured the forests near Cumberland Falls. Those squirrels! They’d mock me from treetops, vanishing the moment I drew a bead. When I finally bagged them after three real-world hours, my hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but triumph. Sending the parcels felt anticlimactic, though. Would Ms. Hobbs even appreciate the effort?

• Rabbit Hotspots: Heartland Overflow meadows, dawn patrols

• Squirrel Sanctuaries: Tall trees around Rhodes, oak clusters

• Essential Tool: Varmint Rifle (anything else ruins the pelt!)

Hunting Request #2: Feathered Fiends

True to form, the postmaster handed me Ms. Hobbs’ next demand after one restless in-game day. This time: a cardinal, rat, and woodpecker—all flawless. Birds became my nemesis. I’d crouch in Bluewater Marsh, binoculars glued to my eyes, only for red-winged shadows to taunt me. The rat? A vile surprise in Saint Denis alleys at midnight. My $50 reward barely covered the ammunition spent. Why must beauty demand such brutality?

Animal	Location	Weapon
Cardinal	Scarlet Meadows riverbanks	Small Game Arrow
Rat	Saint Denis sewers	Varmint Rifle
Woodpecker	Tall Trees forest edges	Bow

Hunting Request #3: The Tiny Terror Brigade

Hobbs’ third letter arrived with a gut punch: chipmunk, opossum, oriole, and robin. The chipmunk’s size—no larger than my thumb—drove me mad. I combed Ringneck Creek for hours, cursing every false alarm. The opossum’s nocturnal habits meant sleepless nights; I’d doze off against trees, rifle slipping from my grip. That moment when dawn painted the sky and I spotted a robin’s crimson breast? Pure euphoria. 🎯 Yet, I wondered—does taxidermy justify this madness?

Hunting Request #4: Swamp Nightmares

By request four, I’d become a walking field guide. Five creatures now: songbird, sparrow, toad, skunk, and bullfrog. The Bayou Nwa swamps tested my sanity. Bullfrogs croaked like drunken minstrels beside murky ponds, while skunks—oh, the skunks!—sprayed me twice near Lagras. I reeked for days, my horse snorting in disapproval. The toads were worst; their jumps felt like personal insults. Each tiny corpse in my satchel weighed like guilt.

• Toxic Trio (Skunk/Toad/Frog): Lakay mudflats, moonlit expeditions

• Songbird/Sparrow: Roanoke Ridge foggy clearings, patience required

• Pro Tip: Wear a bandana—skunk stench lingers!

Hunting Request #5: Epilogue’s Grand Finale

Years later, as John Marston rebuilding Beecher’s Hope, Hobbs’ final list arrived: cedar waxwing, bat, bluejay, crow, and beaver. Hunting bats in Ewing Cave felt gothic—pitch darkness, fluttering shadows, and the echo of my own breath. The beaver? A lumbering giant at Owanjila Dam that nearly drowned me. When I mailed that last batch, relief washed over me. Nineteen perfect pelts later, I’d transformed from bumbling hunter to artist. But what awaited at Strawberry?

The invitation came promptly. Hobbs’ taxidermy shop in Strawberry unveiled the masterpiece—a grotesque yet intricate squirrel statue. Abigail’s horrified face when I placed it on our mantle? Priceless. 🐿️ The "It’s Art" achievement triggered after it teleported around Beecher’s Hope—barn, porch, even the chicken coop! Finding it daily became our absurd family ritual.

Now, in 2025, I sometimes boot up RDR2 just to admire that ridiculous statue. Those months of tracking, failing, and prevailing weren’t about the $50 rewards—they carved humility into my outlaw soul. The wilderness taught me that perfection isn’t taken; it’s earned with calloused hands and stubborn hope. That squirrel poster in Valentine? It wasn’t a request. It was an invitation to rediscover awe, one tiny heartbeat at a time. Who knew taxidermy could feel so alive?