AGUILAR — Somebody had loved this pit bull. They loved it enough to pack it in a box, overnight it from California to Huffman Taxidermy and trust this tattooed Harley guy to stuff it, pose it and restore that twinkle in its eye.

The bottom half of the recently deceased pit bull was just skin and paws. But Steven Montoya was elbow-deep as he restored it recently, hunched over a wooden workbench, padding and sewing as he went, like someone putting the batting back in a deflated pillow. Steven’s mother, Helen, sat behind him and prepped a bird.

She’ll never know how she ended up with this taxidermy job. The soft-spoken mother is known for her care of live animals, as well as dead ones, taking in strays and driving injured dogs or cats 50 miles from this tiny Colorado town to the nearest clinic.

The taxidermists at Huffman work on all the regular stuff: coyotes, every type of bird imaginable, rabbits, wild cats. But they also stuff house cats, dogs, parakeets, snakes and just about anything else that fits into their 3-foot- tall freeze-drying machine.

For clients, who pay from $800 to $1,800, the final product allows them to keep their best friends around forever, resting near the fireplace, at the foot of the bed, wherever.

Steven, 42, doesn’t really ask questions. He just works and he has won a wide repuation for his ability to add life to the lifeless.

He wouldn’t do it himself, though. He says he’ll pass on stuffing his husky, Misha. “I’ll probably have it cremated,” he said. But he wants some of the ashes put into ink for a tattoo.

Not for Boots

Aguilar, about three hours south of Denver, is the type of town where not too long ago a stray dog became a local celebrity and whose demise was the cause of much debate.

At first, the town of about 600 thought Boots should be stuffed and put in the local bar — given that Huffman’s is one of the few shops in the country that does that type of thing. But in the end, they decided to memorialize it with an American Indian dream catcher hung on a fence.

When a customer with a pet calls in — most are from California (“It’s a different kind of animal lover out there, I guess,” Steven said) — they usually speak with Vicky Huffman, who owns the shop with her husband, Steve.

They preserve about 100 pets each year; the customers are all ages. Many just want to talk about how much their animal meant to them. Most sob over the phone. They ask Huffman if it’s weird that they want to stuff their pet. Huffman tells them no. She doesn’t necessarily get it, but she understands why they would want to.

“I don’t blame them. I mean, you have a pet for 15 years, and it becomes part of your family,” she said.

The people whom Huffman speaks with just can’t imagine life without their pet. Even if that means the animal just lies in repose with a ball in its mouth, stiff, resting in the living room, or displayed in a glass cabinet like fine china.

It makes sense to Alan Beck, director of the Center for the Human-Animal Bond at Purdue University. He researches how our deep desire for animal companionship can translate to such extremes.

Beck believes humans first domesticated dogs not because we wanted them for work but for companionship. The idea seems to go against evolutionary logic. Why would early humans spend time on so one-sided an arrangement?

“Our relationship with an animal is more relaxing because it’s nonjudgmental. You can talk with a dog, and it doesn’t matter what you say.”

In other words, your parakeet won’t fly away after overhearing a fight you had with your husband. Just like your dog won’t pee on your bed sheets because you refuse to do the dishes. Unconditional love. Even when we don’t deserve it. And now that pets have moved inside we’ve spent more time with them, and we’ve given them human- like emotions.

“Nature on demand”

Beck also said that humans have an innate desire to be around other living systems. The theory, called biophilia, suggests for example that patients recover more quickly when their hospital bed is near a window and cheer up when an animal is brought in on visits.

Beck believes many people keep animals for a sort of “nature on demand” feeling. We may not think of this as something we require, but it’s a natural need.

Helen, Steven and Vicky can only guess why people call them to stuff their beloved animals. Maybe it’s too hard for them to think of their best friend in the ground. Or maybe the presence comforts them.

Huffman tells a story about a man — a kennel owner, no less — in Nevada whose dog died after being forgotten in the car at work.

The owner’s distraught wife drove the dog to Huffman’s taxidermy shop, where the woman had it stuffed so that she could always keep it with her.

When she returned home, she had news for him: She wanted a divorce.

Weston Phippen: 303-954-1211 or wphippen@denverpost.com