Sunday, December 10, 2006 - Opossums in the moon light...

They did it to me again...

This time, just minutes ago, as I made my nightly rounds within the borders of our small, city property we have keenly dubbed 'The Harrison Homestead', I was startled by movement.  There I was, minding my own business, and I round the corner to see a huge, bald rat tail, big beady eyes, and a big, open mouth with pointy teeth, hissing in my general direction before it slinked off under the van.

Geez-oh-Petes!  Opossums really creep me out!  It took me 15 minutes before I had my 'willies' under control.

I remember the first time I became up close and personal with an opossum.  Believe it or not, I had never encountered one growing up in the country.  I only saw them dead on the side of the road (as we drove by) or Mutual of Ohmaha's "Wild Kingdom" with Marlin Perkins (an old animal t.v. show for you young readers).

Anyway, one mid morning, back in  the summer of 2003, I had just called my ever loving, always hungry husband at work, trying to pick his brain on what to make for dinner that evening.  I got the usual 'I dunno' (must be a universal husband response) and so, in mild irritation, decided to bag the weekend garbage and take it outside to the trash can.   I opened the lid...and this huge, white, rat like thing with all these teeth, jumped and hissed about!

I SCREAMED so hard, my voice was hoarse for at least a day!  I slammed the lid back down and jumped back, my heart pounding in my throat and ears.  What the heck was that?  Some mutated thing from the sewer?  A strange, chemical reaction from the summer heat and the things I cleaned out of my refridgerator?  My husband's ex-girlfriend before me?  (Naw...her whiskers were black...) 

I, for the life of me, drew a complete blank.   Looking back, I believe that the fumes of the city had ate into my brain, and therefore, all my country knowledge had leaked out somewhere.  Thinking I possibly had spent too much time in the heat and that I must had been seeing things, I crept back up to the red trash can, opened the lid ever so s-l-o-w-l-y and peeked inside.  All I saw was those angry, black beady eyes and even more yellow, pointy teeth, beared in my general direction.  Yep.  It was a opossum.  I slammed the lid back down, put a handy cement block on top of the lid and paced back and forth in front of the trash can, thinking 'What am I gonna do now'?

Well, I did the first thing that came to my mind.  I called back my ever loving, always hungry husband at work, and said, "Guess what honey?  I got us some dinner"!

The man was not amused.  In fact, for the next two weeks, he looked at his dinner plate with suspicion.

I was not sure what to do with this...this thing.  Had we lived in the country, I would have had a few options.  Like take the trash can to nearby woods and let it go.  Or, I could have shot it or ran a pitch fork through it, and buried it in the garden.  (Animal lovers, no need for a lecture here - it did not happen that way).  But, this was the city, and I had no clue.  So, when I am not too sure what to do, I call my ever loving, brilliant husband at work.  Again. 

"Honey", he said, "We live in the city.  When city people have a problem with animals, they call the animal control office".

"Ahhhh.  So animal control is sorta like the DNR officer back home"?

"Yes".

"Except they are not as friendly and they wear those really ugly looking tan shorts?  You know, men who work in the animal control office should not be wearing shorts when the hair on their legs are as thick as the animals they capture.  It's just plain tacky".

I can't rightly remember his exact reply, but it had something to do with him NOT being the fashion police and he did not look at other mens legs, hairy or not.

So, I made the call to animal control.  They said they would be out in a few hours.  In the meantime, I wanted to make sure the opposum was still in the trash can, and so I took off the cement block and lifted the lid...only to find that it was curled up in a ball, looking quite sick.  I started thinking, that the poor thing must have been trapped all weekend in the trash can (which at the time, had been empty) and had gone at least three days with no food and water, in 90 degree weather.  I had worked up a good pity party for it, feeling ever so guilty that I had originally wanted the thing dead and gone.

By the time the animal control officer came out with her cage and loop leash (and yes, she had on those really ugly, tan shorts, with non hairy legs), I had checked on the opossum three times.  There had been no change, even as I gently kicked the side of the trash can to elite a response.  "I think I killed it", I softly said, as I showed her the offending can, hanging my head in shame lest she judge me on my confession of 'opossum slaughter'.

She lifted the lid.  "Oh, we got a beauty here"., she said as she slipped the noose of the loop leash around the opossum's neck.  As soon as she lifted up, this 'thing' lit right up, blowing itself up to be three times bigger, hissing wildly, bearing all pointy teeth, fangs and claws.  She deposited the opossum in the cage, where it continued on it's crazed rage, being full of life and unending supply of angry energy.  She then loaded this creature into the back of her truck.

I was in shock.  "Oh my!  I thought it was dead!"

This animal control officer looked at me and rolled her eyes.  "Lady", she said, "Have you not ever heard that opossums play dead"?    Then , I SWEAR I heard her say under her breath, "City people"! as she climbed into her truck and took off.

I must have stood there in my driveway for 10 minutes with my mouth hung open.  DUH!

Since then, I have come across opossums in our yard a couple times a year.  Always taking them by surprise, and usually at night.  They still give me the creeps.

I know, I know!!  I really should show some compassion.  They are one of God's creatures. 

If I really stretch my imagination, I could say that one could learn from opossums.  Like sometimes it is nessessary to appear fearful or fearless in spite of how we truly feel.  Somedays, it pays to 'play dead', not respond when poked or attacked, or to portray a perticular front, in order to protect your vunerable spirit.

Part of me can really admire their tenacity...after all, they are country critters who have been forced to adapt to the city enviorment in order to survive...

Sorta like me and my husband.

Merry meet....