It's Pouring Possums

From the Zoology Department of RevGals, this Friday has Gone to the Animals!

Best wild animal story…

That would have to be when I came home from work in southern Louisiana only to be greeted by members of my community standing in the kitchen, waiting for me. “We have a problem.” “Um hmmm….??” “Go look in the garbage can.” Why? “Go look.”

I go outside and lift the lid to the garbage can, the garbage can sitting in a wooden frame to keep it off the ground, a wooden frame too high for me to get the leverage necessary to lift the garbage can out of the frame—which will come in later.

Lifting the lid and peering in, while concurrently aware that it is about to POUR BUCKETS as it can do only in southern Louisiana, I see the problem. Not only garbage bags, but also a possum, a large possum, taking a nap about half way down, curled onto a tuffet of refuse-plumped Hefties. Happy as can be, or so it would have seemed.

The others are watching me from the kitchen door.

It begins to rain.

I go back inside.

“What are you going to do?”

Uhhh.

“It can’t stay!”

Uhhh.

I go back and try to lift out the garbage can without it tilting toward me while thinking “Possums, mad possums, potentially mad, wet, rabid possums…if it gets hatey about me moving it around, what’s the plan, Bright-light?”

Couldn’t get the leverage to lift the can out.

Went back inside, now soaked.

??? So???

Sigh….

Went over to the Boarding School and asked the high schoolers if anyone was in the mood for an adventure….that involved a possum and the pouring rain.

I love my kids.

Several of them came with me, we lifted out the can, dumped the thing sideways and ran. The possum stayed put.

I could only imagine what might happen if the dogs found it and the garbage…in the pouring rain.

I explained to the possum that the rest was up to it and it had only a moment to figure out its next move—which I was not planning on witnessing.

I checked back in twenty minutes or so—possum gone. I shoveled garbage back into the can.

The other story I considered telling here was coming out onto the porch one night and realizing I was being watched—over and over and over again…looked out, and saw brown flashlights…about sixty or seventy sets of them…right there. The cows across the road had come to school. It’s a funny thing to be surrounded by cows…not something for which one has an instinctive plan. Bears, sure. Snakes, yep. Bees, wasps…uh huh. But cows?

There’s also the armadillo I watched eat breakfast in the clover. That was rather sweet, really. Named her, too. Amarilla.

Yes, it was a she. Had a little napkin tucked in front and a bow behind her left ear. Okay...so I don't know for sure...but it was definitely cute to watch it eat breakfast.