batshalom
Posts: 1990
Joined: 9/17/2007 Status: offline
|
My old man dog, Sam, had to go outside late one night. He got me up out of bed to let him out, in fact, and he'd been acting strangely all day. Due to his age and some miscellaneous conditions, I was a little worried. I let him out the back door, left the door ajar, and went to watch a little tv while I waited for him to let himself back in. He came back upstairs and inside about ten minutes later, but instead of heading for the living room like he usually does, he headed off into the office and around into the hallway. It concerned me a little more - it was out of character for him. I went to the hall. It was dark but I could see he had his head down. More concern. I flipped on the light, convinced he was sick, and noticed that instead of heaving, he was poking his snout onto something, giving it some good snuffffffffs. Out of my peripheral vision, it seemed like one of the children's toys so I stooped to pick it up and realized ... it wasn't a toy. It was a possum playing possum. In. My. House. Well. I have three dogs and four cats. And they were ALL interested in this "dead" possum. The children were sleeping so I couldn't shriek. I couldn't let it stay in the house so there was nothing left to do but ... pick it up. I grabbed a towel and picked it up, holding it away from my body, praying it wouldn't bite my arm off, the dogs going nuts, jumping up and trying to get it, the cats all around my feet looking up as if I were holding a nice juicy fish for them to eat, tripping me with every step I took. When I got to the front door I realized that I needed at least one hand to open the door. One dog, a very rambunctious jack russell / boxer mix (acts like a jack russell but is the size of a boxer) started jumping up and down on his hind legs trying to get the possum. I heard it hiss under its blanket. Argh. I had to get the thing out of the house, and fast, but my hands were full. I eyed the door one more time, praying it would somehow open by itself. Alas, it didn't. There was nothing else for me to do but ... cradle the thing like a baby in its towel, pray it didn't bite my arm and / or boob off in the process, and open the door with my other hand. The dogs were lunging, the cats were circling, it was like a retarded jungle scene, with me sing-songing "Ohhh please don't kill me, don't chew my parts off, let's just go outside." I finally got the thing out the door. Shaking, I went to the couch, hoping to get my towel back sometime (way too keyed up to sleep now) and really hoping my old man dog hadn't wounded him in the journey up the back stairs. Feeling bad for the thing finally got the better of me so I switched the porch light on and peeped out the mail slot. The only problem was that I couldn't see that part of the porch from that vantage point so I had to open the door. I was afraid he'd be broken somehow. Well. The thing was sitting there, probably still wondering what the heck happened to him, and when I opened the door it hissed at me and lumbered away. What a night. I wish I could say that this was the only time I've had a possum in the house. It's not. That was number four, and that doesn't include the other critters that have had help finding their way in. We've rehabbed more wild animals than I can even count. The possums creep me out the most though. They're pretty dang heavy and they smell like poo. (We live in the middle of a fairly large city, btw - this isn't the country by any stretch of the imagination.)
|