Crappy night. Sissy kept waking me up, needing to go out. I may know why, now.
We were eating breakfast and Bob looked out the big window. He said, “Whoa, is that a possum?”
Yes, it was.
Its fur was messy and slobbered on, almost as if it had been carried around in somebody’s big mouth. It had one bloody spot on its hindquarters. Animal control wasn’t in (hardly surprising here in this godforsaken place). I needed the little beast to go away so the dogs could go back out. This was a work day and time was getting short.
I wanted to chase it out of the yard but got a first hand demonstration of what “playing possum” really was. The little bugger wouldn’t be chased. Every time I got near, it would fall over and give me a rictus grin, stiff as a board. I came out of the house and advanced on it a couple of times, it would fall down, I’d go back in, then it would get up and move away from my last position. I was herding it to the fence. It could walk, didn’t seem too badly off, but … it was morning and these are nocturnal creatures. It finally got to the corner of the fence under the trees and dug in. Not a good place to sleep with a pit cross and a german shepherd on patrol.
I got a big leaf rake and rolled it, stiff as a board, onto the rake, maneuvering it with a little stake that was nearby. I lifted it up on the wide rake and over the 4 foot fence to the side yard and put it down (gently) amongst the debris over there. I came back a while later and it was still in the same lumped up position it had been when I dropped it, but it was breathing rhythmically. I believe it had fallen asleep where it lay while it was playing possum. Being possum. Something. The dogs ignored it even though they were very close.
At any rate, it was gone when we got home tonight. I hope it doesn’t venture into the yard again when the dogs are out.