Tom and I have been blessed by having several great neighbors who are also great friends. Among them is neighbor Wayne, previously mentioned in this blob, who has helped out often as my house seemingly falls down around me.
Wayne was over most of Sunday, working on the house’s latest issue (cracks in the garage leaking water into the basement ceiling.) As he exited, he reminded me if I needed anything to just dial 1-800-Wayne.
My sister-in-law called minutes later to see what the latest calamities in my life were. I shared that other than the garage floor cracks (now only an issue because of snowmelt from my car), everything around here was relatively calm.
I should’ve knocked on wood. Right after I hung up, the dog scratched at the deck door, extremely anxious to go out.
I slid open the door; she shot out. In the dim light, I could see her playing aggressively with one of her stuffed animals.
Except I didn’t recall her having a stuffed animal that was, well, animal-colored. Most of hers are pink or blue.
I also didn’t recall any of her stuffed animals having ears or tails any longer. This one definitely had a tail … and it was moving.
Shiloh had dropped the “stuffed animal” on the corner of the desk and was staring at it. I opened the door and slowly slid out to take a closer look.
The animal did not stare back. Pale eyelids covered its bulging eyeballs; its sharp pointy teeth were all bared in a sneer; it lay motionless.
I crept closer, my brave watchdog followed a safe distance behind me. (I guess she had my back.)
Upon closer examination, I realized it was an opossum. I couldn’t figure out how she’d killed it so quickly — there were no signs of blood on the fresh snow.
And then I recalled the expression “playing possum”. What a silly expression: can you “play” possum when you are one?
And more importantly, how many seconds between “playing possum” to “vicious wild animal biting off my nose?”
1-800-Wayne. He was over within minutes.
We went out on the deck together (followed by the cowering dog.)
The opossum was bigger than I remembered it being. Wayne was smaller than I remembered him being.
Wayne confirmed it was an opossom, and it was just playing possum. We discussed various options for dealing with it, and since I didn’t want to make a fur cap or soup, we decided send it on its way. Wayne asked for a shovel, which I fetched from the garage.
I was all impressed with Wayne’s bravery … until he saw the shovel I offered and asked if I had one with a longer handle. I wanted to call him a chicken, but I was so far away from the wild critter with eight million teeth that I’m pretty sure he wouldn’tve heard me.
His plan was to toss it off the deck. A decent plan, but pointless as the deck is surrounded by a fence. I wasn’t sure how good opossums are at scaling fences, (and I really didn’t want to know the answer to that.) I told Wayne he’d have to sling it not only off the deck, but over the fence.
Yes, that would put it in the next-door neighbor’s yard. Hey — they always said if there was anything they could do to help!
Wayne steeled himself, scooped up the opossum, and slung it next door, where it landed with a thud that made me cringe. In my tender-animal-loving heart, I momentarily wondered if it broke a leg and I should take it to the vet or something. Wayne saw the expression on my face, and gallantly said “don’t feel bad. Opossums like that; it is really fun for them.”
With the dog in the lead, we returned to the safety of the house. I closed the drapes. I didn’t want to look out and find that the opossum really did like being launched into the air from a shovel and had come back for another flight.
The next morning I cautiously peered over the deck and fence. No opossum, whew.
Not that I was that worried however, because I have proof that 1-800-Wayne works.
Thanks friends and neighbors, for helping me understand I’m not in this alone.
