PLAYING POSSUM

Click here to return to the main menu.

Once again, my family has been saved from imminent danger thanks to our trusting and reliable dog Maggie.

It happened the other night while we were having dinner. We were sitting there enjoying a delicious meal, when Maggie began a series of low, steady barks. Maggie is our attack Basset, and her barks are normally loud, boisterous and, quite frankly, rather pointless. This bark, however, was the distinctive focused bark that we had heard three times before. It was the bark of danger.

The previous times, Maggie’s bravery had alerted us to the potential destruction of (a) a turtle (b) a toad and (c) a cicada. Thanks to Maggie, all three raids on the house by various members of nature had been thwarted.

My wife suggested that I go check out what she had found, before the invader turned on our pup. There’s just no way to feel cool if you have to tell your vet that your dog got beaten up by a turtle or such, so I agreed to check it out.

It was already dark, so I grabbed a flashlight and headed outside. Maggie was standing at the back of the yard by the fence, staring intently at a spot behind a tree, continuing her low, steady warning cry. You have to give Bassets credit for one thing – they are focused. Maggie would be excellent at a staring contest. She is also excellent at a Don’t Come When You’re Called Contest.

As I rounded the tree, I shined the light on the ground to find the suspect. Only this suspect was nothing to mock, nosirree. Maggie had cornered something much larger than a toad or a cicada. Yes, this massive wild creature she had cornered was a good four, maybe five, whole pounds. There, as ferocious as it could be, was a possum.

My first reaction upon looking at the creature was “Great, a dead possum.” It was on its side, its mouth gaped open and looking, well, dead. Then something clicked. “Hey, genius,” I said to myself, “remember the phrase ‘playing possum’? What do you think that means?”

I pondered my thought for a moment, and then apparently dismissed it, because I reached over and grabbed the possum by the tail. As I lifted, the possum, which was very much not dead, curled his tail around my finger and hissed at me. Being familiar with such fauna, I did the sensible thing, which was to drop it and say, “NO!” I also poked it with a pine cone.

Common sense began to take over, and I realized that the possum was indeed just playing possum. I was kind of glad it was alive, because I didn’t want to deal with the prospect of disposing of a possum carcass. For one thing, there is always the chance you get caught when you sneak over into your neighbor’s yard at night to throw it there.

I approached the possum again, much more cautiously this time, since I knew it was ready to strike at any moment. Possums are wily beasts. I grabbed it by the tail and gently set it on the other side of the offense, away from Maggie, which would make her happy.

Then came the other problem, which was Montgomery. Montgomery is our other dog, whose sole purpose on this planet is to fetch. He has no interest in anything but to fetch. Montgomery’s mind works this way: Mike has something in his hand. Said item leaves hand. Montgomery brings it back. Repeat infinity times.

So, any time I have anything in my hand, Montgomery assumes it is there for him to fetch. I am afraid to set my daughter down around him, lest he drag her back by the nape of her neck. Just as I set the possum on the other side of the fence, Montgomery, who was apparently waiting in the wings, charged the fence and began barking furiously, apparently angry because he was not going to be able to bring the possum back to me. Try as I might, I could never explain to Montgomery that the last thing I wanted was for the possum to come back. I wanted it to go away.

Eventually, I had to bring both dogs inside until the possum was gone. I checked several times, and it took the stinking thing about 45 minutes to finally realize it could stop playing dead. It could have left much sooner because (a) we were gone and (b) we weren’t really that convinced in the first place. Folks, I feel confident that I can say this without offending any of you, because it’s not opinion but fact: possums are to intelligence what Britney Spears is to talent.

But like I said, the possum eventually scuttled off, probably to go terrorize a neighbor. Maggie is back on patrol, making sure no other wild animals try and attack us. She will surely alert us if any other members of the natural world try and invade our home. Oh, and Montgomery is there, too, just in case we need anything fetched.