The dogs were barking frantically which they never do unless they find an intruder in the yard and when I went out to quiet them, I discovered what they’d discovered – a possum, dead as a door nail, you’d have sworn – lying on it’s side with its tail curled and it’s tongue hanging out. The dogs approached with a mix of fascination and fear, barking wildly and loudly, but being careful not to get too close to the corpse. It was barely seven in the morning and they were unwilling to leave their find. After several minutes of threats and calling and coaxing, I had to carry them both- very reluctantly- back inside. Clearly, they’d found a prize and didn’t want to leave it. After another several minutes, the possum stirred, raised it’s snout and looked around as if assessing the danger, then got to its feet and casually ambled off and out of sight. When I was sure he’d had time to climb the fence or tunnel out or do whatever possums do to come and go, I let the dogs out again. They spent some serious time in search of the curious creature but eventually got distracted and gave up the hunt.
To be sure, a possum is not one of God’s more beautiful creations but it does no harm and its passive nature of playing dead appeals to my own non-confrontational nature. I often wish I myself could just play dead until the danger passes.
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