The one where Roscoe tries to eat a baby possum

While I was still living in Texas, with my two dogs, Roscoe and Bruno, I lived in a subdivision with a lot of trees. And in the South, when you have trees, you have possums. I kinda like possums. They eat ticks, which is a VERY Good Thing ™ in my opinion. They are also cute in an ugly sort of way.

Well, one night Roscoe and Bruno were in the backyard. I was inside working on my computer when I heard the dogs barking their fool heads off. I figured something was up, because they didn’t normally raise that kind of ruckus unless something was wrong. I went into the backyard. As soon as I stepped outside, Roscoe picked up something in his mouth and headed away from me. Okay, something was definitely up at that point.

After chasing Roscoe around the backyard, I finally cornered him and made him spit out what he had in his mouth. It was a baby possum. A dead baby possum.

“Roscoe! Bad doggy. Go inside.” I knew he was just doing what came naturally but I didn’t want him killing and eating the baby possum. He had plenty of good food from me to eat and he didn’t need to supplement his diet with the local wildlife.

It took a bit to wrangle both him and Bruno back into the house, as they both kept trying to go back to the baby possum. Once we were inside the dogs sat at the back door wanting to go back out. I tried to decide what to do about the dead baby ….

“Possum!” I said. The dogs looked a me like I was crazy. I went to the kitchen and retrieved my flashlight, then made my way around the dogs and out into the backyard.

It had occurred to me that the possum was probably ‘playing possum’. When attacked, possums look like they’re dead and it makes their attackers think they are dead, even though they aren’t. They aren’t playing, but they aren’t dead either. Scientists have studied them and apparently the possum gets so stressed out when it gets attacked, that it goes comatose.

I found the baby possum, shined my flashlight on it and waited.

“Come on, little guy.”

After a few minutes, his little ear started twitching. Then his nose started twitching. Soon he was stretching and getting to his feet. Then he looked up at me with a look as if to say “You bastard, how could you let your dog carry me around in his mouth like that?”

“Glad you’re doing better, little possum. Have a good night.”

The possum went along his merry way and I went back inside.

“Okay, Roscoe, all is well. The baby possum isn’t dead after all. But still, you shouldn’t have been carrying him around in your mouth.”

In response, Roscoe went to the couch, jumped up, and went to sleep.

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