| Sunday, Bloody Sunday (The following is a work of fiction, and none of the events described herein should be construed as factual or representative of actual events) For everything there is a season, And a time for every matter under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to throw away stones, And a time to gather stones together; A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing; A time to seek, and a time to lose; A time to keep, and a time to throw away; A time to tear, and a time to sew; A time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate, A time for war, and a time for peace. --Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8 Timing is everything they say. Timing and good genetics. And location. Ok so timing, good genetics and location are everything. Whatever. The point is I didn't have any of these going for me when I walked out to the patio one Sunday evening to toss some trash. As soon as I opened the door not 10 feet away two 'possums, one a juvenile and one female adult, were making their way along the rear wall of the backyard. We are thinking of actually petitioning the local city council to have the wall renamed as Avenue of the Marsupial because these vermin are scooting down this wall with more regularity than a Nazi railroad at this point. The instant I saw them and they saw me all three of us froze for a moment and then they scurried off in opposite directions. The older one had reversed course and headed south on the wall three backyards, while the younger, a little unsure of itself had headed north one backyard and stopped. Now everything I've read about 'possums indicates that they have absolutely no social structure. In fact on the mammal social scale from 2 to 20 (2 being the least social, 20 being the most social) the 'possum ranks right there at the bottom. However, I have to admit there seemed to be some bond between these two 'possums. Not that I really care about the bond between two animals that would gladly eat the other should the other one die, but it was evidently there nonetheless. Now, I loathe these walking spore factories, but what really got me going was the fact it would really freak my girlfriend out if she had stumbled upon two of the grinning freaks at one time. I dashed back in the house and announced in my best pidgin to my Hawaiian born girlfriend, "Choke Possums!". Which is ridiculous because she speaks better english than I do. We had both just returned from vacation in Hawai'i so it seemed appropriate at the time. I grabbed my trusty Chinese air-rifle, several lead "treats" and my head lamp, killed the living room and patio lights and went outside. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I looked down the wall to where I could see the older female waiting pensively. I crouched low and stayed quiet. I had learned that while 'possums can't see very well they have great hearing. I broke open the rifle and loaded a special snack for our vistor. A very nice, high velocity, deep penetrating, .177 caliber sharpened pellet. Yummy. I crouched for a few seconds and popped my head up to see where the scampering ghoul might be and sure enough she was headed my way. I ducked back down and waited for her pointy snout and hairless, scaly tail to round the corner. A moment later little Miss S.O.L. appeared. I hit the switch on the headlight and stopped her dead in her tracks. I aimed not for the narrow head but for the larger body just a couple of inches behind it. I had narrowly missed a couple of these critters in the past, and I also learned the hard way that a head shot to a 'possum was about as effective as kicking a rhino in the horns. I gently squeezed the trigger and drilled that freak! But, to my consternation she did not drop. She moved down the wall a good 7 or 8 feet about midway into our neighbors yard and stopped. Now, I really knew there was a bond between the two critters. Instead of high tailing (literally) it out of there, this female was determined to reunite with the younger 'possum. She was definately hit bad, but she wasn't giving up much ground. (Now, dear reader, don't get all misty eyed on me. This is not the story of Bambi. And don't make me justify 'possumcide to you. I won't do it. Besides, 'possums bear as many as twenty young each time they give birth. They "only" have 13 nipples (sweet jesus 13 nipples). What happens to the 6 or 7 that don't get a nipple? Dear mommy 'possum EATS THEM. Ohhhh! How sweet! Give me a break. Now back to the story. . . ) I reloaded and resighted on the adult, and squeezed off another shot. This time it was a different result as she immediately wilted and slithered off wall in bloody wet heap. I noticed she had left something on the wall. I would later learn that it was a natural defense mechanism to secrete an especially nasty crap that smells like death warmed over when 'possum are threatened. How charming. I reloaded again and looked for the younger 'possum. Sure enough it was headed my way from the opposite side of the wall. It was very spooked and wouldn't hold still for second. Before I could get a clean shot it moved to my northern neighbors wall and would not come my way again - I knew I couldn't risk that thing falling in her yard. So I would have to quit for the evening. I decided to take another look at the wall where the female had gone down. In the blue white light of my high intensity headlamp there appeared pools of a dark liquid all over the top of the wall. This surprised me. In all my other dealings with these turd munchers of the night, there was no evidence of them having a pulse. But, now here were great gouts of blood shining in moonlight. I showed Patricia the great smear of plasma on our neighbors wall. She was smugly satisfied with the evidence of carnage. This also surprised me. She was becoming a bit of a gangster's moll - at least as far as 'possums were concerned. It deepened my already tremendous respect for her. I was so proud of her for not having the least bit of remorse for the destruction of her enemy. In the harsh light of Monday, however, her resolve crumbled a bit when she saw the great crimson stain fresh in the morning dew. She called me at work "Deeaaar, there is all kinds of blood on the wall!!". She was obviously upset, and I left work to see what could be done. Seeing the amount of blood in the light of day was indeed shocking. Holy cow that was one bloody 'possum. OJ had less clean up to do. I looked over the wall to see if the possum had indeed died, (no small feat) and there it was. Stiff as a board in all its putrid glory. I tried to non chalantly hose the goo off of the wall but that was impossible. It was drying in the morning sun now. I decided that we should just let it stay there. After all it was obviously too late remove it with anything less than a sandblaster, and I couldn't imagine a better way to bring attention to ourselves then to be covering up the evidence. We might as well wear t-shirts that read "Opossum Killer" in 6 inch letters. No, we decided not to worry about the blood, after all what could anyone prove? - "Blood, what blood officer? Oh, is that what that is? I was wondering if perhaps there was something different about that wall." Real cooooool like. How did I continue to get into these messes? |
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