Friday, May 12, 2006
Score: Trash Can 1, Oppossum 0
At my house, I am the only one who seems to know how to carry a bag of trash from the kitchen to the large trash cans outside. It is a highly technical feat and apparently one that is beyond the ability of my offspring. I don't get upset about this, as I have had some difficulty in reloading toilet paper holders. I figure we all have our specialties and weaknesses....but I digress.
Saturday, I toted a big black bag of refuse out to the trash cans and the first can I chose contained this rascal. He must have been after some bit of tastey garbage when he slipped in and became trapped.
He was one stinky, sad looking oppossum. I carried the can over and showed my wife and kids. They asked me what I was going to do with it. The poor thing was covered in his own feces, hot, and probably thirsty, so I decided to toss him in the pond.
Jr. thought this was a great idea and followed me down to the dock.
He asked,"Will he be okay in the water?" I assured him he would be, I was just giving him a bath.
I grabbed the can and slung. The oppossum flew up in a gentle arc and splashed into the clear water below. Down he went, like a sub on a crash dive. Down, down, down.
Jr. looked at me.
"I'm not diving in to rescue a chicken eating 'possum...he'll be okay"
Then, as if in a slow motion dream sequence it began to rise trailing a stream of bubbles. Finally, he broke the surface, gasped, and swam across the pond to the willow swamp.
Good...'cause there was nothing in the CPR course about 'possums.