Possum

We're city folks, me and Ms Donna.
Just moved here to the Ranchland only a few years ago. We're learning how to be country, but some of it comes pretty slowly.

We have some dogs.
I said to Donna before we moved that I was afraid the doglings would get lonely out there in the sticks. She said 'don't worry'. And right she was.

They do have fun. They eat moles. They chase birds, eagles, hawks, deer, possum, coon, other dogs and gawdknowswhat all day long. Little Deena Dog likes to dig up grub worms and sneak them into the house. You can't tell that she's got one stuck between her lip and gums and she'll race for the bedroom. She then gets on the bed and plays with it. Doesn't eat it. Just sniffs it, looks at it, feels feral over it. Then, sometime in the middle of the night. I'll roll over and WAKE UP WITH WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING IN THE BED??!!!!???
Oh, another grub.
"Deena damnit".

So one day I got home from work and Oreo Dog met me there at the gate with that Lassie look. 'Timmy's in the well or something' , please come see.
I followed her.
She took me out to the south pasture and showed me what was getting her all excited. A possum. She sat by it and looked at it. Sniffed it. 'Look what I found Mr Dog-Feeder-Man'. I praised her for being such a great hunter. Got the shovel. Ms Donna is not patient with dead things in the yard.
I took the possum and placed him into the trash can and sealed the lid tight so that Oreo Dog wouldn't be tempted to revisit.

So days later I get home from work and once again Oreo Dog meets me at the gate with another killer smile. This time a squirrel hanging out of her mouth. 'Oreo, I praised her. Such a fine hunter dog'. She dropped the squirrel so that I could sit with her and tear off a piece or two. I got the shovel and carried this new dead thing to the trash can.
Lifted the lid.
'AAAAGGGGGHHHHH! I said'.
'Grrowwwwllll eeeeyeeah ssssnarlll'. It said.
'What the hell'.
Scared the crap outta me.
That damnit possum.
He was snarling at me and growling at me and snapping at me and he was really really mad.
The day I put him in the trash can he wasn't dead. He was playing possum.
Duh.

I dragged the trash can across the street to the forrest and laid it on its side so that he could go. And go he did. He took off into the forest. Probably looking for a nice drink and some table nosh.

Lots to learn at the Ranchland.