After officially declaring war on varmints everywhere after an earlier event where I come up a few hens shy of a full coop, I think that they have either given up and are throwing themselves upon my mercy, or more likely, they have decided upon a suicide attack method. Twice now in recent evenings, with all lights blazing, people talking and kids running around making noise, we have noticed a possum sitting on the back step, actually leaning against the glass of the sliding door. I'm not sure what they are doing, maybe trying to activate the little bomb hidden under their fur, but they didn't pull it off, I assure you.
So last weekend the kids came running in to inform me that there is a chicken that doesn't have a face. Never having seen a chicken without a face, I decided to investigate. Sure enough, just like they said, a live chicken, standing up (with where its nose would have been) in a corner, because without a face it couldn't see where it was going. Darned possums, no mercy at all. A raccoon would at least killed it before eating it.
But anyway, about 1500 hrs, Wifey makes that universally feminine gasp and exclaims with usual exuberance "AHHHHHH, DANIEL LOOOOOK OUTSIDEEEEEE! So I look fully expecting to see Christ himself triumphantly returning or maybe a mushroom cloud billowing over where Wichita used to be, and see: what else but a nasty old possum. The interesting thing is not that he is there, even though it is in broad daylight, but what he is doing, which is eating his 2-week dead, quite frozen fallen comrade. I guess this is the I.C.U.POOP version of "No Man Left Behind", except it would be called "no possum left uneaten". Anyway, Wifey didn't like the gleeful look on my face as I shot him too. She knows me all too well; she could just see it in my face how sweet it would be to be able to have a small mountain of dead possums used as bait for live possums. How perfect would that be? Shoot one, and leave it lay; then another comes to eat it, shoot it, etc, etc, etc. That is what I call the circle of life! Wifey, of course, the quintessential killjoy, informed me that she wasn't thrilled with the concept of a mountain of dead varmints in the back yard that close to the house. Whatever! Where is that Christmas spirit of giving?
4 comments:
Is it still alive? Did you take a picture of it?
I think I can say definatively that it is not alive. I dont want to brag, but after losing several possums years ago, I think I have come up with the perfect "lead Cocktail" for Possums. I start out by softening them up with 10 shots with the .22, then move up to 7 rounds from the .357. Then I like the finale of about 5 shots from the 12 gauge. When I use this prescription, I have yet to have one disappear the next morning.
Reminiscing: Re: Great Grandmothers' Grand Mall (the ax) was remedy for rude possums restlers-usually caught red handed and/or red faced (bloody), in chicken coop--her softening up (I should probably more accurately say "tenderized technique") began and ended with her possum ax (which yours truly am in proud possession of). and after "tenderizing" the rude rustler was immediatly placed under a tub with a large rock or cement block on top--no doubt she too had been troubled with what could be interpreted as "rude rustler resurrection" and without any evidence of repentence on said clucker coop crimes and the possiblity of continued life of crime was motivation for her last word---"tenderize &tub technique"
I see what you mean... it really would be AWESOME to have a mountain of dead possumry in your back yard. :-)
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