Opossum

Usual Critters – ND #126

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 4 Comments
Young Opossum – Photo: L. Weikel

Usual Critters

You can tell it’s spring. The usual critters are busy being born and meandering out to explore the world.

We narrowly avoided a lesson in “who you sniff and don’t sniff” the other day on our walk. As you know, on our walks lately we’ve been rather preoccupied with keeping the biological imperative of Brutus from successful exploration. But they are wily little devils and make a game out of criss-crossing in front and occasionally in back of us. Tangled leashes are a constant source of entertainment.

But Pacha made a beeline toward the side of the road as we were going past the former home of Princess. Both Brutus and Pacha are always looking for her as we walk past her field. (Yeah, that’s a sad story…we can only presume she will be part of some people’s Easter repast. She’s been gone for at least two weeks. )

I didn’t really think about it when Pacha headed toward the tall grass at the side of the road until I caught sight in my peripheral vision of the poof of fur haphazardly laying amongst the dead leaves. Pacha was pretty far out on her leash – I think I was on one side of the road and she was moving rather rapidly toward that thing that quite obviously resembled a decent stuffed toy – when it suddenly dawned on me what I was seeing.

Suddenly, in an effort to get her to stop in her tracks, I hollered out to Pacha, “No! Come here!” I hoped she’d hear the urgency in my voice and obey it. She continued toward it, albeit a bit more slowly, giving me enough time to reel her in.

Youngster

Me being me, I pulled Pacha away, but at the same time, I walked toward the fur ball myself to see whether it was roadkill or just playing opossum.

Sure enough, this little creature opened its eye slightly and looked right at me. I told it I was sorry it had become frightened, and we would be moving on. The only thing on its entire body that moved was its eyelid. I did, of course, ask to take its photo so I could write about it.

Its fur looked really beautiful. My sense was that it wasn’t full grown – or at the most, this was its first full year. It seemed to be on the small side, compared to some of the very hefty ones I’ve seen hanging around our feeders in other years. Frankly, it was adorable.

(Which reminds me – I just took Pacha out to water the garden tonight and wasn’t an opossum waddling quickly away toward the dark shadows behind the house as I set her down? Luckily, she listened this time, too.)

Another confrontation avoided – whew.

(T+126)

Compost Critter – Day 827

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Who Approaches? – Photo: L. Weikel

Compost Critter

Yesterday was chock full of wild surprises and feral encounters. Wildlife kind, I should say. While I have no photographic identification of the Prius Apple Nibbler, I certainly provided proof of the little jerk’s existence by displaying its lovely entry in the ‘free form sculpting, transforming an apple to a dahlia blossom’ competition. What I didn’t tell you about last night was Karl’s unexpected encounter with a compost critter.

Karl took the bag of compost down to the container we keep beside the barn. To hear him tell it, he was barely paying attention to the rote task, instead using the slog through the almost knee deep snow to ponder just how much ice might coat the roads and trees this week. In fact, he was so oblivious that he very nearly dumped the kitchen detritus right onto the aforementioned critter’s fur.

Lucky for both of them, Karl meant this usually nocturnal creature, whom we may (or may not) have encountered before, no ill will and Opossum Pat performed on cue, choosing to feign death over its early supper rather than snarl or fight.

I happened to be walking out to the car at the very moment of their encounter and heard Karl call out my name. “Lis! Lis! Check it out! Bring your phone!” I could see him standing about five feet away from the compost barrel, but didn’t know what he’d discovered.

Not Playing Dead – Photo: L. Weikel

Fine Specimen

Oh, what a good looking opossum awaited my inspection. Karl said it keeled over as soon as he gasped in surprise. Pat had been utterly motionless ever since Karl shouted to get my attention.

I probably freaked it out when I started talking to it as if it were one of our pets. I addressed Pat in my customary high sing-song voice that I reserve primarily for babies and non-humans, thinking it would continue to ‘play dead’ as long as I spoke to it out loud.

Much as I hoped it would respond to my voice, I never thought it would.

Imagine my surprise, then, when it started opening its eyes as I approached it from behind. I didn’t want to scare it, so I continued talking to it and telling it how handsome it was. I also didn’t want to freak it out by remaining behind it, so I moved to its left to get a better, more full-on look at its face.

And yes indeed, it looked right back at me. It opened its mouth a little and I wondered if it was going to hiss at me and bare the razor-like teeth that make it look like something out of a Tim Burton movie. Nope. It kept both its temper and fear in check. I’d like to think it was my scintillating personality, but as I continued to talk to it in my sing-song way, Karl leaned in on its other side and dumped the compost contents into the barrel beside it.

Pat’s Closeup – Photo: L. Weikel

Foul Temptation

Oh, the scent beckoned, it was obvious. Shrimp shells, carrot peelings, with a gravy of moldy cottage cheese. Heady stuff. It wanted to keep its eye on me, but oh, Sweet Master Marsupial In the Sky, the tantalizing offering dumped by the Quiet Giant was too much to resist.

There was no way Pat could keep up the façade. It turned its face slightly away from me, daring to take in the heady scents full on.

Appreciating its dilemma, Karl and I quickly retreated.

“Eat well, little friend. Thanks for letting us take some cool head shots!”

Mmm…shrimp. Can’t – not – look. Must resist! Photo: L. Weikel

(T-284)

Opossom’s Appearance – Day 380

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Opossum playing dead – Photo: L. Weikel

Opossom’s Appearance

Every once in a while we’ve had an opossum show up in our yard. I’m pretty sure I’ve written about a time when Spartacus barreled out our kitchen door and ran right over one, causing it to roll toward a car parked in the driveway. It was amusing at the time – mostly because both animals seemed so surprised (and neither got hurt).

Recently, however, there’s been an opossum hanging out underneath our bird feeders under the cover of darkness.  I described for you last night our most recent up-close-and-personal encounter with it, when we surprised the critter by returning home from a walk in the dark.

Old News

As I described in my post the other night, our opossum truly is a first class thespian. Upon encountering it, both Karl and I were absolutely convinced was dead. It was sprawled on its side, its mouth open, exposing its glinting sharp teeth. To add to its master play, its tongue was hanging out. Although I didn’t detect an odor, Spartacus was clearly sniffing at something weird in the air.

The two photos in this post are what I managed to take in a single shot, because it was so deftly scurried to safety after taking me by surprise by sitting up and pointedly (no pun intended) looking at me.

But What’s the Message?

The night that all of this took place, when we unexpectedly (to the opossum) returned from a walk and surprised it, I had to write about the conjunction of Venus and Jupiter in the night sky.

When I then attempted to write about our opossum encounter last night, I became exceedingly frustrated by the fact that all of a sudden my laptop was telling me I was maxing out on my memory. Apparently it was hitting the wall. Apparently the hard drive becoming full was reaching such an apex that, as Apples are wont to do, when I tried to even just log into the computer or open a document, all I saw was a swirling rainbow circle spinning minute after minute. Literally. I was unable to do anything on my MacBook Air.

I had to laugh at my internal reaction. It upset me! I’d been faithfully writing my posts on this laptop since around the eighth day into this 1111 Devotion. That meant I’d written 371 consecutive posts on this laptop, and I did not want to change my routine. (Wow.)

Suddenly, it occurred to me that this was somehow a reflection of the lesson Opossum was here to teach me: STRATEGY.

Too Much Stuff

I’ve most definitely been feeling a need to sort and discard. My environment is begging me for attention. And there it was: right in my face.

I could not upload the photo of my prehistoric little friend because I had too much stuff on my laptop. So… I needed to employ some strategy. OK, I thought, I am not going to let this throw me off track. I’ll use my Dell for the blog – just this once.

Thwarted

That, too, became a task fraught with obstacles. First of all, I downloaded the two photos I’d made from the single ‘live’ photo I’d taken with my iPhone. Oh, let me tell you, I was so proud of myself for having figured out how to isolate the frames and keep the two most distinct as separate photos.

Imagine my supreme irritation, then, when I tried to download this onto my Dell – and could not, for the life of me, find the folder in which the photos were being stored. I know; I know. Sounds simple. Probably is simple. But I simply could not figure it out last night.

Then – oh my. A message popped up on my Dell. I could not believe my eyes when I realized it was telling me I had precious little hard drive space left on it, too.

Opossum ‘waking up’ – Photo: L. Weikel

A Consistent Message

I have to admit, it’s time for me to clean out the clutter. Be it in my bureau drawers or in my creative outlets (my laptops), clearly too much ‘stuff’ is muddying up the flow. I need to create a strategy  to help myself.

And the consistency is holding with the messenger as well. Not only did I see it the night it seemingly fainted dead away. I also saw it both last night and tonight!

Frankly, I’m astonished by this. When we got home from our walk this evening, for instance, Cletus was sitting on the porch just watching the Opossum eating stuff it was finding under the bird feeder. And the dogs…they seem to smell it, but also don’t seem to care much about it anymore. It’s sort of become ‘one of the gang.’ (I do need to say that we try to be very careful when letting the dogs out for their final evening tinkle. I’ve walked onto the porch and told it to go home three straight nights now!)

For now, though, I’m happy to report that I removed a bunch of redundant photos from my MacAir and it seems to at least not be getting stuck on the whirling rainbow any more. Phew. I still need a strategy to cull the herd here in the house, though.

Wish me luck!

(T-731)

Supreme Frustration – Day 379

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Supreme Frustration

No photos tonight – at least not of what I both wanted and intended to post.

Yesterday, after taking a walk that started in the late afternoon glow of the setting sun but ended in the early evening darkness that happens in November, Karl and I started up the walkway to our kitchen door. I was following Karl and was a few paces behind him. I saw Spartacus lunge toward our left, toward our small barn, which he sometimes does when we return home after a walk. It’s not uncommon for deer to congregate on our lawn, back by the barn. Usually, Karl unsnaps Spart’s harness as we enter our driveway, and he’ll take off toward the deer, feeling all manly as he chases away those very daunting four leggeds.

I heard a thump and, as I said, could see Spartacus try to bolt, yet got jerked by the leash. I presumed he’d seen a couple deer.

Suddenly I heard Karl exclaim, “No! Spartacus!” as the leash made the jagged sound it makes when trying to retract the lead. “It’s dead! Get away!”

A Shock On the Lawn

I heard all of this in the flash of the couple seconds it took me to catch up to them. I immediately saw the body laying underneath the bird feeders. It was shocking. The body of an animal larger than our largest cat was laying dead on our lawn.

Karl, meanwhile, was gathering up Spartacus and Sheila and calling them to go into kitchen. Sheila, being mostly blind and predominantly deaf, was oblivious. Spartacus, not unusually, was intrigued. He’s usually pretty good at listening to us, especially when there’s a sharp edge to our voices, so he was up on the porch, but was clearly conflicted.

I was appalled. My mind raced. What could have happened to this animal?! What could it have possibly eaten that would have poisoned it – and so close to our porch?! Karl and I were both upset that there was a death on our lawn.

Playing ‘Possum

And then it hit me. “Duh, Karl,” I exclaimed. “It’s a ‘possum! It’s playing dead!”

“No,” Karl immediately replied. “Look at it! Its mouth is hanging open and it looks bloated. It’s clearly dead!”

“But that’s what they do,” I began, handing him Sheila’s leash, which I’d been holding. She was still attached to it, but was in the process of walking up the steps onto the porch. “Here – would you take her?” I urged, trying to shove her leash into his hand. “I want to get a picture of it! I bet it’ll run away as soon as we go inside.”

We fumbled around passing the leash; I was hurrying, trying to pull my phone out of my pocket so I could document our discovery. Karl herded the pups into the kitchen and was simultaneously trying to keep Cletus, the ornery black and white cat of ours, from leaping through the doorway and off the porch, right onto the opossum.

He would not have it. He bounded out.

I shrieked, knowing instinctively that the opossum was still alive – and they can be ferocious. But the cat stayed on the porch, probably having had a run-in with this critter before.

Say Cheese!

I trained my iPhone toward the dead body, its razor-sharp pointy teeth clearly visible, it’s mouth unpleasantly slack-jawed and hanging open. Suddenly, it sat up, looked right into my eyes, and just stood there. I shrieked involuntarily. Not that I was afraid of it, but it took me completely by surprise – even though I’d known it was still alive!

I yelped to get Karl’s attention.

The animal was perfectly healthy. I then yelled again, hoping to scare it so it would fall over and go into its second act, so I could take a closer photo of it.

Off Into the Darkness

Nope. No dice. It waddled off confidently, turning the corner around the porch toward the tall grass at the edge of our property. It disappeared into the darkness.

There’s a message here. And it’s part and parcel of the frustration I’m feeling right now.

Hopefully, I’ll have remedied the situation and I’ll both explain the message I received from the talented thespian and post a couple photos.

(T-732)