A Dead Possum Day

This morning while outside doing my daily chores Goose brought me a possum.

He unwillingly held it for a moment while I took a picture and then spit it out into my hand (never pass up an opportunity to practice good retrieves). Having no real issue with possums, I always stick them up in a tree when the dogs bring them to me and let them come to and wander off when they are ready. This morning though I had a better idea, a way more fun idea. I put the possum up on a platform bird feeder in the backyard, well out of the reach of the dogs and then went inside to announce to the entire house of schooling and working people that their was a possum playing dead in the birdfeeder and they should keep an eye on it so they can see it walk off.

John came down from his office to adjust the possum so he could tell from his view when it woke up. Kids ran to windows. The excitement a possum can bring to this household is not to be underestimated.

And then we waited…

And it turns out that while every other time the possums the dogs have retrieved have been playing dead, this possum was dead dead.

It seems like a perfect analogy for those days that seem like they’ll be shiny… and then… no.

A dead possum kind of a day.

Somedays are like that.

Until next time,

May your health be fair and your dead possum days be few.

Gotta Have A Story

If there is one thing I’ve learned growing up in a family of hunters it’s that if you don’t come home with something dead you’d better come home with a good story – if you can swing both so much the better.

So, yesterday afternoon when I found myself watching a pheasant and opossum having a stare down while I was out hunting with the dogs, I figured I was set. “This is going to get interesting!” I said to myself as the dogs came crashing through the cattails toward us.

And then it didn’t.

The pheasant, upon seeing me, dashed off into the cattails.

The opossum climbed a tree, a very small tree.

The dogs ignored the opossum (good dogs!) and sniffed their way after the pheasant.

Storm went on point in the cattails and I couldn’t find her.

The bird flushed – I missed.

The dogs passed by the opossum, stopped, looked up, and carried on (good dogs!).

I went to the opossum and took a quick picture.

Then we tracked down the pheasant and even though I was unaided by any sort of pointing from my dog (bad dog!) I got the bird.

Trip retrieved it, (good dog!).

Then he blasted off through the cattails and ran down another until it flushed -waaaay away from us (bad dog!).

So we looked for it, until the dogs stunk of swamp, I had cattail fuzz up my nose and we were all covered in burrs.

Then I got a phone call that I was needed at home.

I returned home to find my entire family in the field “helping” gut the buck our friend shot (nice work Jeff!).

We spent the rest of the night cleaning swamp muck and burrs off the dogs.

Today the dogs are tired and on drugs to combat the beasties in the swamp water that are disagreeing with their systems and I’m left reflecting that my unexciting opossum/pheasant stare down turned into an interesting evening anyway.

After all, I got my bird and I got a story.