Good evening from the heart of LA, (that’s Lower Alabama, folks). Before I begin my story, let me start by mentioning that I grew up in rural Georgia. I should also note that just because someone was born and raised in Georgia does not a country boy make. I do enjoy NASCAR, country fried steak, and sitting on the front porch with a cold beer. I prefer pickups to cars, Southeastern Conference Football, and think the Golden Corral is a fancy restaurant. But on the other hand, I don’t listen to country music, unless I’m feeling homesick. I’m not good at fixin’ cars. I’ve never killed a deer, or a squirrel. Never had a reason too. I’ve never owned a gun. That brings me around to my story, which I’ll share with you now.

Last Sunday was my seventh anniversary. We had a good day, and the family and I were just relaxing before bedtime. Rhonda, my better half, (who, by the way is 100% fine southern woman), was out in the garage reading a book. We sit out in the garage sometimes because Rhonda won’t let us smoke in the house. I was in the bedroom, finishing up some homework on the computer. It was a quiet end to a nice weekend. -- That was, until the possum showed up.

For those of you who may have never seen a possum close up, they are not cute. They are not cuddly. In fact, they are kind of scary looking. Imagine the biggest rat you’ve ever seen. We’re talking a ten to fifteen pound rat. They hiss and snarl and bare their teeth when you get close. Really big, sharp teeth. And they stink too. Like some musky, "stay away from me" smell. They eat everything. They used to kill our neighbor’s hens. Possums are downright UGGGLY creatures. I’d shoot a possum, but I don’t own a gun.

For three months, this particular big ‘ol possum had been driving my dogs crazy. I have two Rat Terriers, Petey and Roscoe, who chase and bark at anything that moves, and one other little mutt. I don’t know what he is, but he likes to bark a lot too. Anyhow, about once or twice a week, this big ‘ol possum would crawl over my neighbors fence and jump into the tree in the corner of my backyard. My dogs would stand under that tree and bark and howl and whine until I came back there with a flashlight and scared the possum away. I’d shine the light at the possum, and his eyes would glow an evil red, and then it would hiss at me and its teeth would show. Then it would wobble along a branch and drop to the other side of the fence, and then it would leave. I’m sure I heard it laughing at me one time.

Well this particular night, the possum’s luck ran out. It did not make it to the tree. It fell instead, into the hedges running along my side of the fence. And my dogs were on top of that big ‘ol evil possum like white on rice. I jumped up from my computer because I heard the dogs barking and howling and whining like I’d never heard before. It sounded like World War III had broken out in my backyard. I got there as quickly as I could. They had it pinned between the fence and the hedges. Petey and the possum were rolling around in the hedge, fur flying, and teeth gnashing. I knew porchlights had to be coming on all over my neighborhood. We must have sounded like the Beverly Hillbillies out there. The other two dogs were trying to get into the fracas, barking and yelping at the possum. I knew I was going to have to kill this possum, before it hurt my dogs, without a gun. Realizing I couldn’t see much because it was dark, I hollered at my wife. She brought me the flashlight as I tried to call the dogs off. It wasn’t working. They were protecting me from the possum. I shined the light into the hedge, but I couldn’t see well. Petey had the possum by the back of the neck, and the possum was as big as he was. There was blood on Petey’s nose, but I didn’t know if it was from his wounds or the possum’s. The possum wriggled and hissed, and its teeth showed bright against the beam of the flashlight, long and razor sharp. It tried repeatedly to gnash at Petey, but he wasn’t letting go. My adrenaline was pumping at this point.

The next thing Rhonda brought me was a crowbar. I got a grip on it and tried to make my way into the hedge. I simply couldn’t get a good shot at the possum. Petey was moving around too much and I was afraid of hitting him or the other dogs by accident. They were also lodged in the hedge, which made it difficult for me to get a good backswing. I saw the long tail of the possum near my feet. I reluctantly grabbed it, and it began to curl around my hand like a python. It was a pretty uncomfortable feeling to say the least. I pulled until the possum, and Petey, still attached to the back of the possum’s neck, came out from under the hedge. Whatever it is that possum skin is made of, we need to cover our tanks with it. I quickly discovered that it is damn near impenetrable. I took about three good swings, and the crowbar bounced back like I was hitting a rubber ball. The possum looked at me and hissed, teeth still showing. "All right big daddy, just me and you." I thought.

Rhonda somehow managed to get the other two dogs into the kennel while I was dragging the possum out. Petey wasn’t going anywhere, and the crowbar was not as effective as I had hoped. I couldn’t get a headshot. Over the next fifteen minutes, It took everything I had to kill that possum. I used every garden tool in my arsenal, including a rake, a spade, a knife, and a flat-head shovel. Petey eventually turned loose when he believed the possum was dead. We stared at it for a few minutes.

Petey looked at me, and I looked at Rhonda. Then we all looked at the possum. It was still breathing. At this point, I came close to feeling sorry for it. But then, it made a low growling noise and bared the teeth again. Petey rared back and started to whine. So I took the flat head shovel and smacked it about three more times, finishing it off.

I took Petey back to the garage and gave him a bath, wiping the blood from his nose, telling him what a good boy he was, protecting us from that mean ‘ol possum. He looked proud. I put him up for the night, and disposed of the possum. I looked at Rhonda and smiled. "Happy Anniversary." I said. I wiped the sweat off my brow and we talked and laughed a little about the battle with the possum, I couldn’t help but think about my childhood back in Georgia. My buddies wouldn’t believe I could kill an animal. I’m in the Army, and I know I’d be able to kill someone if one of my buddies was being attacked. I guess we’re just built that way, protective of what we love. Well, that’s my story. Take care of each other... SGT Bill

All Rights Reserved 5 Nov 2003