The Virginia Opossum (what we generally call Possum) is the only marsupial found in the United States. It has more teeth (50) than any mammal found in the U.S. Also, my dog Chester kills them like nobody's business. I am neither proud nor un-proud of this fact. It's just the way things are. I believe he was put on this earth to take possums down to the proverbial Monkey Chinatown (which, by the way, is just east of regular Chinatown. Take care when visiting, though, lest you be pummeled with feces and fried rice). This past Saturday night, a bit after midnight, I saw Chester trot around my truck in our fenced backyard. He had a look on his face that I'd only see twice before.
I knew it almost instantly. I turned the headlights on in the car to illuminate the side of the yard, and sure enough: a dead Possum.
I actually witnessed Chester kill a possum once. The danged thing was on the fence, snarling. He had every opportunity to make his escape. Once Chester had enough of his display, he yanked the poor creature off the fence by the back of his neck, shook him once, and that was it.
Death came quickly, as it often does.
Possum's don't actually "play possum" as a first line of defense. They hiss and snarl. Only if this doesn't work do they lay down, open their mouths, and play dead. Chester makes sure things move along to phase two. He's an impatient sort.
So, what does all of this mean? I think perhaps that when things are, they just are. There's no accepting or rejecting, figuring out or philosophizing. You witness an event and that's all there is to it.
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