I was going to show you my Christmas decorations today. I Took pictures and everything. But then my husband shot a possum. And one thing led to another. And I found out my dash board is too low, and my phone list is too comprehensive.
It began two nights ago, just before 11pm. I was working at the computer when I heard my two oldest sons come running out of their bedroom to tell my husband there was a possum on the front porch. (What my sons were still doing awake at that time of night, I have no idea.) But seconds later, there was a shot.
That’s fine. Possums are ugly and mean. The problem was, it was too dark and too late to go burry the thing. Oh, and wet. Like puddles-all-over-the-yard wet. So my husband left it lay.
Fast forward to the morning when my younger two sons discover what the light revealed. A BIG old possum right smack dab in the middle of the front yard. Ugly, and dead, and incredibly fascinating. They immediately wanted to go poke it with a stick.
We had two minutes before the little boy we babysit (Boy Number One) was supposed to arrive. So I hurried to the garage and called my boys over my shoulder. I was hoping to meet our little friend in the drive--before he started down the sidewalk and discovered the crime scene.
But it was too late. He was already here. Looking for a stick.
I finally got all three boys to the car and picked up two more neighbor children (Boy number 2 and his sister) and proceeded to the bus stop. With a full house, the conversation went something like this…
“Hey Miss K—, How did that possum die?” Boy Number One asked. “Or was he just playing dead?”
“No, he was really dead,” I said.
“Did your cat kill him? “ Boy Number One asked.
“No, my cat didn’t kill him,” I said
“I bet he DID!” Boy Number Two said, gripping the back of my seat. “I saw your cat down by MY POND yesterday STALKING my DUCK!”
Oh, no.
“Guys, my cat didn’t kill that possum. My husband shot it last night.”
(There, I said it. My husband has guns and he shoots things.)
“A cat couldn’t kill a possum and wouldn’t even go near it. And your duck is MUCH too large (I hope) for my kitty to harm. He, by the way, is really a she, and she was probably just practicing her stalking skills.” I sounded more convinced than I felt.
“Oh,” said Boy Number Two. Then, to my oldest son, he said, “Did you poke the possum with a stick?”
(WHAT IS THIS POKING BUSINESS??)
Fast forward to this morning. Trash day. And the possum is still laying in the front yard.
Panicked that the possum might get poked, I asked my husband to DO something with it. So he did.
He took a plastic bag to grab it with and ran the awful thing out to the trash cans. Then, he hustled into the van to take my oldest son to school.
Relieved that there was no possum to poke, I gathered all my charges an hour later for the elementary school run.
On our way to the bus stop, Boy Number Two asked, “So, is the possum still in the yard?”
“No.” (Please don’t ask…Please don’t ask…Please don’t ask…)
“Where IS he??” asked Boy Number One.
(Ugh!) “Um, my husband put him in the trash can,” I said, not daring to look in the rear view mirror.
Peals of laughter filled the car. (I guess that’s better than the horror I expected.)
For the record, boys can be such strange creatures.
The bus came and went, and before I could turn back up our hill, the trash man turned into the road. Oh, yes. You see where this is going.
There was nowhere to pass him. And nowhere to hide. I was forced to follow him up the hill and sit at each house while they emptied the cans. I SERIOUSLY considered pulling into someone else’s driveway. But they know from past trash-days where I belong.
When they got to our cans, I stopped way back and slunk down in my seat. My little guy climbed into the front for a better view. They flipped off the lids, reached in, and pulled out each item to toss in the back of the truck. (WHAT??? Don’t they just dump the cans anymore? Aw no, yuck!) That’s when I discovered my dashboard wasn’t nearly tall enough.
Then tonight, as I was telling my husband about my morning trip, he didn’t even seem to be listening. Except I know he was, because he was chuckling. And dialing someone from my phone list on the wall.
Oh, no he wasn’t! But he did. He called Boy Number One’s dad and apologized for throwing “dinner” in the trash can. I can only imagine the consternation on the other end, because my husband went on to explain that he thought his little boy wanted to bring it home for his mom to make soup out of…
And that’s when I realized my phone list was too comprehensive.
