It's Saturday morning. A quilting friend is coming over to pick me up for a shopping trip, where we will egg each other on to buy fabric we definitely don't need, and I'm feeling rushed because I still need to find some pants that don't squish my side gooze too uncomfortably.
My son, Wildlife Man, crashes through the door with exciting news: "Mom! Mom! There's an opossum out near the turkey pens and it's playing dead!" One of our hens recently lost a leg to a predator, so I decide I must dispatch this fierce beast post haste. (I love blogging! I can write things that I never get to say in real life, like post haste!) I go to the gun safe, withdraw my little 45, and head for the back pasture, full of adreneline and some leftover testosterone that probably rubbed off the gun handle since my husband last used it.
I cautiously approach the wiley critter. He's laying on his side, with his beady little eyes just slits. To the casual observer, he's surely dead, but I, the Great Huntress, can see the faintest movement as he breathes. He's close enough for me to touch, but I stand back, take aim, and - CLICK. No bullets in the clip. I head back to the house, where, in complete confidence, I load three bullets. I proabably won't need even three, but it won't hurt to have a couple extra.
Back to the 'possum, who is still pretty dead looking. I take aim and fire. One. Hmm. He looks the same. Two, three shots. He still looks dead. How can you tell if a "dead" 'possum is dead? Wildlife Man says he thinks I missed with all three shots. Hmmph. I head back to the house for more ammo. This time I load up with five bullets.
Back to the 'possum for the third time. By now I have an audience - all 4 children, my visiting in-laws, and my shopping friend. I step closer, close enough to strangle the furry little demon. Again, I aim and fire. Aha! He jerks a little. One more bullet ought to do it. He jerks again, and his little pink tongue slips out the side of his mouth. His eyes open a little more and glaze over. I've done it! I've saved the day for the turkeys! Yay me! I leave to go shopping, giddy with power and accomplishment.
Several hours later I return home. Wildlife Man runs to the car; he can't wait to tell me & my friend the news: "Mom! About an hour after you left, that 'possum got up and walked away!" Everyone's laughing but me. I'm certain the 'possum and all his little 'possumy friends are having a good laugh about it, too, the mangy little creeps.
If that 'possum ever shows up 'round here again, I'm going to force feed him some of my tuna casserole. My family says that'll do him in for sure.