Our dog, Maple, killed an opossum last night.

I was hearing her outside barking, but it was a strange bark with whining added to the mix. I finally went outside and noticed her nosing around in the grass. At first I thought she was tracking a frog. But then she lifted it up with her mouth and threw it in the air. She moved it closer to the house (and light) and I I knew it wasn’t a frog. It was really big. I thought it might be a bird.

Maple was chased inside and I put on my shoes to dispose of the thing. When I inched closer I realized that Maple was throwing an opossum around and it wasn’t dead yet. Because it wasn’t dead yet, the removal of it from our yard moved from my department and into Head of the Household’s (aka Damon).

Being manly and all, Damon scooped up the opossum in a plastic bag (using a scrap piece of wood for scooping purposes) and threw it in our curbside garbage can.

This is where I admit that all day I have been a bit scared of the garbage can. What if the opossum was just playing opossum and wasn’t dead? What if the opossum used the 2 seconds the garbage can lid open to escape onto my face and freak me out?

I faced my fear this afternoon and threw a bag of trash away. No flying opossum, no face mauling.

And we have one less opossum (or none, since we have no idea where it came from) to think about.

Thanks, Maple.

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