I was out mowing the lawn and noticed a bunch of flies around the back of the tool shed. I figured they were going after some garbage. For some reason, people walking down the alley behind my house like to throw empty beer cans into my yard. I thought maybe someone decided to toss the rest of their garbage too. I shut off the mower and went to the back of the shed to look. There were a couple of half empty fast food bags and a dead possum. I knew the local burger place was bad, but apparently it was even bad enough to kill animals that regularly eat garbage.
I didn’t want my dog messing with a dead animal, so I knew I had to clean it up right away. I grabbed a shovel from the shed and went around back. There was just enough space between the shed and my neighbor’s fence for me to fit.
Working very carefully, I slid the blade of the shovel under the possum and lifted it up. As I started backing up out of the tight space, to my horror, the possum opened its eyes. It wasn’t dead after all.
In hindsight, I probably should have been prepared for that. Possums are famous for pretending to be dead, after all. Being surprised at a possum still being alive is like being shocked at a dog for peeing on a fire hydrant, or a cat for knocking your water glass onto your laptop and ruining your life. It’s just what they do.
My heart started pounding. The possum stared up the shovel at me and hissed. It was smaller than my cat, but in the moment, it seemed like a terrifying monster. I was sure I was moments away from a wild animal jumping up at me and chomping down on my neck like a rabid Dracula. I figured the best thing to do was tip it onto the ground and lift up the shovel to defend myself. Except in my frightened state, I did it backwards. I screamed and heaved the blade of the shovel upwards, launching the possum into the air.
I turned around to check where the possum had landed, and to see if it was headed back to get revenge, but it wasn’t in my yard. It was gone. I only had a moment to wonder before I heard noises coming from the other side of the fence. My neighbor’s kids were yelling like the devil himself had just appeared in their yard.
I heard their back door bang open and the dad yell, “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
A girl’s voice screamed, “An animal!”
“What animal?” the dad asked. “Where?”
“Over there!”
“Looks like a possum. Where did it come from?”
“The sky!”
“What?”
“It came from the sky!” a boy’s voice said.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t know how, but it flew down from the sky!”
There was a long pause while their father considered this information. He might have been debating lecturing them about lying, or wondering if it was possible for a possum to climb up a telephone pole and then dive bomb his kids. He might have wondered if it was actually a rare breed of gigantic, albino flying squirrel. Finally, he must have decided the animal wouldn’t just fly away, because he said, “Go inside and get me the broom. I’ll open the back gate and shoo it out.”
I’ve thought about it for a couple of hours now. What is the right thing to do in such a bizarre situation? Apparently both the kids and the possum were fine. The only thing harmed was my dignity. Should I come clean and hope for the best? On the other hand, how angry would their parents be? Should I just hide in my den and pretend I haven’t been outside all weekend? It’s not like there’s an advice column to handle this sort of thing. Dear Abby and Ann Landers are dead, and I’m pretty sure Dan Savage and Doctor Drew don’t deal with accidental animal catapulting.
I’ve decided it’s probably best to never tell anyone what happened. I don’t know what kind of crime throwing rabid marsupials at your neighbor’s kids is, but I don’t want to find out. So if you happen to be a veterinarian in Indiana, and a couple of kids start asking you weird questions, please do me a favor. Tell them that yes, on very rare occasions, possums can fly.
