We had a visitor last night here in Indiana: a possum (or, apparently, an opossum. I’m sticking with the lack of an “o” here, though, because it makes more sense with the whole “playing possum” situation. Oh, and for my Australian readers, these aren’t the cute little possums you have. Click on the previous link if you want to see the American version of your cute critters).
Growing up, our dog, Sundance, was an expert at killing possums. He was not one to be fooled by their whole playing possum ruse, and more than a few possums met their end at his hands (/paws. Or really, his teeth).
The only movie clip I could think of involving possums. I now have this song stuck in my head. You’re welcome.
Choppy, on the other hand, seems to lack the killer instinct. She has cornered cats, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons and a host of other small critters with no intention of killing them. Instead, she just barks at them, apparently expecting me to come and take care of the situation for her. And by “take care of the situation for her,” she just wants me to offer her a treat in exchange for abandoning the cornered (and probably very thankful) animal.
Last night, she cornered a possum. Unfortunately for the neighbors, she did this sometime around midnight (I hope they weren’t planning on sleeping).
I promptly offered Choppy a treat, which she briefly ignored in favor of sniffing around the possum.
Choppy quickly decided the possum was not worth her time/was not as exciting as a treat, and came in the house. Unsurprisingly (but quite happily), by this morning, we no longer had a possum on our hands.