2 days ago I was sitting on the grass watching the kids catch lightning bugs.
Clarence the 'possum bobbled out from under the deck and sat right by my leg.
I looked over and he wiggled his snout at me. I noticed his eartag was hanging half off.
I gingerly reached and touched his ear and the tag fell off.
I wanted to look at his ear and make sure it wasn’t torn or infected.
I just dove in and and pushed his ear over to make sure it was okay.
It’s was fine.
He never moved.
I decided to skritch his head. I petted him for several minutes.
He liked it so much he rolled over and went to sleep.
I petted his belly. I was kinda thinking I feel for a pouch. Then I figured a boy 'possum would not have one. I guess.
The whole thing was quite strange.
Then I petted his tail.
OMG. That tail is weird. The skin moves without the under neath stuff moving. Strange!
I’m thinking Clarence the 'possum is really kinda tame.
Or too old to care.
I cannot figure out how I accidentally accomplished this.
It makes you think. How many times have I ignored or thought nothing of a chance happening like I had with Clarence?
Now I have a friend who makes me smile every time I see him.
You have a Small Animal Field (a term that my college girlfriend coined, and applied to me). Small animals are just attracted to you. It also seems to work well with babies.
Past chances are gone and not to be counted because they may not have become the friendship this one is. But treasure it and don’t be afraid to try again with some other critter. Except maybe a sidewinder or copperhead snake.
I’ve always wanted a crowbar. I understand they drink a lot of Tequila Mockingbirds.
All the animals love you, Beck. Leave your windows open, and I bet birds would fly in to help you get dressed. Unless they’re crows. They’re too independent.
How’s ol’ Bayliss? Does he ignore Clarence, or have they become buds?
This reminded me of something that happened to me, when we were on vacation in Ireland in the '90s. We were in our room at the bed-and-breakfast, in the evening, though, it being summer, it was still light out. It was a warm night (by Irish standards), and we had the windows open in the room. There were no screens, because I guess they don’t care about bugs coming in.
I was lying on the bed, reading a book, with an open window above and behind my head. My wife, sitting across the room, gasped, and when I looked at her, she was staring in my direction. “Look over your head, slowly,” she whispered. I did so, and discovered that there was a very large black raven, on the windowsill, just over my head. He was halfway into the room, staring at me and my book.
After a few moments, he flew off, but he was clearly attracted by the Small Animal Field.
They are here. They cannot be bothered with all my pointless and mundane life stories.
They’re real jerks most days.
Hate the grandwrex.
Hate the dogs, especially the Chihuahuas.
Hate people.
