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It’s hard to tell one opossum from another opossum…..

But I think this is a different one…because he (or she) was bigger…his fur was healthier and smoother…and there wasn’t a hitch in his get-along…..

Regardless…the other night…I was called out of my bed and into action to protect my poultry…(yet again)…..

There is definitely a repeat pattern here…it always at night…after everyone has gone to bed…and I’m always in my underwear or my pajamas…..

…..owls…coyotes…raccoons…opossums………….and me…semi-clothed…..

Last night it was my PJ’s…but like I’ve said before…it was after dark…and other than insulting a few delicate Swamp critters…I just don’t care…..

But the biddies went off…as only biddies can do…..

They have an undeniable hysteria about their cackling and flapping…..

Fortunately I was still awake and reading…..

…..(you know…for an old stiff broad I can still get galvanized into action when my poultry are sending up sirens and alarms)…..

My older daughter was already asleep…I told my younger daughter what I was doing (as I went past her bedroom doorway)…she had heard the chickens too…..

I vaulted over sleeping Irish Wolfhounds (???aren’t they supposed to be Watchdogs???)…and deftly avoided hysterical cats (who were ardently trying to trip me)…..

…..and then I was out in the darkness…..

…..armed with a flashlight and my favorite .38…trying to get around to the coop quickly and not fall flat on my face…(at least this time I had shoes on)…..

Once I arrived at the coop…I could see one of the Maran hens on the ground…desperately running around…(the rest were still up on the perch)…and an equally wide-eyed frantic opossum…..

I think the possum was thinking he’d made a big mistake…..

Using the flashlight’s beam of light…the frantic hen was able to get back up to the relative safety of the perch…and Mr. Possum was desperately trying to remember how to get out…..

*****Thoughts That Ran Through My Head:

(A): I wish Mr. Possum would just get out of the coop and leave us alone.  (B): Even if Mr. Possum does get out of the coop…he’ll be back…(crap!).  (C): I should shoot him…but it’s late…it would be loud…it would freak out the chickens…(plus I promised Dr. Brigid I wouldn’t shoot any more possums…(damn!).  (D): Do possums carry leprosy(?)…because I just grabbed him by the tail…no…that’s Texas armadillos.  (E): What if he’s just visiting from Texas?  (F): Damn!…..

At this point Mr. Possum was scaling the coop walls…trying to remember how he got in…(so he could get out)…..

But it told me where his point of ingress & egress was located…..

It was a gap in the roofing wire which was left by a fallen limb during Hurricane Milton…..

…..(sigh…repairs…repairs…always repairs)…..

With all of that in mind…I got a very sophisticated & weaponized garden stake and I started poking Mr. Possum until he jumped from the screening onto the dirt…..

I kept poking him (and his hissing face) all the way out of the coop…while blinding him with my flashlight…..

Because I really didn’t want him seeing how close my feet and legs were to his pointy angry teeth…..

Once through the open coop door…Mr. Possum willingly fled into the night…..

I was hoping his ego was bruised enough that he wouldn’t quickly return…and I would have a chance to repair the coop in the morning…..

~~~~~And so goes another chapter in the Saga of the Farm in the Swamp~~~~~

The poultry survived…the possum survived…and tranquility returned once again to our Swamp…..

…..(and a good explanation of why I’m an insomniac)…..