Heroics

Today, I rescued a baby possum. Or I didn't. It's hard to say. I heard Girlie's mutt barking his head off at something in the back yard and naturally I ignored it because he's barked that head off every day since we rescued him from the humane society. After a few minutes I went out back and we had our usual exchange: "Marty, knock it off." "Bark." "Marty, come on buddy, let's go in the house." "Bark." "MARTY!!!" "Bark." "Baby want a treat?" And in the house he ran only as I glanced back to where he'd been standing, I saw a furry something in the grass by the hedge. At first I thought that it was the headless stuffed ostrich that is the favorite of my Italian Greyhound, Bella. But it was actually a very small baby possum. Hmmmmm. I got a shoe box and an old towel and scooped it into the box. I gave it a couple of drops of water and it looked at me with grumpiness and fear. It had a twig firmly gripped in its tiny hands. I called the police, animal services, Pesky Critters, the veterinarian, and a wildlife rehabilitation company. They all were either unable to assist, charged a fortune, weren't available, or uninterested. Hmmmmm. At the rehabilitation company's website, I found that like most idiots, I had assumed that the baby had been abandoned. If possible, they should be left alone because mommy will come looking for them. So I took it back to its spot, turned the box on its side and kept my dogs out of the yard. A couple of hours later, it was gone. Poof! Thin air. No sign of foul play, no cats ever come in our yard (dogs, remember?), and I haven't seen any blue herons or other birds of prey around here. Furthermore, it was fairly protected and hidden by the box and the hedge. So Girlie and I have chosen to believe that Possum Mommy came to the rescue and all is well with the world. If you think differently, I don't want to know about it. (Hands over ears) la, la, la, la , la....