Friday, January 22, 2010
I mean really, why?
Minding my own business typing away in my home office trying not to be distracted by YouTube and keep working and then this happens. Teddy Bear came running into my office to tell me a dead possum was on our front porch. I actually laughed.
"Ha, ha, sure. It's probably playing possum."
I thought I was so funny and witty. I mean, my Christmas tree is still on my front porch because I missed trash day this week. You would think I have a car on blocks on my front lawn and blackened out teeth and drive a pick up truck with a gun rack or something. But I live in a nice suburban neighborhood in Temecula. With a homeowner's association who frown on brown lawns and send snitty messags to you if such a calamity occurs.
But there I am. Dead Christmas tree. Dead possum. It is blowing rain, cold and windy here. It has rained for days and the temperatures are down in the 30s at night.
Teddy Bear's friend, Mr. Guitar Player, even poked it with a stick. Yep, rigor mortis. Even the tail was stiff. A possum popsicle. The only thing moving on it was one ear that kept gently flapping in the wind which made Teddy and I jump. I am tempted to leave him there and hopefully a coyote will decide to come along and help himself. I can get a sign pointing to it and everything. Like Wile E. Coyote and the roadrunner. Anybody know the number for Acme?
The last time I saw a possum was in my mother's backyard. The whole family was over with all the dogs. Big ol' Tank, fat bo, clueless Cabo (who is huge!). They are going insane barking at something. There it is. A possum. On the lawn. Just lying there. The dogs jump at it, then jump back like they got electrocuted. They look positively stupid. Like they have some sort of doggie neurologic disorder. They are trying to channel their ancestral wolf genes but they end up looking like city slickers on a dude ranch. The possum continues to lie there. We finally round up the dogs and bring them inside and, lo and behold, the possum is gone the next time we look.
So now I have to run to the hardware store and get a shovel to shovel him into a box. I will have to do this at night because I am quite sure I will be gagging and trying not to puke while I do this.
For heaven's sake. I just got myself all out of my funk. You all are such good therapy. I even watched Pollyanna.
Anybody want to play the Glad Game?
We can be glad I have a dead possum on my porch because...because...I got it!! It will keep the holy rollers from knocking on my door and making me read the Watch Tower! (I know, I know. I'm going straight to hell. Is there a Heathen's Anonymous?)
Maybe I should turn it into a door stop or something with a note pinned to it: No Solicitors Allowed. Do you think it would work?
Posted by Happy Hour...Somewhere at 10:40 AM