Wide Load

This afternoon, I washed Cloudy the Rabbit (in anticipation of her visit to the vet this week) and also washed Sparky, and put them both out to dry in the afternoon sun. I heard a fuss in the backyard, though: it sounded like two upset blue jays spitting and hissing at a cat. Instead, it was two baby possums in distress, one in my yard and one in the yard next door, calling out for help. They had both fallen off Mama Possum, who was busy balancing on the fence top, with two of her remaining babies clinging on her back. Mama Possum was slowly pacing and turning around on the high, narrow beam of the fence top, endangering the safety her two remaining passengers.

Even though possums are a possible danger to Cloudy the Rabbit, I decided to help Mama Possum through this particular crisis. Even though I might regret my acts later, it seemed like the right thing to do. The babies looked really cute (not quite like last year's scraggly, adolescent possum).

Using a dust pan, I collected the baby possum in my yard and returned it to Mama's back, then went into the yard next door and tried to so the same with that baby possum. Baby possum lost its grip and fell again, however, this time in my yard, so I crossed back into my yard and tried again to help out, this time successfully. Then I heard another cry from next door: there was yet another baby possum in distress in the next door neighbor's yard. So, I crossed back over and put the baby back on a relieved Mama Possum. She was sure carrying a wide load: four big babies on her back, and a fifth big baby stuffed in her pouch!

By the time I left for Saturday ballet class, the back yard was a picture of bucolic bliss: wet Cloudy, miserable and suspicious, was trying to warm herself in the sun under the birch tree, and clueless Sparky, barking at phantoms, still hadn't figured out there was even one possum nearby (much less six). Mama Possum seemed to be eyeing Cloudy from the fence top, perhaps with hunger, or envy for Cloudy's carefree single life. Mama Possum was slowly changing direction yet again on the fence top (a really, really bad idea under the circumstances), and from somewhere in the yard next door, I heard again the bleating of a baby possum (presumably having fallen yet again from Mama's back).