A Too Close Encounter

When we first moved to Florida, we rented a townhouse while we were building our new home. I have always been a bird lover so, after moving in, one of the first things I did was to put in place in our tiny little backyard a concrete birdbath, the kind that comes in two parts, pedestal and bowl, no small matter for weak me. It was not far from a sliding glass door in our kitchen, and I often watched the birds drinking and splashing around.

Other wildlife visited, especially squirrels, and I enjoyed their antics almost as much as the birds. I hung peanut butter covered pine cones and corn on the cob from tree limbs and was rewarded with daily sideshows. I saw my very first pileated woodpecker, my mouth dropping open at the size of it! You could not miss it when it was around. Its tree-hammering pecking would wake the dead.

Several nights, attracted by the kitchen lights, raccoons would come up on the little concrete patio and almost press their noses to the glass in the kitchen door, looking for handouts.

Later after venturing out on walks, I found out the apartment complex was very close to a section of a local creek, and I decided that was the reason for the “tame” and abundant wildlife. I got used to seeing hawks and owls and other things that had been alien to me where I lived in Delaware.

One morning after sitting down with my cup of coffee, I looked out to see that the birdbath bowl was upside down on the ground. Too fat squirrel I mumbled to myself as I went out to place it back on its pedestal. Gingerly, I put my fingers under one side and lifted. I had it about an inch off the ground when a little pink nose poked its way out of the opening. Without any regard to what it might be or whether I would injure it, I dropped that concrete bowl and was back on the patio faster than Road Runner.

After my heart rate slowed, I decided I was being silly. That nose was teeny. But yes, it might warrant gloves and a shovel so I proceeded to arm myself. Standing as far away as possible, I eased the tip of the shovel under the bowl and slowly pushed down on the handle. Nothing appeared. Feeling braver, I pushed a little more and faster than a flash of lightning, an ugly pinkish thing streaked past me to scurry out of sight around the side of the building. Seconds later I found myself sitting on the ground as my brain registered possum. Embarrassed, I looked around to see if anyone was watching.

Not the actual culprit but check

out those claws and teeth.

I made the mistake of telling the story to others and was teased about it at least once a week for several months. Whenever we got together with my in-laws, I was always asked if we were having ‘possum and sweet taters for supper. West Virginians are merciless.