The Night I Played Hockey with a Possum

A few years ago, my family owned a pair of Schnoodles. Some classify these as “yapping” dogs, and Shadow and Spook lived up to that classification. They also lived up to their names. Shadow attached himself to his closest master and Spook buried himself under the furniture anytime anyone got close or sneezed. On one dark summer night around 1:00 am, the dogs' endless barking prompted my wife to elbow me in the ribs, pushing me into action.

“Listen to that,” she said groggily. “Can you please go check on the dogs?”

I groaned, rolling out of bed. As I stumbled bleary eyed to the back door, their agitated yips crescendoed, sounding as if both had taken turns sucking helium from a tank. I flipped the back porch light switch and nothing happened. The bulb had burned out earlier in the day. I peered into the darkness. I saw the silhouettes of the two canines circling the object of their excitement. Half asleep, I eased barefoot into the yard to snatch up the toy both tussled over. As I stooped over, a hissing welcomed my efforts. The warm breath of some shadowy creature warmed my fingertips. I jerked back and sprinted to the porch. The dogs were right at my heels and dashed for the safety of the indoors. So much for being man's best friend...

My heart pounded as I struggled to catch my breath.

Toys weren't supposed to hiss.

Ever.

I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that I still had all of my fingers.

My adrenaline on overdrive, I stared into the inky black, this time a pair of menacing reddish eyes glowered back. I found a flashlight and aimed its beam at the invading varmint. It was an angry old possum.

The town I live in has ordinances against firing off 12 gauge shotguns in the city limits and doing so in the middle of the night would have awakened the neighbors and earned an unsolicited visit from the local authorities. I really didn't want to hurt the creature, but I needed to evict this trespasser from the backyard, or the dogs would yelp and yap the rest of the night. So, I grabbed a flashlight, broom and prepared for battle. To this day, I'm not sure why I thought of a broom other than the fact that it would help me "social distance" from the critter terrorizing my dogs.

With the flashlight in one hand and the broom in the other, I approached the marsupial, my light trained on its body. The white, gray, and black fur ball sat perfectly still, staring at me as I advanced. For whatever reason, the possum stood statuesque. I poked it gently with the broom handle; the possum refused to move. I poked it again and the only response from the animal was a loud hiss. I dropped the flashlight and tried gently pushing the possum with the bristles of the broom. Nothing happened but an angry wheezing whistle. So, I determined to remove the possum from our yard and had one last plan of attack. I was about to go all Wayne Gretzky on him.

I started sweeping the possum across the yard much like a hockey player pushes a puck along the ice. Unfortunately, each gentle nudge moved the possum only a few inches at a time. In the back of my mind, I wondered if the possum would soon turn those jagged incisors on me or call in a passel to drop from the trees to counter my efforts. When I maneuvered the little critter within 3 feet of the gate, I wound up and swung, swatting the possum on the rump but with enough force to lift the animal into the air. As he sailed six or seven feet into the neighbor's yard, he sounded like a deflating balloon. I quickly latched the gate to our fence and marched back inside, proud to have won my battle with the possum.

First, the possum sustained no injuries in his short flight from my backyard. Second, I learned something very important. Always keep a broom and flashlight stationed by the backdoor. You never know when you might have to play hockey with a possum.