Here’s a silly post from back in 2013 about an encounter with an unfortunately deceased possum.
So Tuesday I picked up grandson Daniel …
…at soccer camp and headed back to his house. Traversing up the driveway, discussing Skylander Giants, we both saw this at about the same time:
A small, dead, open-eyed possum in the neatly manicured front lawn. “Look, Abu! A big rat!” Daniel yelled, as he excitedly unbuckled his seat belt, careening toward the thing.
“I think it’s a possum, Daniel, and I also think he’s dead.” (WHY do I use verbs like “think” in times like this? The possum was dead as a doornail with bugs swarming around its head.)
“That means he’s not breathing,” Daniel explained to me.
“Why don’t you go in the house and cool off, while I get rid of our friend?”
“NO!” Daniel screamed. “We have to show it to Mommy!”
“Well, he can stay here for a few minutes.” (Like the possum was going somewhere.)
At about that time, Olivia and Larkin, the cute twins from next door, came running into the driveway, straight from a pool party. And of course, Daniel had to show them …
… explaining that the “rat, I mean possum, was dead and couldn’t move, so don’t touch it till Mommy comes home because we are going to show it to her.”
Her expression says it all.