About midnight last night, Pip the dog had to go out. Not sure why — she had been out at 11. Maybe she heard something? Who knows. All I know is that I let her out and waited for her to do her business.
She did her business alright. I heard her raising hell one bark at a time.
I ran in and got my phone (my source of a flashlight) and found her attacking a juvenile opossum. It was tucked into a corner of our fence, hissing and standing on a soccer ball. Of course, my first thought was “Aw, it wants to play a pick-up game of soccer with Pip,” and then I thought, “Chris McDaniel is haunting me.” Then I thought a little more logically, “I had better get between this dog and this hissing opossum or one of them will get bitten badly.”
Of course, I put my pink, fleshy legs in danger. That’s what kind of guy I am.
I yelled a few choice profanities (seemed appropriate for the occasion) and got Pip to back off. She is a terrier. She is bred to kill varmints. She was doing her job and doing it well.
Finally I got her herded into the house. I, of course, sent out the picture of our hissing, soccer-playing marsupial out to the internet. Pip was back in her native environment (our bed) and I faded off to sleep.
But if there any youth soccer leagues who want to be the “Fighting ‘Possums,” I got your mascot. Give me a call: 1-800-Opossum.
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