I'll tell y'all a little story about my Papa and a couple of possums.
Now Papa was a rough sort to stay the least. He drank a lot and I don't mean tea, sold and drank homemade hooch in the depression, drank and did his own dental work on the front porch, and only bathed about once a week I'm not sure if he drank then or not. The bathing once a week might've been because he didn't have hot water at his house, at Papa's if you wanted hot water you did it on the stove. Yeah, most of us today would say he was rough to say the least, I for one miss these kind of old timers but that's another story.
One friday afternoon I went to stay the night at Papa's house and when I got there he was real excited. After Mom left Papa told me he had something to show me out back. Papa always had great stuff to show a little boy, that old man was always up to something. Well we get out back and he takes me to a old empty dirt floor pen he had out back, he was always catching something to show us kids. The pen was empty but for a water bucket, table scraps, and a hole burrowed in the ground.
Papa starts cussing and says if they won't come out he'll just have to drag them out. He goes into the pen and just reaches down into that burrow up to his shoulder almost. I hear a terrrible ruckus from the hole and he drags out a possum by the tail. Here this critter is hissing and all at him while he grins holding it swinging by the tail and to beat it all he reaches in with his other arm then drags out another one. The funniest thing was he'd put flea collars on them like you would a lap dog. His big plan was to make pets out of them, he wanted to lay on his swing on the front porch with his pet possums.
For a couple of weeks after that I'd call everyday to check on the possums. One day when I called Papa was mad cause them possums had dug out of the pen and got away. I can't really say what he said about them but let's just say he cussed them good.
Well a week or two later I get to go stay the night with Papa again. I got up early to go out to shoot my pellet gun and when I go out back to hit the woods as I was passing by the garbage cans they're all tipped over but one with trash everywhere. The one can was wedged in the enclosure with the other cans and when I look in there is a possum. No only a possum but one with a flea collar on. I took off back up to the house hollering for Papa, I get in the screen door out back and Papa meets me kinda bleary eyed, I reckon he thought I was hurt or something. I tell him one of his pet possums is back and in the garbage can.
Papa starts cussing heading back into the house with me following. The old man pulls down his H&R .410 and troops back out the house. Here I am following Papa thinking the old man has gone crazy, ever step of the way he's just a cussing them possums how they were dirty so and so's for running off and that he'd teach them. Papa goes up to the garbage can looks in and says yup that's one of them, then he lowers the .410 and shoots that possum. Blew the bottom of the garbage can out and all. Papa turns around and said something about that teaching him to run off and goes back in the house. I was left there just wondering what had just happened scratching my head.
Yeah Papa was a rough old coot but I miss him anyways they just don't make'em like him no more.
. They play dead when put into a predicament they can't run from.
