Possum problems

I’ve been told twice recently that a rather troubling situation would be a good story someday. In at least one case, I think that is true, thanks to some local critters who heard I started this blog. Apparently, they think Haikus are too introspective and I should get a bit more real.

A couple Sunday nights ago, as Anika and I were watching a movie while Chris was away at a conference, I heard a strange flutter and thud at a back window. Upon investigation, I found hens trying to fly into the house to roost. That was certainly a first and warranted a bit more study.

(A little explanation here: we keep our hens in a fenced chicken run with electric wire protection from predators most days, but when we are home, we sometimes let them out in the backyard with our dog, Tucker, to deter attackers. They have always marched directly into the coop at dusk, without a fuss. But not this day.)

Outside, I found hens everywhere: on the potting bench, dog house, deck, lilac, etc. so I began grabbing unhappy chickens under both arms and depositing them in the run. One of my best flyers decided 15’ up in a maple was safer, but otherwise, I thought I had them all. However, a head count revealed that our bantam rooster, Mr. Anderson (Head of Feathers), was missing. So, back in the house for a head lamp and then a return to the search.

Not long after I got some light, I noticed a lump on the top of the chicken run fence. A possum-shaped lump. Possums are beneficial in that they clean up carrion, but they also will eat chicken eggs and sometimes even chickens. So, even though this guy was just a small adolescent, he was probably the cause of the hens’ reluctance to go in for the night, and certainly had to go. I texted Chris with my dilemma, but got no response.

I found a stick and chased him off the fence and out of the run, around the corner, and...back into the run under an apparent hole. Bad language ensued. He promptly found a hiding spot under the coop. More bad language. I chased and poked and generally cursed him out from under the coop and finally got him barricaded in a corner of the run. I then got a very helpful text from Chris: “Poke it with a stick?” Thanks, dear. So, I phoned some friends.

I was hoping for a live trap (why don’t we have one of those already??), but none was forthcoming. However, one experienced friend (from whom our coop and most of our chickens, including Mr. Anderson came) suggested I find a thick pair of gloves and a bucket and just grab him. This seemed reasonable, though it was slightly less reassuring when she texted back to remind me that a possum’s body temperature is too cold to carry rabies, so even if he bit me, I wouldn’t have that to worry about.

I then spent a loooong time looking for leather gloves. Nothing is ever where it should be when you really need it. Gloves and bucket in hand, I returned to the coop to find Chris had come home. But by that point, I was determined to finish the job, so I marched over, grabbed the hissing possum, and deposited him in the bucket. Actually, it was a little anticlimactic. 

I marched him well out into the woods and freed him, unharmed, to tell his blog audience his own tale of terror and woe. My night was not quite over, however.

Mr. Anderson is a pretty nice, reliable guy and Chris and I really did not like to leave him to fend for himself on an unseasonably cold fall night. We looked in all the usual places with no luck, and finally had to give up. We were definitely worried, especially when we did not hear his usual very-pre-dawn call (really, who thinks 4:30am is a reasonable hour?). It was a beautiful sunrise, but too quiet. 

And then, right at actual dawn, there was his call, and there he was, strutting around our front yard! Yay! We are still not sure where he spent the night, but we are glad to have him back, and the possum gone. Ah, farm life.