Oh No, An Opossum

Being the proud new owners of 10 peaceful acres in the country, we acquired ten chickens and a rooster or two as a bonus. Having had no experience with chickens, my husband Pat and I talked with an Ag Extension Agent who assured us it was relatively easy. We already had a suitable pen with nests so we would just feed, water and gather eggs.

One morning a hen ruffled her feathers and let me know she definitely didn't want to be bothered when I went to gather eggs. The agent told us this was a "broody" hen and she wanted to set on her eggs so that they would hatch into baby chicks. We separated her nest slightly from the others and let Mother Queen Hen keep her eggs warm.

A couple of nights later we were awakened by a commotion outside in the area of her coop. Making my husband go out with me I threw on a robe, stepped into houseshoes and grabbed a flashlight - Pat grabbed the gun.

Squawking continued unabated as we drew near. The flashlight beam showed a long, scrawny tail protruding from the nest. The hen was squawking and flapping her wings. The Agent hadn't mentioned this problem.

Pat recognized it as a opossum but had no idea how to get to it. As he walked to one side of the coup for a better look the opossum turned toward him and suddenly the long skinny tail was pointing toward me. Without a lot of thought, I grabbed it and started pulling. The animal was clawing at the dirt as I pulled on its tail but I wouldn't let go, saving that poor little hen was foremost in my mind. I kept yanking away until I won and out came the creature that was at the other end of that scrawny tail. He was not happy.

Oops, now what? His body was the size of a small melon with thin whitish hair and he had wicked looking teeth at the end of a long, pointed snout. He kept opening and closing has mouth to give me a better view of those wicked looking teeth.

I raised my arm, still holding on to the tail, and hoisted him into the air but he kept swiveling around and curling his body up toward my hand who had a hold of his tail. Each time he did this I would allow my hand, that was as far from my body as I could get it, to drop slightly and he would fall several inches toward the ground. When this happened, his head would go down but almost immediately he would swivel around and curl his body up again trying to reach my hand. "What do I do with him?" I screamed? Pat was trying not to laugh but he didn't know either and his only advice was "take him down to the pond." It was step hand-jerk, step hand-jerk for 20 or 30 feet then I tried a discus-thrower's maneuver and flung him as far from me as I could, then started running away from the direction I had tossed him.

The last we saw of the opossum, he was walking a little drunkenly in the opposite direction toward the pond.

Chaos Causing Coyotes

We'd just gone to bed one night, shortly after moving in, when we heard it. A high-pitched wail that made me sit upright in bed and nudge my husband. "Did you hear that?" I asked worriedly. He had but had no more idea than I what had made the sound. Suddenly the wail was joined a chorus of high-pitched Yip-Yip-Yip-Yip... I wondered later if our city dogs, who had thundered forth their objection to this obscene night noise, had instinctively known that our land was being crossed by a pack of coyotes. I was told later that coyotes would kill chickens, cats and lure dogs away and kill them. I decided right then that we didn't want coyotes - but want them or not, they were there.

Everyone Should Like Me

She was just an 'ole hound dog with liver and white spots and very pregnant the first time we saw her - the unforgettable feature was that her eyes twinkled and she just seemed to like us (only later did we find out she likes everybody). We were new in the area and had made our first friend.

Several weeks passed and we didn't see her again, then she reappeared, her tummy had shrunk but her appetite had not. After eating and drinking she disappeared almost immediately but returned more quickly after that time and we provided food and affection.

One morning she presented a tiny pup for our inspection. We oohed and aahed over him but we were surprised she had only one. The next day she brought a second. This continued daily through nine puppies and we named her Mama Dog.

We were unable to care for all her pups so we managed to find good homes for them, but nine months later this experience repeated itself through three litters. Finally, belonging to us alone or not, we had her spayed.

Although she stays at our place predominately, she makes the rounds of the neighboring farms. We were told by one person that their dog was probably the father of Mama Dog's pups and by another that she had been in the area for a long time.

Our personal menagerie consists of five dogs, all within a large fenced yard, so we didn't consider introducing a sixth. Dogs are very territorial and our crew does not like Mama Dog in their space (even though she is outside the fence), and they will bark and run at her when she comes near. She will slink away with tail between her legs and often we will run out and pet her, assuring her of our love. Even the barn cat, Roxie, will rub enthusiastically against her leg, but she seems to want Everyone to like her.

Funny how our lives coincide. We've been here now for 6 years and we wanted everyone to like us too ... but not everyone does. I guess that's just the way it is for two and four legged creatures.
Often at night we hear a mournful bark - it's Mama Dog, baying at the moon and asking "Why doesn't Everyone like me?"