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.