Let’s Test That Theory
Yesterday, I spent considerable time thinking on the subject of suffering and how we face trials. If suffering comes today, I thought with the glib certainty of theoretical emotion, I would be able to endure it better than in the past.
In the evening, our nearest neighbor, a dear woman whom we love and appreciate, came to the door bearing gifts. She had almost two dozen large brown eggs from her son’s hens, and a sack full of tomatoes and cucumbers. We stood chatting in the fading light while the hummingbirds flew resupply missions in the muggy air above our heads.
Nodding at the eggs, she said, “We’ve got to be more careful about closing up the coop at night. Lost a hen the other night and we can’t have that.”
I told her about the family of raccoons with whom I’ve been recently waging war and cautioned her about their wily nature. She agreed and then said, “Yeah, and you gotta watch possums, too. They’ll get your eggs. In fact, Michael killed two possums last night. He didn’t want to, of course, but he saw them hanging around the coop and we didn’t want them getting our eggs.”
I think I kept my face a mask, but inside, I was doing the math. I hadn’t put out any possum food since several nights ago when I saw the coons run baby-laden Noelle away from her dish and take over. I had hoped that my nightly harassment of their scavenging, depriving them of easy food and shooting the BB gun at them, would encourage them to seek better lodgings.
Dusky and Noelle (and her babies) didn’t get any food here for several nights, so they went to the nearest house because there was a chicken coop there. Did I drive them there? Did I inadvertently cause their deaths?
I have no idea if the .22 bullets ended the lives of Dusky and Noelle, or if two other possums were the targets. But if I don’t see my two little friends again, I will always wonder. People may laugh, or roll their eyes, or snort in impatient derision, but it’s sometimes difficult to be a soft-headed and soft-hearted sentimentalist.
What was that thought I’d had earlier in the day? If suffering comes today…
~ S.K. Orr
3 Comments
Francis Berger
I recently discovered I have beech marten(s) visiting my attic. Martens can do considerably damage to a house (and cars), so I have no choice but to get rid of it. I went out and bought a trap today. I am hoping I can trap the marten and relocate it without harming it. I will let you know how it goes.
admin
Francis, I do hope you can get rid of the marten(s) before any damage is done to your house. If you do manage to trap him/them, perhaps you could admonish him like St. Francis did with the wolf of Gubbio.
Bookslinger
Your wife (in a previous post) and your neighbor had good points. It would have been wrong for two generations of possums to become dependent on or acclimated to dog food and chicken eggs.
Clearing away “varmints” from around the homestead is common for those who live in or next to country land.
If they keep their distance, fine. But when they come up to the house, barn, chicken coop, etc., they have to either be driven off, or disposed of. it’s a constant maintenance. We had constant rabbits and woodchucks at our property on the city’s edge. Destructive little diggers, and horses could get injured stepping into their holes. The chucks would have “emergency” exits/entrances out in the field, in addition to their main holes in the brush at the edge.
Cute little chipmunks can also be destructive and costly when they burrow under sidewalks, steps and porches, causing collapses. Their burrows next to foundations can be conduits for water getting in next to the foundation and seeping into your basement or crawlspace.
I hear coon meat is kind of greasy. Possum is not that palatable, but Uncle Jed, Jethro and Elly Mae seemed to like Granny’s possum stew.
One country gal taught me the way to tenderize and remove the gamey-taste of wild critters: Pressure cook first, then re-cook in your recipe. I’ve only tried deer neck meat that way, nothing “gamier” than that.
As I understand, the deer in your neck of the woods don’t get very big. Here in Indiana, the corn-fed deer get so big, that you could saddle them up and ride them, assuming they’d let you.