Shh...keep this on the hush-hush. It's not for the faint of heart. But it's how things work out here in Hillmomba. The circle of life. And death.
Sitting around watching judges traipse up and down rows of tables laden with science projects is not quite as thrilling as watching paint dry. You've seen it once, you can tick that off your bucket list. Aside from sitting behind the folded-up bleachers waiting for the sponsor meeting (which is where you acquire your free t-shirt), eating lunch sitting on bleachers among high-energy teens and tweens, and chronicling the height of the current Reverse JENGA Unofficial Wastebasket Competition entries...there isn't much to keep one from falling comatose. So when my old Basementia buddy received a call from her husband, interest was piqued.
Let the record show that earlier in the day, we had talked about my proposed new puppy, a blue heeler/dachshund mix (that Farmer H agreed to take without consulting me). And about my old disappeared dog, poor dumb Ann, and of course my sweet, sweet Juno. Basementia Buddy revealed that somebody had dumped a dog at her house. An Australian shepherd. So she knew how high-energy a border collie (half Juno), a blue heeler (proposed puppy), or the Australian shepherd could be.
"Maybe your new puppy won't get the dachshund stubbornness. But the heeler in it will wear you out wanting to go for a ride all the time! Whenever we start up an engine, on any vehicle, that dumped dog runs and jumps in! The truck, the car, a 4-wheeler. She's always ready to go."
"My sweet, sweet Juno does that with the Gator! The minute Farmer H turns the ignition, she starts yelping and prancing and dashes out to meet him. He's usually moving by the time she gets off the porch, and she runs ahead of him, looking back to make sure he's following. The Pony says she'll jump in and sit there if she gets a chance."
"See? They love to ride!"
"Maybe that Australian shepherd was a working dog. And she's ready to go clock in. Waiting to be driven to a field of animals she can shepherd."
"Oh. I didn't think of that."
So...BB got the phone call from her husband. "He says Dumped Dog caught a possum and had it out by the garage. Mortally wounded. Then he said, 'So I finished it off for her with a baseball bat. I know how she loves to drag them around for a day or two.'"
Lest you recoil in horror, consider this. Have you ever seen a possum in person? They are evil animals. They hiss. They are ugly as homemade sin. They come up on your porch and eat dry dogfood or cat kibble. They get in the garage through a pet door and pee and poop. Not a guest you would invite back. Which is not saying they don't deserve the same right to live as any other creature, but they are not exactly simpatico with humans. They are not cute little cartoon mommas carrying their babies on their back. But they DO carry diseases.
While it's not a pleasant image, I suppose putting a possum out of its (and your) misery with a baseball bat is better than letting it crawl around with a dog biting it.
BB's revelation did not shock me in the least. Let's not forget I live with Farmer H.