Ahhh...country life

I stepped out my back door awhile ago and was in the process of leaning down to pet the dog when I heard rustling behind me. I jumped and let out a short squeal, for no other reason than I am jumpier than all get out. And then I saw the possum. Paul had mentioned that we had a nighttime visitor of the marsupial variety that had been visiting Jake's dog food. Well, he was back tonight. He saw me, I saw him and we both hit the high road. I yelled "PAUL!! POSSUM!!" and even though the house is entirely opened up, all windows open, he didn't hear me. I took off running as the possum took off running and I tripped over the dog who was running the same direction I was - away from the possum. You have never seen a fat girl run so fast, lemme tell ya. I hit the front door and yelled "DID YOU NOT HEAR ME???? POSSUM!!!" He sprung out of the recliner and grabbed the spotlight and ran for the back door. I took a moment to make sure I hadn't wet myself, then went back out the front door, only to trip over the dog again, who was cowering on the porch. Oh, he's great at protecting me from the evil, stinky septic guy, but useless when it comes to critters. Paul was moving things around, checking the wood pile, but couldn't see the possum. I told him that as fast as I ran, I hardly thought he'd gotten too far. Sure enough, he moved the kids' Jeep and the possum hissed. He whispered, "Hand me a 2x4!" A 2x4? I wouldn't know a 2x4 if one hit me upside the head. Bad at eyeing measurements, I am. I whispered back, "Which one would that be?" "Woman, just hand me a BOARD!!" I threw one at him because I was going nowhere near where the action was. Jake and I stood at the opposite end of the carport, watching in fascination, but both of us ready to bolt if need be. When Paul started backing up, the dog took off toward the front porch again. I did, too. Then the chase was on. I heard possum feet scurrying through the grass, followed by angry husband feet. Then WHACK! The dog whimpered, I squealed. I think both of us tinkled a little. Then more running, more whacking, some muffled cussing and then silence. I was standing there wondering if possum bite was something the indians would consider life-threatening if we had to go to the ER because we have no medical insurance and the only way the indians will cover Paul, the non-indian spouse, is if it's life threatening. I was also mentally composing this blog post. I haven't a clue how long I stood there, blogging in my head. Finally I cautiously started walking toward the back of the house and then I heard footsteps again coming toward me. Out of the darkness, here comes my darling husband with possum in hand, dangling it by the tail at me. I screamed and again, you've never seen a fat girl run so fast. Why? I knew the thing was dead, but I ran anyway. He tried to coax Jake over there, but the dog just laid down on his back and looked at me like, "Okay, I'm much cuter than a possum. Are you going to pet me or not?" I sighed at my fearless protector and gave his belly a cursory pat. Then busted out laughing when I looked up and saw my husband bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. "I (gasp) had to chase the (gasp) thing all the (gasp) way to the other (gasp) end of the house! But I got him!" and he held up the oogey, nasty, bloody 2x4 to prove his hunting abilities. Forget the gun coming deer season, I'm giving him a board and a spotlight. He has no luck with the gun, but he seems pretty adept at hand to varmit combat.

Nighttime critter hunting scores:
Raccoons: 0
Possums: 0
Redneck husband:2

That's my guy.