My dog brought a baby possum in our home — lucky us!
My dog brought a baby possum in our home — lucky us!
When hunting dogs love the chase and wreak havoc in your home
My dogs absolutely loved my mother, but she has had far more heart-thumping moments with them than me, my father and my brother combined. A part of me sympathizes with her bad luck, but the facetious part of me cackles at how much rodents love her.
Three of four of us are terrified of mice. However, a mouse chose my mother as a target in our sealed dog food bucket. She reached in to scoop up some dry food, and a mouse came swimming to the top and ran across her hand.
Then there was the time my Labrador Retriever/German Shepherd mix strolled over to her with a dead bird in his mouth. No matter how much she tried to talk him into leaving it alone, he just kept pawing at it and picking on the poor thing.
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Another time my father happened to see our purebred German Shepherd with something circular in her mouth. She dropped it as soon as she walked in the back door, and it quickly disappeared. My father, thinking his eyes may have played tricks on him, wasn’t quite sure what he’d just seen. He picked my mother up from the train station and drove her to my grandfather’s house so he could scope out the house alone. Hours later, he saw nothing and assumed it was his imagination. Meanwhile, our German Shepherd looked completely uninterested in his search.
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Less than a day after my mother returned home, one of her ceramics fell on the dining room floor. When she went into the dining room, she saw something strange. There was this unfamiliar object on the carpet — a baby possum playing dead. She screamed. The baby possum ran, knocking down a few more ceramics, and my father heard the blood-curling scream that confirmed his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
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My German Shepherd also refused to come in the attic with her, after she found out a squirrel had babies. She needed to get her work clothes and go through her collection of shoes from our unfinished attic. However, our semi-fearful dog (the possum hunter) fell down the attic steps one time and refused to go up ever again — in her nine-year lifetime. So my mother had to dart upstairs to get clothes, pray that no baby squirrel came running out and flee back downstairs where our dog patiently sat at the bottom of the steps. Poor Mom.