Skanks, Opossums & Dachshunds

I just boiled water to make iced tea in a pot that had a dead baby opossum in it two days ago.

I forgot.

I forgot I gave my husband a kitchen pot to carry the dead baby opossum (or a playing dead baby opossum, we didn’t know for sure) from my son Nic’s bed, to somewhere, anywhere, out of our house and away from our son. And me. And my seven pound dog that wanted to play with it, and then eat it; in my son’s bed; under the blankets; next to his sleeping body.

It happened while Hubs and I were watching late night TV. Our miniature hunter dachshund, Scarlett O’Hara, walked past us, really, really fast and that got our attention. And then we noticed Scar (over the years, her name has morphed into something more suitable to her personality) had a baby opossum toy in her mouth.

Hubs jumped up, and yelled at Scar.

Drop it!

Scar ignored him and just sped up. Scar headed right for Nic’s room, and climbed the steps to his bed and slipped under the covers, next to Nic’s sleeping body, with Hubs hot on her trail, and yelling like a madman all the way. And that woke Nic up, and kinda freaked him out a bit, and then Hubs instantly yelled at him too…

Don’t move!

Nic was clueless and he sat perfectly still, and remained quiet.

Hubs didn’t know if the opossum was alive or playing opossum, so he had one hand on Scar, and one hand on a book, pinning down the opossum, and an eye on our other dachshund, Shakespeare, to keep them all separated. And blood-free.

And then Hubs yelled for me.

Grab a bucket!

This is how my Williams Sonoma, 2qt stainless steel, stupid-expensive pot got involved…

I was standing on a recliner in case the opossum stopped playing opossum and ran around looking for the doggy door. I figured this was a man-situation, and they didn’t need me.

But then I realized, OMG it could bite my kid, so I decided to help, and get the bucket.

But somebody failed to put the bucket back where it lived.

Which meant…

I had to go into the garage to get a bucket…

Which also meant…

Hubs was not getting a bucket.

Because I don’t go into the garage after dark, because Hubs lets a skank live in the garage, to eat bugs he says. So I don’t go into the garage after dark. Ever. As it is, I feel like a pioneer INSIDE my house.

So instead of a bucket, I brought Hubs a pot for the baby opossum.

A stupid-expensive pot, that I forgot was a dead-baby-opossum-coffin, for like five minutes two days ago, and so I just used it to boil water for iced tea.

Essentially Y’all, we live like a survivalist version of the Beverly Hillbillies. With miniature dachshunds for hunting hounds.


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