Defending hearth and home

The quiet of the cold night was shattered by barking dogs.  One bark was low pitched and assertive.  Another produced high pitched staccato yelps.  And yet a third was definitely hound.  I was thinking in my sleepy haze they needed to work on their harmony.  Until I realized.  Those are my dogs!


I looked at my watch: 4:45 a.m.  Sorry neighbors, I'm on it.  Believing in speed over comfort, I leapt out of bed (always wanted to put that in a sentence) and headed for the backyard without shoes and eye glasses.  My attempt to turn off the nocturnal noise failed.  Only one of three dogs obeyed my order to come inside.  I would need to get closer to the distraction to get the dogs' attention. 


I retreat back inside the house to get shoes and glasses.  By this time, back outside the sun's impending arrival cast just enough light to make out the object of my dogs' scorn: a cat-sized rat sitting frozen atop the fence.  Make that a possum.  In low light its profile looks like a mutant giant rat.  Shiver. 


My presence appeared to have spooked the animal.  I watch from a distance as it tightrope walked across the top of our backyard fence.  Away from the house. 


My darlings come running inside oh so satisfied with their performance.  I couldn't help but be proud of them. Of course they all get treats! 


I settle back into bed and not 10 minutes later, the chorus is back outside. By this time my husband has been briefed on the matter and he bursts into action.  I listen from my warm bed.  A short few minutes later, the barking stops.  Mission accomplished!


Sure enough, the possum had come back, likely hoping to sneak home before the sun completely rises.  Where is that home? We don't know but we really don't want it to be OUR house.


Paul returns from the battlefield.  Tell me what you did, I implore my brilliant and brave husband.  "Um," he is slow to report. Typical. He's so humble.  "I threw a soccer ball at it."


Fortunately his maneuver did not fell the poor animal.  In fact the possum, says Paul, didn't budge. The dogs - or as I like to call them, the treat sluts - eagerly followed Paul back inside assured of another reward. They have trained us well.


While I can appreciate that it took some guts on my husband's part to attempt to knock the possum off the fence, I just wish he had the same guts to ask our neighbor for the soccer ball back.