happy tails

 

 

 

Well my dear ones,

 

 

Yesterday, just as I was on my way

to do a puppet show for the two-year-olds,

I came upon a possum in the road.

 

She was just a little thing,

not much more than a baby,

and while, thank God,

she hadn’t been run over,

I could tell that she had been

hit by a car;

she was in the middle of the road,

with blood on her mouth,

panting and distressed.

 

She was so scared and freaked out

that she didn’t even resist

when I picked her up like a kitten

(holding the back of her neck

 to prevent a fear-bite),

by the neck but also supporting

her little body.

 

I carried her to a shady spot

beneath some trees by the roadside,

and laid her down to recuperate.

 

I prayed, “God, if you want me

to help this small possum,

then let it be there when I get back.”

 

Newcomers may not know, yet

those who have read this blog for awhile

are aware that I have

a soft spot for possums;

I’ve had one ever since I was 14,

and watched a possum risk its life,

braving the traffic on a busy street,

trying to get its mate to move,

not realizing that she was dead.

 

In the Bible,

it says that husbands should

love their wives sacrificially,

as in, be willing to lay

their life down for hers

(no kidding; it really says that;

 in Ephesians 5:25 it says,

 “Husbands, love your wives,

  just as Christ also loved the church

  and gave Himself up for her”).

 

And here I saw this simple creature

putting many men to shame,

by doing that which they should do;

hence, I have held possums

in high regard ever since.

 

Anyway, after the puppet show,

I went and got a box,

then drove down the country lane,

and stopped by the shady spot;

there was the possum,

right where I had left her.

She was a little more feisty

as I loaded her into the box,

and I took that as a good sign.

 

At home, I put her in the Sanctuary,

next to one of the cat-feeding stations.

Then my wife pointed out that,

if she recovered, she

might have trouble getting through

the fence and into the woods.

 

So, I put her in the box,

on its side,

resting in the shade of the woods

just outside of our back gate.

 

A short time later,

I came back to see that she

had pulled a branch over herself,

likely to help hide her position.

I put down a little bowl of food

and a dish of water,

then left to let her eat.

 

A while later,

when it looked like it might rain,

I went to check on her.

She’d drunk half the water,

and eaten half the food;

she was hunched over the food bowl,

like a dragon over its hoard of gold,

and it looked like she was saying,

“Mine, mine, mine!”

 

Poor little thing.

I re-cut the box and made it into

a shelter over her,

in case it rained,

as I figured that,

even if she survived,

she would be too tired

to try and find shelter on her own.

 

I stroked her fur

and spoke softly to her

(calling her Fuzzy,

 for lack of a better name =>).

I prayed for her,

for a happy ending to her accident,

then let her be to rest.

 

A couple of hours later

(no rain, thank God),

I went back to check on her,

...fearing the worst

...yet hoping for the best.

 

The box was empty. =D

 

I could see where she had

pushed her way out the back

and headed out into the woods

behind the Sanctuary,

where there are many cats,

as well as deer, foxes,

and raccoons,

plus, of course,

other possums for her to play with.

 

“Yay, Fuzzy!

 Happy tails, little spud,

 happy tails to you!”

 

I know we all want our lives to matter,

we wish to accomplish great things.

Yet I know God delights in a thankful heart,

and I think we sometimes need

to give thanks for the small things

we are allowed to accomplish.

 

 

grace, peace, and love to you,

dave