Possum Prey

So the family takes off back down to Auckland and I am left to tackle my job list. First up, bury the possum. Yup, another freeloading rodent has bitten the dust. Problem? Sure. Where to bury it. We’ve got 40 acres; how hard can it be. The operative word is ‘hard’. As in the ground is very, very hard. No rain for several weeks will do that.

I finally solve the problem by burying the possum in our old compost pile. I also note that benign neglect of said pile has resulted in magnificent black gold. A worthy addition to my dreamed-of rose bed.

I dutifully set the possum trap that night literally under my raised bed in the garden (see attached photo). And off I go to sleep. I smile to myself as I hear the welcome sounds of rain. I trot out eagerly the next morning to see if I’ve added another notch to my possum hunter belt. You bet I have. I lug the shovel down the driveway and plunge the spade in for the first  shovelful. Problem? Sure. The first half-inch is diggable; the rest? Not so much. In fact, not at all.

I finally manage to scrape out a meager hole and go back for the possum. That is when I take a really good look at it. Biggest possum I’ve ever seen! Not joking here. This monster had porked up so that it was a massive struggle to get her out of the trap. This is not my favorite occupation of all time. So I grab Dan’s leather gloves and finally manage to wrench the sucker out of the trap.

Problem? Sure. My hole isn’t big enough. I finally resort to jabbing at the concrete (I mean dirt) with a trowel to loosen it and then widen the hole with the shovel. This takes a while and the day is warming up and the flies hover and I am not a happy farmer. But finally she gets covered; barely. But barely is good enough for me.

More rain that night. Another possum the next morning. Correction: part of another possum the next morning. Since there are no predators such as foxes in New Zealand, I have to assume that one of our neighbor’s dogs got loose. They also got fed. I have possum parts scattered all over the driveway. Makes for a fun morning. I don Dan’s leather gloves (I’m not ruining my good gardening gloves!)  once again. I use newspaper to help shift the body parts onto the shovel. But what then? I had forgotten to dig the hole. So I dump my carefully-garnered prizes and go to find some soft ground.

There is none. So its more trowel and shovel work and finally I have the hole. There’s no problem fitting this body in the hole – parts are easier to bury than an intact possum. Words to remember! Just as I am cleaning off my tools (hallmark of the veteran possum catcher), I hear the phone. I am needed to babysit in Auckland. Joyous release! There’ll be no trapping and burying tomorrow. I can use the break. So can the possums.