THE REVENGE OF THE POSSUMS

As I was finishing 4 years, 4 months and 24 days, and a total of 12,610 miles of peddling this morning, and was a scant hundred yards from completing my ‘daily 10,’ I ‘ditto’ed’ a feat which I had managed to ‘perform’ four previous times in my recurrent travels.

I ‘Peter Panned’ over the handlebars of my bicycle, and landed rudely on the asphalt. For as I was almost within sight of my house a possum suddenly appeared, and crossed the road three feet in front of me. I had just milliseconds to respond, and I chose a slightly different course of action than I had chosen five years before, when a pit bull thought it would be cool to accompany me; (but without first asking permission). At that time, I purposely plowed into the poor beast, ‘Peter Panned’ off the front of my bike, and managed to break my left arm. 

Having (seemingly) learned a great deal from that episode, this time around I braked for the ugly rodent; allowing him (or her) time to go about his (or her) business.

I regret to say my latest course of action proved to be only slightly more successful than the one I have just recounted for you. Landing on my hands, knees and chest I lay next to my disabled bicycle for the longest time, and hesitated to get up.

After I lay next to my two wheeled conveyance for several minutes I summoned up the courage to assess my physiology. While in a sitting position I stood the bicycle up next to me, lowered the kick stand, and used the frame of the bike for leverage. As I managed to stand to my (un)impressive height of 5’8” I realized my legs were functional, though the epidermis on my knees, hands and forearms were scrapped ‘from hither to yon.’ 

The bicycle had been incapacitated, as the brake and gear wires were twisted in such a way that the front tire was turned backward, and impossible to correct. Thus, I lifted the bike up to my shoulder, and manhandled it back to my house.

Pt. 2

As I made my way back to my home I recalled an event from the first decade of this century. From time to time my wife and I had heard the sound of little footfalls in the attic above our living room. 

Of course, I assumed it was a mouse, but it was only after a few weeks of this noisesome nuisance that I decided to investigate.

Climbing up the access ladder in our garage, and clicking on the attic lightbulb, I saw him (or her). A possum. Well, I can tell you that he (or she) wasn’t all that thrilled to see me, and perhaps even less so when I realized the creature’s right front paw was caught in one of the rat traps I’d set in the attic.

Of course, I felt sorry for the wayward little beast, but there seemed to be no recourse, as it never ceased to hiss at me and show its nasty fangs. And there was always the possibility it was rabid. Now mind you, I cannot tolerate those nature shows which depict a crocodile dragging a hapless zebra into its watery environment, or a hunter placing a well-aimed bullet into a rhinoceros. But I was left with no choice. 

As a result, I climbed back down the ladder and retrieved a hammer out of my tool chest. (I think you can guess where this is going). Having retrieved the hammer I retraced my steps up the access ladder, stepped up to the hissing, fang-bearing little demon, and brought the lethal weapon down; only to miss my intended target, and punch the hammer head through my popcorn ceiling. However, my second attempt to dispatch the beast connected with the furry critter’s skull, and mercifully dispatched him (or her).

As I set my inoperable bicycle down on my unenclosed porch and unlocked my front door, I had the whimsical, illogical thought that my recent little road acquaintance might have been closely related to the attic possum I had so rudely dispatched, and he (or she) had finally discovered a way to get even. Of course, I dismissed the thought as quickly as it wafted through the gray matter between my ears.

Pt. 3

Five ‘flights of fancy.’ Enough ‘Peter Pans’ to count on one hand. And though I do so love my 10 mile recurring trek in the wee hours of the morning, I have (sadly) reached a conclusion that enough is enough, and at the grand old age of 2/3 of a century it is time to ‘put away childish things’ (lest I go the way of that dearly departed attic possum).

Having taken a bit of time to recuperate today, and cover my right knee with an ice pack, I decided I needed a bit of fresh air this evening, and I informed my wife I was going to check our mail at the nearby post office. 

Backing our 2015 Nissan Altima out of the garage, and setting a westerly course I rounded the curve which runs along the dog path where I sustained this morning’s accident. It was then I saw him (or her). You guessed it. He (or she) scurried out of the road, and into a nearby ditch. And just before disappearing, the nasty little critter cast its beady eyes in my direction.

Perhaps it was only my rich imagination, but it seemed to me that as I accelerated on the straight-a-way that a strange, and unexpected sound accompanied my passing.

… “NaNaNaNaNaNa”

(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 52. By William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending.

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