Last night about 9:15 pm I let my dog Stretch out to do his business. I flipped on the back porch light, as I always do, and he saw a full grown 15 pound possum about three feet from the door. Tally-ho…I’m telling you…fight on. It was dark…It was moving, I was moving…Stretch was all over it. I called for the Juju Woman to bring me my staff, and a gun. It was probably rabid, because it didn’t run. It was showing its teeth, hissing and snarling, and going after my dog. I got between ‘um and she (Juju Woman) was able to grab Stretch…I was whacking the fucking Possum with my staff, and it was pissed. One problem, the Juju Woman brought me a .177 1100 fps pellet gun that wasn’t loaded. Not her fault, I’d just cleaned my guns, and they weren’t back in the common nook and crannies as usual. As soon as I knew she and Stretch were safe; I ran inside a got the closest loaded gun…my S&W 38 snub nose loaded with +P 129 grain hollow point Hydra-Shoks.

It’s not cool to shoot in my neighborhood…I live across the street from the second hole of the catdaddy country club.

Anyway, I ran back outside and the fucking possum lunged at me…I popped it from about ten feet…it was down…I could see blood coming from its mouth. The Juju Woman said “shoot it again”. Since a .38 in considerably louder than a pellet gun; I put 3 in it with my .177. It looked dead to me. Did I say…this fucker was huge…biggest possum I’ve ever seen…at first, I thought is was a badger.

We’re back inside waiting for the cops to show up…a gunshot in my neighborhood is unusual…the one I fired was the first one I’ve ever heard…in my neighborhood that is. Thirty minutes later…no cops, so I thought I’d dispose of the body. I go back outside, this time with my snubby…just in case. That fucker WAS NOT dead…it came after me. I was able to get a stable stance and aim and fire again…this time, I blew its fucking head off. It Was Dead this time…was not playing Possum…no doubt about it.

I cannot believe it took two hits from a .38 and three from a .177 to kill it. It must have been doing some meth, or something. I’m not a bad shot.

It was too big to fit in my shovel, so I donned a pair of rubber gloves, and carried it, by the tail, across the street and deposited it on the second hole fairway.

As I type, I can see some vultures eating Sunday Brunch. You’re welcome.

Cool Runnings!!