The Possum Chronicles

This weekend the kids and I picked up some road kill and buried it in the woods across from our house. 

Yep.  On Mother’s Day.

Month’s ago, Renton returned from a “Daddy Day” with a nearly pristine fox skull, ribs and leg bones that he had found stuck in a rock crevice while out walking in the woods.  Well, okay, they still had a little bit of “stuff” left on them.  But after Google-ing “Cleaning Animal Bones” we found this fantastic blog Jake’s Bones that explained how to use hydrogen peroxide to remove those last little “bits” and whiten up the bones.  I somewhat reluctantly went out to Target and bought about a dozen of the brown bottles, dumped them into a huge bucket and added the bones.  All three of the kids watched gleefully as the bubbles sizzled around the bones and the “bits” began to fall away.  I hung the bucket up on a peg in our garage and a week later out came the shimmering white fox bones.

Renton's Fox Bones

After gingerly gluing all the parts together, Renton quickly realized that he did not have a complete skeleton.  He was disappointed.  We searched the internet to see if we could find some suppliers and maybe buy a little animal skeleton that he could put together.  But it was not the same thing as finding the bones himself.  He wasn’t interested. 

One morning as we were speeding off to school, we passed a recently deceased squirrel in the middle of the road.  Renton pressed his face to the window as we skirted past it and let out a little squeal of delight.   “Mommy!  Stop!  Stop!  Can we get that squirrel?  Please?!  I want its bones!”

Oh boy. 

I promised Renton if it was still there when we came home that day, that we could go get a garbage bag and pick it up.  But when we drove past the spot of death that evening with the sun setting on our suburban lives, there was no trace of that little squirrel.  I explained to Renton that other animals or vultures may have taken it away.  He sat back against the seat and hung his head in genuine disappointment.  Emily tried to make him feel better by promising to go “dead animal hunting” with him that weekend, but it wasn’t the same.

I promised Renton that day to carry a heavy duty black garbage bag in my car in the event that we passed another dead animal on the road.  That we could jump out and grab it and take it to our back yard and let it decompose til it was ready for the hydrogen peroxide whitening bath.  And so for months we drove to school with the breaking of dawn and home again with the setting sun, passing only deer in all their generational and decomposing stages.  (Thankfully even Renton admitted they were too big for us to stuff in the garbage bag!) 

That was, until yesterday.  Mother’s Day.

Driving home from shoe shopping and pizza at Target, I noticed a huge vulture circling a piece of the road near the entrance to our housing development.  “Look Renton!  Look at the Vulture!”  I shouted, pointing up in the sky.  (Renton is also an avid bird lover.)  Of course, as soon as I said vulture, Renton was not looking up, but looking down because he KNEW there must be a dead animal near by.

“Mommy!!!!!!!!  STOP!!!!!!!”  He yelled.  “A POSSUM!!!!!” 

Renton's Possum in a previous life?

Time to cash in on that promise.  “Mommy, PLEASE!”

After circle two or three times to determine if it was even safe to stop, I scooted the car up to the rotting, soupy, exposed belly of the possum, flipped on my hazard lights, and hopped out of the car to grab the garbage back from the back of my car.

As I approached the decaying marsupial, I could hear the buzz of the flies.  But it wasn’t until, garbage bag flipped inside out as though I were casually picking up a piece of stray dog doo, I scooped the warm carcass into the bag that the stench hit my nostrils.  And I mean that – HIT.  I have smelled a lot of foul smells in my life (toddler feces and dog anal gland excretions among the top two), but I am here to tell you that rotting possum flesh is T. H. E.  W. O. R. S. T! 

I had to brace myself against dropping to my knees and puking my guts out right there in the middle of the turn lane.  I had a sudden image of smearing mentholatum under my nose like a CSI morgue technician and seriously wished I had a little blue bottle with me right then.

Renton’s excited little face was peering at me through the tinted back window.  I poked my head in through Micky’s rolled down window and not so diplomatically informed Renton, “Honey, there is NO WAY I’m putting this possum in our car.”

“PLEASE!”  he wailed pitifully.

“Renton, the only way this animal is getting back to our house, is if you get out and walk it home.”

I heard the click of seatbelts as all three kids excitedly piled out of the car to help “walk the possum home.”

And so they walked through the neighborhood, dragging the reeking bag behind them, as I followed slowly, hazard lights flashing, gag-reflex in overdrive as the breeze carried putrid reminders of the possum’s unfortunate end through my passenger side window. 
 

Emily and Renton with the Possum

It only took a few minutes for me to decide that there was now NO WAY that possum was going to spend even 5 seconds in our back yard.  I shouted out the window “Alright guys, you find a spot in the woods across from our house to burry that guy.  I’ll meet you there with the shovel.”  Renton beamed a proud smile at me, Emily gave me a thumbs up sign with one hand, holding the other over her nose and mouth, Micky just trailed behind happy to be a part of the adventure.

When I arrived at their spot a few minutes later, I was still wearing my t-shirt and shorts, but had donned my knee-high rubber rain boots and was carrying our spade-shaped shovel over my shoulder. 

Ready to Get to Business

We formed a circle like a band of conspirators as I broke ground, metal against rock and tree roots.  This was no easy task.  I got a patch cleared about two feet by three feet wide and only 2 inches deep.  This was going to have to do, because I was still holding back the primal urge to puke as Micky happily dragged the bag around the burial spot releasing putrid waves of rotting fur and soupy guts through the tiny drag holes in its bottom.  Renton ceremoniously dumped the possum in ditch.  Emily cheered. 

And as Renton shoveled the loose dirt and debris back over the unfortunate animal, I wondered how many terrified eyes were watching us through townhouse windows flanking our little patch of “woods”.    

If you look closely, you can see the "smear" on Micky's leg

We took a few pictures, feeling proud of ourselves, and then headed home. 

As in any classic murder- mystery-crime-scene-investigation, we did not leave without traces of murder on us.  Micky had sticky decomposing “smear” all over his right leg, Emily had a small patch of fur stuck to her foot, and I would NEVER get that smell out of my memory for as long as I would live.

I took out some heavy-duty all-purpose cleaner and sprayed their legs and feet and hands until they dripped with orange then scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed with paper towels.

Then we went inside, washed up, had a snack and snuggled together on the couch for popcorn and a family movie night.  All three kids had the most content smiles on their faces.

Three weeks from now we will go back and check on that possum.  I really hope those maggots and worms eat quickly.