Granny Smith apples.
Although we’re sure all o’possums love their grannies (apples and otherwise).
Granpies, too (are there such things as Granpy Smith apples?).
Not sure how many generations of a family line can comfortably co-exist. We haven’t noticed any o’possums being territorial. We’ve seen them sit side by side and dine.
Usually a male and female, though.
But not a female with pups.
Pupped females…don’t like to be bothered.
None of that “Want to see my darling children?” for them.
Oh, no, no, no.
Pupped womens – at least o’possum womens – are (like all in The Wild) protective mothers.
Probably protective grannies, too.
No idea about the granpies, though.
I mentioned last week the joy of dining with friends.
This week we continue that theme with a note of caution.
Behold some reasonably cautious raccoons.
Reasonably cautious because in addition to Opossum, Skunk, Owls, and assorted other fine citizens, we have a family of Coyote who visit.
We don’t mind them. They’re quite beautiful and gracious creatures.
Chatty, in fact.
And they love a good gnosh.
We simply endeavor to ensure their gnosh, while they share our space, isn’t someone else coming by for a little gnosh.
(no one likes it when the kids fight at the table…)
Anybody remember going out with friends pre-covid? Getting together, everybody around a big table, the restaurant had to move things around so everybody could sit together, sometimes they’d even put us all in a separate room so our laughter wouldn’t disturb the other patrons?
Gosh, those were the days.
We’ve just begun to do that again. With a few, select friends, of course.
Not so in The Wild. Here friendships, when made across species, last forever.
Or at least while food resources are available to support group dining.
But even when resources diminish, we rarely hear squabbles, rarely witness arguments and aggressive, assertive discussions.
Most often they’ll snatch and grab, take what they can immediately get and run away.
It may not fill their bellies, and it will get them to the next opportunity.
When perhaps they can share again.
Any Two-Legs listening?
Long, long, oh, ever so long ago, I routinely gathered with friends to play music. One time and for no reason, I started playing America’s Muskrat Love except I changed the words to something far from the original.
People laughed, held their bellies, rolled on the floor, had tears coming of their eyes, gasped for breath, those with instruments put them down, …
It was a glorious time.
I remembered that on this night.
Two Opossum, dancing in the moonlight, doing it up and doing it right.
Or at least not arguing with each other.
I wrote in The Bluebirds of Keith Jarrett about The Wild seeming not to signal its children to move on.
Four days later, our area looked like this:
Needless to say, migratables had migrated quickly.
Our hope is we provided fuel for their flights.
Meanwhile, two days after WinterMan walked through our backyard, an Opossum sallied forth.
I’ve always wondered why nothing ever sallies fifth. Or third. It’d be great if they medaled at least once, wouldn’t it?