Jun. 05, 2002 ~ That darn possum,
Peter Sore-tail, was in the barn again tonight. That wouldn't be so bad, but he was in the feed room, munching cat food, when I needed to get the horses' feed. Sheesh! He wouldn't just leave; he ran behind a big box and stayed back there hissing and grumbling and generally expressing his displeasure. Who knows WHAT ugly things he was saying about me. Meanwhile, I'm standing there contemplating his long, sharp teeth, wondering if I should risk getting the feed from the barrels. He was awfully close, maybe four or five feet away, hissing mightily, clomping around behind the box and the saddles.
He's Peter Sore-tail because a while ago he got in a tussle with somebody who took a big bite out of his tail, and he also had a big gash in his side at one time, but he seems to have gotten over it, more or less. Tail's still got a hairless spot, though.
I worry about rabies, and I just plain don't want to get bitten, but eventually I backed over to the feed barrels and got the feed anyway. Second night this has happened, too.
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I may have spoken too soon about Roscoe/Rocky/Butch/Rufus. He seemed to be doing so well, just yesterday. Today he was bleeding, which may or may not be good. It might be that an infected area is draining. Time will tell. Wish I could doctor him, but he's too strong and too quick.
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