I need to apologize to my dogs. They aren't the world's worst farm dogs. This weekend they alerted me to a possum running across the yard. It was headed straight for the chicken coop. Since there's so much snow on the ground our poultry fencing is kind of just decorative at this point and that possum walked right over it and made his way through the coop door. He didn't even knock!
I jumped into my boots, grabbed my coat and ran out the back door yelling, because obviously the best way to get rid of a predator is to yell at it (I'm a writer. I use words.) The chickens had already run out of the coop (the possum was after the eggs, not the live birds) and I flung open the coop door and told that possum in a very unladylike fashion to get the (insert words nice ladies shouldn't say) out of my chicken coop and leave my birds alone. I was rewarded for my effort with some hissing and that ugly fur ball proceeded to crawl up the coop wall to get into the nest boxes.
I had nothing to catch him with and clearly I wasn't going to yell him out of the coop, so I did what any girl in my situation would do. I cried. I completely lost my cool over a slow moving intruder who wasn't even going to hurt my chickens. He was only after their eggs.
Fortunately for me I have an exceptional husband whose only words were, "Go inside," when he caught up with me. He pinned the possum down with a pitchfork and shot him. Then he brought me the shells, which is the modern day equivalent of delivering the enemy's head on a platter. I do not deserve this man.
I know I lost sisterhood points on this one. It's happened before. Needing a rescue is kind of embarrassing since I like to think of myself as tough, but aside from my pride nothing was lost. The chickens are fine, the possum is dead. In the great book of farm life this was a win.
I think I should get points for attempting a diplomatic solution before resorting to violence. I did try to talk the possum out of the house first.