SOMETHING
had been taking our chickens for some time. It could not be a weasel, for
weasel would have killed many chickens in a single night, and would either
have eaten nothing but a little blood, or at most would have eaten no, more
than a head or two. Besides, there would have been little or no attempt to
carry away the dead fowls.
It clearly was not
a skunk, for there not only had there never been any odor of skunk about the
hen house, but the bits of hair that had been scraped off when the marauder
crept through the hole he had managed to make under the door were too
coarse, and were neither black nor white, but were a peculiar gray.
Rats,
mink, coon, and all the other enemies of the poultry man were each discussed
and for one reason or another dismissed as not guilty. Then who could the
culprit be? Something was getting into the henhouse in one way or another
every few nights, and every time this occurred a partly eaten hen was left
to tell the tale.
At
last, mother, who had been born in Tennessee and who had lived as a girl in
the Ozark mountains of Missouri„announced she would think a possum was
taking our chickens were it not that possums
did
not live in Iowa. Still, "Uncle Riley Coble" had caught a possum
the winter before, but that was miles away on Skunk River bottom near where
Richland Creek flows into the river, and we were living on the edge of town
with dogs on every side and the nearest grove a half mile away. Besides,
mother said, only a really hungry possum eats chickens; usually they only
suck the blood.
At
last, one moonlight night in late winter, one of the chickens in the
henhouse gave one loud squawk and then all was still. The dog rushed out of
the yard and began barking lustily in the orchard near the henhouse. Father
got up rather grudgingly and went out to see why the dog barked so loud and
so long. Soon he called us to come, and I knew something unusual had happened.
So, half dressed, rubbing our eyes,, we rushed out of doors and groped our
way to the henhouse. When our eyes became accustomed to the darkness we saw
something hanging to a limb of an apple tree, just high enough so the dog
could not reach it, yet low enough to make him frantic to do so.
I
could not imagine what it could be. At first I thought someone had thrown a
bag of something with a rope attached to it into the tree, for surely no
animal would be suspended in this fashion. I had seen monkeys hang by their
tails, but of course there were no monkeys running logse in Iowa, especially
in the winter with snow on the ground. Besides, monkeys do not eat chickens,
and I did not believe they would hang up by their tails merely to tantalize
dogs. I had never heard of any other animal hanging by its tail. This must
be a bag of something hanging by a rope. No animal would hang absolutely
limp and still.
I
climbed the tree after him, but he went out so far I could not reach him, so
I shook him out, which was no easy task, for he hung on with claws and tail.
He had scarcely struck the ground before the dog was shaking him, and almost
at once it was evident he was dead. - I was disappointed, for while I did
not yet know what the animal was, I had at least expected a fight, for the
creature was as large as a full-grown skunk and should have been able to
give a good account of himself.
Father
called the dog off, picked the creature up by the tail and carried it into
the house and dropped it on the floor.
"I
told you it was a possum," said mother. "I wonder how it comes to
be here?"
But
I watched the possum. I had heard many stories of their feigning death, but
this fellow was so limp there was no pretending about it. Live animals must
breathe, and I could see no indications of this fellow's breathing. I pulled
his lips apart to see his teeth. He was already getting so stiff I could
hardly get his mouth open, but when I did so it did not close again, but
gaped half open as he lay on the floor.
Some
one had told me a possum would surely come to life if he were only feigning
death, if one tickled his ear. I did so with a broom straw, even tickling
inside the ear, but nothing came of it. I proposed throwing him out of doors
for the night, but father and mother said I had best leave him where he was
till morning. "The dog might spoil his skin." So we left him where
he was.
But
for some reason father and mother seemed in no hurry to go back to bed.
Instead they sat and told me stories of their childhood. This seemed
strange. They had never done a thing like this before in the middle of the
night; but then, we had never before caught a possum in the middle of the
night either. I was always interested in their stories of pioneer life, so
why should I object if they chose to tell them now.
After
a time I noticed one of the possum's eyes was open just a little way. I had
not noticed this before, but as he did not flinch or close the eye when I
pretended I was going to hit it, or even when I stuck my finger in it, I
supposed I must have failed to notice its being open before.
After
a few minutes, when no one seemed to be paying any attention to him, our
possum slowly raised his head just a little and looked around. I was
surprised and interested, but no one moved. He waited a little longer, then
suddenly bolted through the open door, but to his surprise he did not get
out of the house. He merely found himself in another room.
He
was apparently unhurt. He had not been seriously hurt any of the time. He
had fooled the dog so it did not shake and bite him badly. He had fooled me
so I would have thrown him out of doors for the night. But father and mother
had known possums years before, and he could not fool them. They had seen to
it that all outside doors were closed so he could not get away when he came
to life," as they knew he surely would.
He
was a big fellow, over three feet from the end of his nose to the tip of his
tail. His nose was long and pointed. In fact his head and eyes reminded me
of a big rat, and his long, hairless tail added to this similarity.
I
have seen many possums since then. In fact only last night - the night
before writing this, one ran in front of my auto, and was so blinded by the
light that my son, who was driving, had no trouble in knocking him over with
the wheel. He stopped the car and got out and found the possum lying limp
and apparently dead, but when he picked it up by the tail and handed it to
me, and I started to carry it to the house, it began to slowly curl; up and
was just ready to bite my hand when I noticed what it was doing.
A,
number of my friends have kept pet possums; but I have never cared to keep
them myself, for they are filthy in their habits and have a disagreeable
odor. They will eat almost anything. Nothing can be too badly decayed or
smell too bad for them to eat. But they also eat any kind of fresh fruit and
many vegetables, especially roasting ears.
The
mother possum has an opening about the middle of her body that leads into a
large pocket or pouch, where she carries her young.
Possums
have surprisingly large families. Seven to twelve is an average-sized
family; and a friend of mine once caught a very large old mother who had
nineteen babies in her pouch. Probably some starve where the family is so
large.
When
the young are born, usually sometime in February, they are tiny, partly
developed creatures scarcely , an inch long. They are blind and perfectly
naked and look absolutely helpless. As soon as they are born they begin to
scramble about and manage to get hold of their mother's fur. Now they begin
climbing straight for the opening into her pouch. The mother widens this
opening - so it is easy to find, and even helps the little fellow, if it has
too much trouble in reaching the pouch, by pushing it with her nose.
When
the baby gets inside the pouch it fastens itself to a teat and probably does
not let loose for as long as two or three weeks, but by the time they are a
month old they begin occasionally peeping out of the pouch to get a breath
of fresh air.
My
friend Robert Sparks Walker, the naturalist, had a pet possum with young in
her pouch, when I visited him a few summers ago. Every sunshiny day she
would creep out of her nest box and lie on her back in the sunshine for an
hour or more,. with her pouch as wide open as she could get it so the sun
could shine in on her babies. They were perfectly naked, yet she let the
direct sunshine fall on them, even before their eyes were open.
Wise
old mother! Her children could not get out and tumble and play in the
sunshine like other young animals, but the Creator had taught her race the
value of sun baths long before human doctors discovered it. She knew her
children needed the sunshine to make them grow healthy and strong and she
gave it to them every day, even though she herself was kept a captive in a
strange giant's home.
It
is interesting to watch a mother possum open and close her pouch. It opens
in all directions at once like the shutter on our best cameras, and closes
as if by a draw string. When closed, one would not notice there was an
opening there, unless one looked closely. When open, the entrance is two
inches or more in diameter.
By
May the little possums are covered with fur, have their eyes open, and are
quite active. Now they come out of their pouch for an airing every day. But
they do not mean to get lost from their mother. They all climb onto her back
and hold on as tightly as though their lives depended on it. The mother
curls her tail over her back as a support and all of the youngsters curl
their tails around it to balance themselves. They can stick on in this way
even though she should climb a tree, but should something happen to frighten
them they all scamper into their pouch again. After about a month of this
sort of life, or when they are about three months old, they are able to care
for themselves, and to scatter through the woods. Before winter, the mother
will have raised a second family as large as the first.
Possums
prefer to live in swampy places. or near streams, for they are very fond of
crawfish but they get on very well elsewhere. They eat birds' eggs, frogs,
snakes, lizards, young rabbits, in fact almost anything they can catch and
kill. They are equally fond of many kinds of roots and of fruits. In the
early spring they eat the young tender sprouts of nettles and of pokeberries
greedily. They sit on their haunches, and hold their food in their paws and
eat much as does a squirrel. They often carry their food into a tree before
eating it, probably because they feel safer there.
They
prefer to live in hollow trees, but are, not at all particular about the
location of their homes. I have found far more of them living in old crows'
nests or old squirrels' nests than in hollow trees, simply because there are
not usually enough hollow trees with holes large enough for possums to live
in that are not occupied by something else. And the possum is a
philosophical animal, who does not mean to fight when it is not strictly
necessary. He believes it is better to dwell at peace, in a last years
crow's nest than to fight for a home in a hollow tree.
He
is a cunning hunter and has a keen sense of smell. When hunting, he
frequently stands on his hind feet, bracing himself with his tail,' and
sniffs in all directions, both to locate food and to make sure no enemy is
near. But with all his cunning, he is one of the easiest of animals to trap.
He never seems to have the least suspicion of any trap or device man may
make for his capture. Perhaps this is a good thing, for were he as hard to
trap as a fox and yet reared as large families as he does now, he would soon
be so numerous as to be a real nuisance.
But
late fall is the time to find possums' easily in Tennessee where I now live.
At that time persimmons are ripe and there is nothing a possum likes better
than persimmons. All one needs to do to find a possum is on some moonlight
night to visit a persimmon tree that hangs full of ripe fruit. He is pretty
sure to find one or more possums hanging in the tree.
Yes,
I mean hanging in the tree, for when a possum is gathering persimmons he
usually hangs by his tail and swings himself about so he can grasp the fruit
with his hands. And he really has hands. Instead of the toes all being side
by side as in most animals,
he has four long toes side by side like our fingers and a fifth set off by
itself, opposite the other four, like a real thumb ; and he uses it as we
use our thumb. To make the resemblance closer, there is no claw on this toe.
The
possum will gather persimmons and eat them greedily while hanging with his
head down. I remember how we boys at school used to try to stand on our
heads and eat an apple. We never could succeed very well. I am sure there
was not one of us in those days who would not have envied a possum.
THE
opossum, or "possum" as he is generally called, is our only
marsupial. A marsupial is an animal that has a pouch in which to carry its
young.
While
there are more than twenty species of possums, varying greatly in size, and
while most of them are American, we have only one kind in the United States.
It ranges over much of the United States east of the Rocky Mountains, and is
steadily extending its range farther north and west.
The
color is somewhat variable, though always a shade of gray; and while' the
coat is rather coarse, it makes a fair fur.
The
feet of our possum are unique in that there are five finger like toes, one,
the thumb, being opposite the other four, and it has no claw. This makes it
possible for the animal to use its hands almost as well as a monkey does. As
might be expected, the possum is a great climber, being able to hold on to
the smallest twigs.
The
tail is long and smooth, and is so muscular that it can be curled about a
limb and its owner can hang by it whenever it chooses.
Our
possum will eat almost any kind of food and seems to have little preference
between the worst carrion and fresh meats or fruits. Possibly young rabbits,
birds, poultry, roasting ears, and persimmons could be called its favourite
foods.
The
young are usually born early in February, at which time they are little
larger than newly born mice. They climb hand over hand, or if too weak to do
this are pushed by their mother's nose, into their mother's pouch, where
they fasten themselves to the teats and hang on for almost three months.
Within six weeks, however, they begin to let loose of their teats at times
and peep out of their mother's pouch, and by the middle of May they begin to
clamber out of the pouch and onto their mother's back. The mother will curl
her tail over her back and the babies will curl their tails around it and
cling to her fur with their feet and ride anywhere she, may choose to go.
They .are weaned sometime in June, and a second litter is often born.
WHAT'S
NEW? 
