Before BYC, I never would have considered the Virginia Opossum to be a nuisance animal...
Of course, before CJ, I never really would have thought about them much at all...
I would like you all to meet Captain Jack O' Possum, known as CJ to those who loved him.
When my APBT (American Pitbull Terrier) Bosco found little CJ out in the yard in May of 2007, he was small, barely larger than my mother's cellphone, but my "vicious" dog was more than gentle as he picked the tiny little guy up and set him in the grass.
Immediately I fell in love with that little face. My mother said I could raise him until he was big enough to survive on his own, but she would have nothing to do with it. Uneducated, I did the best I could for the little guy.
I picked up some puppy milk replacer, and started feeding him a mixture of that and heavy whipping cream every few hours through a syringe. I kept him warm with heating blankets and towels, and helped him relieve himself using a cotton-ball dampened with warm water.
Every day my mother reminded me that he was most likely going to die. But I drove on anyways, waking up early to take care of him before school, and hoping against hope that he wouldn't die before I could get home to take care of him.
Much to my surprise, I had to be doing something right, because little CJ was flourishing. He was getting bigger, and fatter, and was becoming more and more excited to see me.
I had never raised a baby animal before, but CJ didn't seem to notice, and every day it seemed he was getting bigger.
I remember the sad day that CJ chose wet catfood over his formula, and no longer needed my help going to the bathroom; sounds gross I know, but now my "baby" didn't need me anymore.
My mother had long abandoned her case, and CJ became part of the family, never to be released outside. He was so sweet, so calm, she didn't think that he'd ever survive with the wild opossums outside~
He went outside all the time to roam in the grass, and he never tried to run away. He never bit, or hissed or showed any tiny bit of aggression towards me, my family, or my pets, and CJ was with us for one whole year.
One all too short year.
CJ started acting funny, he wouldn't eat, was breathing too heavily, and just not acting himself. I took him to the vet, and he died that day of respiratory failure...
He had never shown any signs of the pneumonia that took his life until it was too late to save him...
Apparently that's part of their defense mechanism, to hide their illness so that predators can't get the, but it was this defense mechanism that caused me to lose my baby.
I cried, I'm not ashamed to admit it, and I blamed myself for not noticing, even though the vet did his best to console me. I consoled myself, knowing that his life was far better with me in it, and at least he died knowing that he was loved.
He's buried outside now, under a pretty tree in our yard, with his own tombstone and wildflowers growing on his grave. We planted them there, and it seems that just to spite me, he's only helped the orange flowers grow, knowing that I hate that color more than anything~
I'm in no way trying to guilt anyone or be mean to anyone who kills opossums to protect their chicken, I just wanted you all to see just what those "nuisance" animals are capable of, and introduce you to possibly the only opossum that was loved, and mourned, taken to the vet, and given a proper burial.
RIP CJ
5/14/07-7/16/08
Thank you for reading this long long ramble! And please dun yell at me... I wasn't trying to be mean or anything...
Of course, before CJ, I never really would have thought about them much at all...
I would like you all to meet Captain Jack O' Possum, known as CJ to those who loved him.
When my APBT (American Pitbull Terrier) Bosco found little CJ out in the yard in May of 2007, he was small, barely larger than my mother's cellphone, but my "vicious" dog was more than gentle as he picked the tiny little guy up and set him in the grass.
Immediately I fell in love with that little face. My mother said I could raise him until he was big enough to survive on his own, but she would have nothing to do with it. Uneducated, I did the best I could for the little guy.
I picked up some puppy milk replacer, and started feeding him a mixture of that and heavy whipping cream every few hours through a syringe. I kept him warm with heating blankets and towels, and helped him relieve himself using a cotton-ball dampened with warm water.
Every day my mother reminded me that he was most likely going to die. But I drove on anyways, waking up early to take care of him before school, and hoping against hope that he wouldn't die before I could get home to take care of him.
Much to my surprise, I had to be doing something right, because little CJ was flourishing. He was getting bigger, and fatter, and was becoming more and more excited to see me.
I had never raised a baby animal before, but CJ didn't seem to notice, and every day it seemed he was getting bigger.
I remember the sad day that CJ chose wet catfood over his formula, and no longer needed my help going to the bathroom; sounds gross I know, but now my "baby" didn't need me anymore.
My mother had long abandoned her case, and CJ became part of the family, never to be released outside. He was so sweet, so calm, she didn't think that he'd ever survive with the wild opossums outside~
He went outside all the time to roam in the grass, and he never tried to run away. He never bit, or hissed or showed any tiny bit of aggression towards me, my family, or my pets, and CJ was with us for one whole year.
One all too short year.
CJ started acting funny, he wouldn't eat, was breathing too heavily, and just not acting himself. I took him to the vet, and he died that day of respiratory failure...
He had never shown any signs of the pneumonia that took his life until it was too late to save him...
Apparently that's part of their defense mechanism, to hide their illness so that predators can't get the, but it was this defense mechanism that caused me to lose my baby.
I cried, I'm not ashamed to admit it, and I blamed myself for not noticing, even though the vet did his best to console me. I consoled myself, knowing that his life was far better with me in it, and at least he died knowing that he was loved.
He's buried outside now, under a pretty tree in our yard, with his own tombstone and wildflowers growing on his grave. We planted them there, and it seems that just to spite me, he's only helped the orange flowers grow, knowing that I hate that color more than anything~
I'm in no way trying to guilt anyone or be mean to anyone who kills opossums to protect their chicken, I just wanted you all to see just what those "nuisance" animals are capable of, and introduce you to possibly the only opossum that was loved, and mourned, taken to the vet, and given a proper burial.
RIP CJ
5/14/07-7/16/08
Thank you for reading this long long ramble! And please dun yell at me... I wasn't trying to be mean or anything...
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