In the pre-dawn hours of late, Mr. Scruff has been stealthily creeping through dewy grass to observe the final, frantic moments of foraging by the nocturnal
creatures which inhabit the woods near his home, camera in hand (the other hand is usually down my shorts, generally scratching).
Mr. Owl calls through the fading darkness to the early-birds, wishing them good-day and good-night. I track his mournful cries, yet I cannot pinpoint his position. He is elusive, the little cocksucker. Mr. Cardinal struts from tree to tree in a mad-dash, flashing brilliant red plumage, but he will not sit still long enough to pose for a photo. Mr. Raccoon, who just recently relaxed upon the railings and in the stairwells has now taken up residence directly on my patio. He is a gentle soul, but still potentially rabid. Miss Margaret watches him through the sliding glass doors, intrigued.
My goal for the last year has been... possum. (Now that the dragonflies are out of the way.) A small family of possum live in the dank, wet forest; I have seen fleeting glimpses of flesh-colored noses and mangy fur as they slither under moist palmetto leaves and swamp-reeds.
And finally, early this morning... I stumbled upon Magdelina!
She was rooting through the grass, a distance from her woodland residence. She appeared dazed and confused and I hummed a little Led Zeppelin song of the same name in an attempt to calm her down. She lazily moved away from me but I walked around to the other side of the lawn and caught her by surprise.
Close up, possum are not as cute as you might think they are.
I'd have preferred the classic "hanging from a branch" pose, but I guess I'm happy with what I got.
It appears they do indeed "play possum." Magdelina froze into position and at one point was laying on her side, faking her own death. I could have easily clubbed her and made her death a reality, but I'm just not that kind of guy.
The good thing about photographing a possum who is frozen in terror is that they don't move around a lot so it's easy to focus and get some clear images, even in the dim light of early dawn.
Once she realized that the crazy fat man wasn't going to go away and that her stillness wasn't fooling me, she decided to show me her teeth as a warning. Possum rarely carry rabies but you can still get a nasty bite. And judging from the deplorable condition of her teeth, and the fact that I could see colonies of bacteria having a small party in her mouth, I didn't want to risk being nipped.
"Please leave me the fuck alone!"
Crouched above her, scaring the living hell out of her and feeling little remorse. Yes, she has a head injury of some sort. Possibly a forest-tussle with another creature, possibly a fall from a branch, possibly a dangerous, pathogenic flesh-eating disease which I have already contracted. I think she'll recover, though. But if she doesn't and I stumble upon her fresh corpse, I may consider making a tasty stew.
"No, seriously, you fat fuck. Get away now!"
OK, OK... I'm going. I'd say the I got within two feet of her with the camera lens. For a second I actually considered reaching down to touch her but the smell of her fur was a strong deterrent. She was "musky." And that's putting it politely. Her little paws were covered with mud and her beady eyes glistened, pools of inky terror.
I thanked her for her time and for her patience, then went inside and ate a cupcake.
Mr. Owl calls through the fading darkness to the early-birds, wishing them good-day and good-night. I track his mournful cries, yet I cannot pinpoint his position. He is elusive, the little cocksucker. Mr. Cardinal struts from tree to tree in a mad-dash, flashing brilliant red plumage, but he will not sit still long enough to pose for a photo. Mr. Raccoon, who just recently relaxed upon the railings and in the stairwells has now taken up residence directly on my patio. He is a gentle soul, but still potentially rabid. Miss Margaret watches him through the sliding glass doors, intrigued.
My goal for the last year has been... possum. (Now that the dragonflies are out of the way.) A small family of possum live in the dank, wet forest; I have seen fleeting glimpses of flesh-colored noses and mangy fur as they slither under moist palmetto leaves and swamp-reeds.
And finally, early this morning... I stumbled upon Magdelina!
She was rooting through the grass, a distance from her woodland residence. She appeared dazed and confused and I hummed a little Led Zeppelin song of the same name in an attempt to calm her down. She lazily moved away from me but I walked around to the other side of the lawn and caught her by surprise.
Close up, possum are not as cute as you might think they are.
I'd have preferred the classic "hanging from a branch" pose, but I guess I'm happy with what I got.
It appears they do indeed "play possum." Magdelina froze into position and at one point was laying on her side, faking her own death. I could have easily clubbed her and made her death a reality, but I'm just not that kind of guy.
The good thing about photographing a possum who is frozen in terror is that they don't move around a lot so it's easy to focus and get some clear images, even in the dim light of early dawn.
Once she realized that the crazy fat man wasn't going to go away and that her stillness wasn't fooling me, she decided to show me her teeth as a warning. Possum rarely carry rabies but you can still get a nasty bite. And judging from the deplorable condition of her teeth, and the fact that I could see colonies of bacteria having a small party in her mouth, I didn't want to risk being nipped.
"Please leave me the fuck alone!"
Crouched above her, scaring the living hell out of her and feeling little remorse. Yes, she has a head injury of some sort. Possibly a forest-tussle with another creature, possibly a fall from a branch, possibly a dangerous, pathogenic flesh-eating disease which I have already contracted. I think she'll recover, though. But if she doesn't and I stumble upon her fresh corpse, I may consider making a tasty stew.
"No, seriously, you fat fuck. Get away now!"
OK, OK... I'm going. I'd say the I got within two feet of her with the camera lens. For a second I actually considered reaching down to touch her but the smell of her fur was a strong deterrent. She was "musky." And that's putting it politely. Her little paws were covered with mud and her beady eyes glistened, pools of inky terror.
I thanked her for her time and for her patience, then went inside and ate a cupcake.
