Stone Cold

According to my wife, today could have been the first day of Spring. My personal theory is that Spring begins in a couple of days, on the Vernal Equinox, sort of like how Winter begins on the Winter Solstice, Summer on the summer Solstice, and Fall on the Autumnal Equinox. For her, though, seasons are far more intuitive. You walk outside sometime in October, see leaves falling, sense a chill and declare: "Fall has arrived!"

After a long cold and wet winter this year, Sunday bore all of the signs that Mrs. Gin-&-Tonic needed to declare the arrival of Spring. I saw it more as an unseasonably-warm penultimate day of Winter, but that's just semantics. The sky was blue, the breeze was cool, and my grass needed badly to be mowed.

After a few tweaks and a cursory tune-up, the lawn tractor roared to life. Crissing, crossing, zigging and zagging, my rumbling red mechanized grass-eater devoured the plentiful winter growth.

Down the slope I drove, to do battle with the bog-like mid-March marsh, that is my lower terrace. The cleted-traction tractor-tires slipping in the mud, tearing up more grass than it mows, I always look forward to playing in this part of the yard. However, as I completed my first circuit, I slammed on the brake and slid with low-speed momentum.

There, lying before me in the over-growth lay a dead body. It was on its back, its head bent at an unnatural angle. It's limbs were splayed out, and its tongue protruded from between its ghastly teeth. It's tail was intact, but its fur showed signs of a struggle.

At first, I wondered whether it was just playing possum, since it was, in fact, an opossum. A solid thwack with the shovel proved otherwise. It was dead, and it was in my yard.

I calculated and eliminated several possibilities. Unfortunately, my final conclusion left me somewhat surprised and disturbed. My dog killed the opossum.

Now, really, rodent control is one of the reasons to have a dog, and I was pleased to see that he is living up to our agreement. However, up to now, he has been a complete and total pussy. I've talked about this in prior posts. He is frightened by squeaky toys. He is occasionally chased BY his own tail. So, the thought of him hunting and killing didn't quite fit.

Seasons change, however, and winter becomes Spring. Babies learn to walk, and puppies become dogs. So, my personal furry foot warmer has become a stone cold killer. All I can think of is Vince Vaughn in Swingers: "Aw, look, our baby's all growed up..."