So I’ve long said that “stupidity ought to be self-correcting.” And however harsh that statement may appear, perhaps the following true story will soften it by a small measure: for what follows reveals a bit of my own stupidity. Or, if not stupidity, at the very least complacency.
You see, the other night I was nipped on my right thumb by a possum. I ended up going to the local ER because of it, if only to get a tetanus shot and some anti-biotics.
Again, this is a true story. It is decidedly not a Jeff Foxworthy-style yarn. (Though, it could be: “If you landed in the ER ‘cause you had hand-to-hand combat with a possum over a food bowl…youuuu might be a redneck.”)
Here’s what happened. We have 3 outdoor cats that depend upon us for their daily meals. Every evening we gather and lock away the 3 food bowls so that we don’t attract varmints. This past Wednesday here in Central Virginia we had a snowstorm. Thus, we fed our 3 feral cats that day, not on the small open-air porch adjacent to the kitchen door, but instead on the back deck. The back deck is both roof-covered and screened-in. And, because the deck is elevated off the ground by a good 3 to 4 feet, even with the screen door propped open for our feral cats to have easy-access, not too much snow will blow inside the enclosed area.
We like to treat our feral cats in the style to which they’ve grown accustomed, don’t you know. We’re kinda funny that way.
Okay, so Wednesday evening we got pre-occupied watching a DVD movie. Thus I failed to attend to my put-away-the-food-bowls duty till after nightfall. Worse, as I walked outside and rounded the back corner of the house to gain entry to the back deck by way of its outside screen door, I only took a moment to tell myself “no” to a very crucial question.
“Gee, I forgot the back deck's light. So...I wonder if I ought take the 15 seconds to turn around, go back inside the kitchen, and turn the light on…?”
You know where this is going, don’t you? Of course you do.
I decide to sally forth, in the dark, and climbed the few stairs up to the back deck. I couldn’t see worth squat, but that’s okay because “muscle memory” tells me what to do and where to reach. Unfortunately, the very moment I reach out my right hand for the first food bowl I feel a profoundly unexpected pins-prick and flesh-tearing sensation on my thumb. Followed immediately by a frightfully unusual hissing sound.
Yep. I done got bit by something. For even though I couldn’t see my bloodied thumb, I could feel the dripping ooziness of the flowing wound.
You will understand if I don’t tell you here what I said out loud but under my breath as the realization dawned that my own stupidity directly led to my now-bleeding thumb. This story is meant to be G-rated. Your own imagination can fill in the gaps.
Now then, I’ll try to limit my otherwise overly loquacious style and cut to the chase. Tiffany was able to turn the back deck’s light on fast enough for us to see that what bit me was a possum. For the sake of expediency, Tiff quickly kicked off her slippers then darted out the kitchen door: she courageously braved the snowfall in bare feet, running outside to shut the back deck’s screen door. She didn’t want the critter to make a clean get-away, of course; and I was back inside otherwise busied with attending to my slightly shredded thumb at the kitchen sink.
Tiff later told me that when the little beastie glared its beady eyes at her she almost growled, “You. Just. Try. It.”
I knew there was a reason why, when I glanced out the kitchen window, I saw the fanged-tooth varmint shrink into one corner of the deck…. Tiffany is a lovely and amazing woman, but she’s also, in a word, formidable. If the contest were between Tiff and a grizzly bear, well, let’s just say that bear steaks will probably be on the dinner menu.
But I digress.
Our county’s animal control office sent a fellow out and he was able to capture the creature before I got to the local hospital’s ER (a trip that even on the still-slick roads only took me about 45 minutes or so to travel the 20-odd miles). And the next day Animal Control called back to say that though possums don’t usually get tested for rabies (their assertion was that possums aren’t rabies carriers), that they were in fact going to go ahead and test it. Just to be safe.
Bottom line, all is good. Tiffany not only doesn’t have to deal with a rabid dog, she also doesn’t have to deal with a rabid Doug.
So, the moral of the story? Take the extra 15 seconds to turn around and flick on the light switch. Or, more concisely, “stupidity ought be self-correcting.”
In closing, I hope you found this anecdote entertaining. And I hope, perhaps, even informative. Though this event happened just a few days ago, it has already firmly established itself in the “family lore” which Tiff and I share. I mean, hey, why not? Sure, my injury was very, very minor, and certainly not otherwise worth writing about. It was far, far more embarrassing than dangerous. But some unpleasant events in life do serve a purpose: they can provide you knee-slappingly good stories to spin as the years go by.
Grace and Peace.
You see, the other night I was nipped on my right thumb by a possum. I ended up going to the local ER because of it, if only to get a tetanus shot and some anti-biotics.
Again, this is a true story. It is decidedly not a Jeff Foxworthy-style yarn. (Though, it could be: “If you landed in the ER ‘cause you had hand-to-hand combat with a possum over a food bowl…youuuu might be a redneck.”)
Here’s what happened. We have 3 outdoor cats that depend upon us for their daily meals. Every evening we gather and lock away the 3 food bowls so that we don’t attract varmints. This past Wednesday here in Central Virginia we had a snowstorm. Thus, we fed our 3 feral cats that day, not on the small open-air porch adjacent to the kitchen door, but instead on the back deck. The back deck is both roof-covered and screened-in. And, because the deck is elevated off the ground by a good 3 to 4 feet, even with the screen door propped open for our feral cats to have easy-access, not too much snow will blow inside the enclosed area.
We like to treat our feral cats in the style to which they’ve grown accustomed, don’t you know. We’re kinda funny that way.
Okay, so Wednesday evening we got pre-occupied watching a DVD movie. Thus I failed to attend to my put-away-the-food-bowls duty till after nightfall. Worse, as I walked outside and rounded the back corner of the house to gain entry to the back deck by way of its outside screen door, I only took a moment to tell myself “no” to a very crucial question.
“Gee, I forgot the back deck's light. So...I wonder if I ought take the 15 seconds to turn around, go back inside the kitchen, and turn the light on…?”
You know where this is going, don’t you? Of course you do.
I decide to sally forth, in the dark, and climbed the few stairs up to the back deck. I couldn’t see worth squat, but that’s okay because “muscle memory” tells me what to do and where to reach. Unfortunately, the very moment I reach out my right hand for the first food bowl I feel a profoundly unexpected pins-prick and flesh-tearing sensation on my thumb. Followed immediately by a frightfully unusual hissing sound.
Yep. I done got bit by something. For even though I couldn’t see my bloodied thumb, I could feel the dripping ooziness of the flowing wound.
You will understand if I don’t tell you here what I said out loud but under my breath as the realization dawned that my own stupidity directly led to my now-bleeding thumb. This story is meant to be G-rated. Your own imagination can fill in the gaps.
Now then, I’ll try to limit my otherwise overly loquacious style and cut to the chase. Tiffany was able to turn the back deck’s light on fast enough for us to see that what bit me was a possum. For the sake of expediency, Tiff quickly kicked off her slippers then darted out the kitchen door: she courageously braved the snowfall in bare feet, running outside to shut the back deck’s screen door. She didn’t want the critter to make a clean get-away, of course; and I was back inside otherwise busied with attending to my slightly shredded thumb at the kitchen sink.
Tiff later told me that when the little beastie glared its beady eyes at her she almost growled, “You. Just. Try. It.”
I knew there was a reason why, when I glanced out the kitchen window, I saw the fanged-tooth varmint shrink into one corner of the deck…. Tiffany is a lovely and amazing woman, but she’s also, in a word, formidable. If the contest were between Tiff and a grizzly bear, well, let’s just say that bear steaks will probably be on the dinner menu.
But I digress.
Our county’s animal control office sent a fellow out and he was able to capture the creature before I got to the local hospital’s ER (a trip that even on the still-slick roads only took me about 45 minutes or so to travel the 20-odd miles). And the next day Animal Control called back to say that though possums don’t usually get tested for rabies (their assertion was that possums aren’t rabies carriers), that they were in fact going to go ahead and test it. Just to be safe.
Bottom line, all is good. Tiffany not only doesn’t have to deal with a rabid dog, she also doesn’t have to deal with a rabid Doug.
So, the moral of the story? Take the extra 15 seconds to turn around and flick on the light switch. Or, more concisely, “stupidity ought be self-correcting.”
In closing, I hope you found this anecdote entertaining. And I hope, perhaps, even informative. Though this event happened just a few days ago, it has already firmly established itself in the “family lore” which Tiff and I share. I mean, hey, why not? Sure, my injury was very, very minor, and certainly not otherwise worth writing about. It was far, far more embarrassing than dangerous. But some unpleasant events in life do serve a purpose: they can provide you knee-slappingly good stories to spin as the years go by.
Grace and Peace.
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