I made the official announcement yesterday that I was going to discontinue this blog, because I simply can't keep up with two blogs. HOWEVER, if you've enjoyed "Possums Just Wanna Have Fun", don't despair. My other blog, "Color Me Country" will feature all things country as well as a hodge-podge of other "stuff".
I couldn't quit telling animal stories if I wanted to. I hope to be posting a lot more often, so you'll be getting more possum and squirrel news from my single blog than you have been getting from the two of them combined.
Please don't give up on me. Just move your loyalty over to "Color Me Country" located at lynnewellswalding.blogspot.com. Soupy, Tickle and Faye and I will be looking for you.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tickle and Faye
I guess it's time to introduce Tickle and Faye . . . the latest members of the Walding household. I didn't want to rush into it, because they were so young and their introduction to our *zoo* so traumatic, I couldn't be sure they'd survive. They made their grand entrance when their tree-trunk home, located some 23 or 24 feet above ground hit the dirt with a resounding Whump!
We were removing a few trees to allow sunshine into our garden. (As well as supply ourselves with firewood for next season) when the gentlemen doing the job offered to push over an old tree that had been dead for years. The tree cracked in half as it hit, revealing a hollowed out spot and a baby squirrel. He grabbed it and brought it to my husband, who rushed to the house.
I questioned whether there might others, because they usually come in litters of two or three. "No" I was assured, there were no more. The men were interested in getting back to the job at hand. At my insistence, they searched the hollow spot again and found another.Thoughts of a third baby would not let me rest until I'd thoroughly searched for myself. Finally satisfied and absolutely freezing, I trudged back to the house to attend to my two new babies.
A boy and a girl, as I fed and nurtured them, I began calling them Brother and Sister. This soon morphed into Larry (my late brother) and Faye-Girl (dh's sister). And so, they were named Larry and Faye-Squirrel.
Until Larry began taking his formula. I laughed aloud at the way he smacked his lips (for lack of a better description). Do you remember Tickle Me Elmo? And the way he looked when he was laughing? That was Larry!
Tickle, AKA Elmo, opened his eyes on Sunday, which makes it a whole lot easier to feed him. Here it is Wednesday and Faye-Squirrel is still groping at her milk supply and getting it all over herself and me. I'm on the receiving end of unbridled razzing from the guys about boys being faster than girls.
Anybody have any good come-backs for that? Something that will really zap the guys?
We were removing a few trees to allow sunshine into our garden. (As well as supply ourselves with firewood for next season) when the gentlemen doing the job offered to push over an old tree that had been dead for years. The tree cracked in half as it hit, revealing a hollowed out spot and a baby squirrel. He grabbed it and brought it to my husband, who rushed to the house.
I questioned whether there might others, because they usually come in litters of two or three. "No" I was assured, there were no more. The men were interested in getting back to the job at hand. At my insistence, they searched the hollow spot again and found another.Thoughts of a third baby would not let me rest until I'd thoroughly searched for myself. Finally satisfied and absolutely freezing, I trudged back to the house to attend to my two new babies.
A boy and a girl, as I fed and nurtured them, I began calling them Brother and Sister. This soon morphed into Larry (my late brother) and Faye-Girl (dh's sister). And so, they were named Larry and Faye-Squirrel.
Until Larry began taking his formula. I laughed aloud at the way he smacked his lips (for lack of a better description). Do you remember Tickle Me Elmo? And the way he looked when he was laughing? That was Larry!
Tickle, AKA Elmo, opened his eyes on Sunday, which makes it a whole lot easier to feed him. Here it is Wednesday and Faye-Squirrel is still groping at her milk supply and getting it all over herself and me. I'm on the receiving end of unbridled razzing from the guys about boys being faster than girls.
Anybody have any good come-backs for that? Something that will really zap the guys?
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Mean and Fierce
Someone posted a picture of a possum on Facebook the other day, and I was appalled at the negative remarks that ensued. So, of course, I got involved. I posted Soupy's sweetest pic in retaliation. And I think I actually made a convert or two.
For those who insist that possums are mean, I'm posting a pic of two orphaned young'uns, trying to be tough. I promise you the little fellows were scared to death when this big human-being poked a camera in their faces. I'd have liked to take them out of their lair and petted on them a while.
I met them at a wonderful wildlife preserve/petting zoo that used to be on a mountaintop right out of Mena, Arkansas. A stone's throw from the Queen Wilhelmena Lodge. They've since moved, and I've kind of lost track of the amazing young man who owned it. I've heard he and his wife moved the animals into Mena, because it was an awesome chore to get up the mountain every day in the wintertime to care for the animals. And Thomas did love those animals.
He married his childhood sweetheart at 14 and was a grandfather at 34. He's a certified falconer, had special dispensation to keep an injured eagle, and spent many of his own dollars in treatment for the eagle, who'd been shot. He had a vulture (yes, an ugly old vulture) that he'd rescued as a chick, and it followed him around like a puppy dog. Also had vulture chicks. They are kinda cute and very fuzzy, if you can imagine that.
Birds flew from the trees to land on his shoulders. Just like Snow White! I took him a baby skunk one time, and six months later when I visited, the skunk was still wandering the grounds, and still in possession of his "defense weapon." (It had to be that way for him to be rehabilitated.) And "Flower" had never once tried to spray anyone.
Thomas had a huge bear named Harold, alligators (or were they crocodiles?) and poisonous snakes that he handled. (that's where I drew the line.) Of course, he wouldn't have let me handle them had I wanted to.
I took Squirrel Girl to live with Thomas when she became too restless to keep in our house. And he rehabbed her in record time. Moved her into a squirrel neighborhood where she was the only girl, and she immediately took command. Girls rule!
One winter, Thomas rehabbed a doe. She became attached to the other deer, and when he tried to turn her loose, she wouldn't leave. Because of Thomas, I've petted a vulture, several fawns, and a mountain lion. Actually, I kind of wrestled with the mountain lion. (See pic).
If you're ever in Mena, Arkansas, try to find Thomas Young, Arkansas Plant and Wildlife. A most interesting and knowledgeable young man. And charming, as well. He used to operate completely on donations. I hope he's doing well, and I hope I can make it up there again sometime in the near future.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Soupy and Friends
I am a very bad girl.
Try as I may, I cannot write a post every week with any kind of consistency. The Christmas Holidays and the New Year blew me out of the water and I'm just now catching up. But Soupy and Friends don't seem to mind. They have stories enough to tell to last me into the next millennium.
I guess by now, all of you have heard of Heidi the Cross-Eyed Opossum. Living in a zoo in Germany, her U-tube image has made her the darling of the critter-loving world. It has not made me love her any less, (In fact, I wrote her a love letter just yesterday), but the truth is . . . Heidi's an impostor. Oh yeah, you heard me right. I.M.P.O.S.T.O.R. I doubt it was her idea to try to dupe the cyber-space crowd, but nonetheless, I suspect a little hanky panky on someone's part.
You see, I'm fairly well-versed on opossums. And one of the things I have learned over the years is . . . overeating and the resulting excess poundage makes a possum look cross-eyed, because the outside white of it's eyes (which is unseen in a trim possum) bulges out. (It's called a fat deposit). It doesn't make the possum cross-eyed, but, for all the world, it LOOKS cross-eyed. A healthy, trim possum has two black buttons for eyes.
Now, look at Heidi's picture. And compare it with Soupy. Soupy was borderline overweight, and you could see a little bit of the whites of his eyes. But Heidi's eyes look like they're going to bulge out of her sweet little face. I just hope the powers that be at the zoo she resides in will watch her diet closely.
How a wild possum got overweight is a weighty question. (Pardon the pun) It's possible she found a really cool place to eat where someone tossed lots of forbidden goodies and she reported there every night. She sure didn't get fat on roadkill. Unless she lived on a very dangerous curve in a busy road. (In which case she's lucky she wasn't road kill herself.)
Most people don't have a clue as to what a possum should eat. Actually, the recommendations have changed a time or two since I raised my first possum. The one thing that remains constant is they need fruit and veggies to prevent rickets. I suppose a bug consists mostly of veggies - and that's their most common fare. But given the chance they'd exist on fried chicken and fresh mushrooms with a side of lemon yogurt.
I taught Soupy a trick. Well, not really. Possums are sweet and cute and good-natured, but trainable . . . not so much. I found out quite by accident he loved mushrooms. He'd usually stand in front of (or in the middle of) his food dish and eat. But if I gave him a mushroom, he'd snatch it up, look from side to side, like someone might take it from him, and make a beeline for his bed. So, I couldn't resist telling people he was trained. I'd give him a mushroom and say "Take it to your bed." Off he'd go - a man on a mission - straight to his bed. It was very impressive, but believe me, if I'd said "stay" he'd have still taken off for his bed, full speed ahead.
Try as I may, I cannot write a post every week with any kind of consistency. The Christmas Holidays and the New Year blew me out of the water and I'm just now catching up. But Soupy and Friends don't seem to mind. They have stories enough to tell to last me into the next millennium.
I guess by now, all of you have heard of Heidi the Cross-Eyed Opossum. Living in a zoo in Germany, her U-tube image has made her the darling of the critter-loving world. It has not made me love her any less, (In fact, I wrote her a love letter just yesterday), but the truth is . . . Heidi's an impostor. Oh yeah, you heard me right. I.M.P.O.S.T.O.R. I doubt it was her idea to try to dupe the cyber-space crowd, but nonetheless, I suspect a little hanky panky on someone's part.
You see, I'm fairly well-versed on opossums. And one of the things I have learned over the years is . . . overeating and the resulting excess poundage makes a possum look cross-eyed, because the outside white of it's eyes (which is unseen in a trim possum) bulges out. (It's called a fat deposit). It doesn't make the possum cross-eyed, but, for all the world, it LOOKS cross-eyed. A healthy, trim possum has two black buttons for eyes.
Now, look at Heidi's picture. And compare it with Soupy. Soupy was borderline overweight, and you could see a little bit of the whites of his eyes. But Heidi's eyes look like they're going to bulge out of her sweet little face. I just hope the powers that be at the zoo she resides in will watch her diet closely.
How a wild possum got overweight is a weighty question. (Pardon the pun) It's possible she found a really cool place to eat where someone tossed lots of forbidden goodies and she reported there every night. She sure didn't get fat on roadkill. Unless she lived on a very dangerous curve in a busy road. (In which case she's lucky she wasn't road kill herself.)
Most people don't have a clue as to what a possum should eat. Actually, the recommendations have changed a time or two since I raised my first possum. The one thing that remains constant is they need fruit and veggies to prevent rickets. I suppose a bug consists mostly of veggies - and that's their most common fare. But given the chance they'd exist on fried chicken and fresh mushrooms with a side of lemon yogurt.
I taught Soupy a trick. Well, not really. Possums are sweet and cute and good-natured, but trainable . . . not so much. I found out quite by accident he loved mushrooms. He'd usually stand in front of (or in the middle of) his food dish and eat. But if I gave him a mushroom, he'd snatch it up, look from side to side, like someone might take it from him, and make a beeline for his bed. So, I couldn't resist telling people he was trained. I'd give him a mushroom and say "Take it to your bed." Off he'd go - a man on a mission - straight to his bed. It was very impressive, but believe me, if I'd said "stay" he'd have still taken off for his bed, full speed ahead.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Sarah Has Spoken!
And the winner is . . . (drum roll) . . . uh . . . (more drum roll) . . . uh . . . Cut!
I can't go right into announcing the winner. Nobody does that. First you have to read some of my "stuff". And for today, I've decided to keep a promise I made weeks ago. I'm going to tell you my story about petting a wild possum.
Dee and I were building a little house out in the country. I think it was house number 3 (We've built 11) We'd bought a used motor home to live in while we built. Well, truthfully, we'd bought it to travel in, but found out it got eight miles to the gallon.
The one real trip we took in it was to visit my brother who lived in Florida at the time. We made it as far as Central Louisiana - about 15 miles from Alexandria, where Dee was raised and his family still lives - when it broke down. For five days we spent most of the day - every day - sitting in the mechanic's shop, because every evening when we'd leave to go to Mama's house the foreman would tell us it would be ready about ten the next morning.
Someone had to taxi us back and forth, so when they dropped us off the next morning, we'd dismiss them and tell them we'd be along in a few minutes. Of course after they left we'd discover there were more complications and it wouldn't be ready for another two hours. When those two hours were up, it would be another two hours, and so on until it was time to leave for the evening again. We never made it to Florida, and didn't even get to enjoy our visit in Louisiana. It took some of the shine off of being a motor home owner, that's for sure.
But I digress . . .
One day we worked late into the evening. The porch light was on at the house we were building. Both the house and the motor home were facing the road, which left the front of the motor home in total darkness. The awning was extended and our Bar-B-Q pit was set up on the patio. We kept the cat's food on top of the pit (when it wasn't lit, of course) so the dog couldn't get it.
I headed for the motor home to get something. When I zipped around the corner into total darkness, it took a minute to sort things out. There sat our cat on top of the Bar-B-Q pit having a snack.
"Hi, baby, having a late supper?" I rubbed my hand down it's back.
Oh oh! Didn't feel like cat fur to me. Yet, in my stupor I stood there with my hand on it's back, while my eyes adjusted. A humongous possum's white face came into focus. He stared at me. I stared at him. I'm sure he was as shocked as I was when we recognized each other. He didn't hiss. He didn't move.
I pulled my hand back and excused myself and he went back to eating.I mean these kinds of things happen every day, don't they?
Wake up the drummer!
And the winner is . . . Hit it! . . . (Drum roll) . . . Hold it. Sarah, would you like to make this announcement?
No? She worn out from checking the trash cans.
Okay. The winner is . . . wait. I gotta tell you what a bang-up job Sarah did in picking the winner. She nosed around in the trash can for several minutes before making her choice. (If she could read, I'd say this was rigged.) After carefully selecting the designated winner she headed for the bedroom. "No, wait! You gotta let me read it. You're supposed to lay it down next to the trash can the way you always do."
Under the bed. You heard me, she took it under the bed. I was a little frantic at this point, so she thought I was mad at her and no amount of coaxing would bring her out from under the bed. If I walked away, she might totally eat it, and I wouldn't know who won, except through the process of elimination.
Dee ran to the kitchen for a dog treat. Yay! That did the trick. She came out . . .but she didn't bring the slip of paper with her. So, I had to reach under with a back scratcher and pull out the mangled entry.
Okay. The winner is LOOsi GGGEE. Well, that's what it looks like. Oh, that's a tooth hole. And a little slobber. Turn it over.
And the winner is . . . (Drum Roll) . . . Lisa Grace!
Congratulations, Lisa. Your possum is in the mail.
I can't go right into announcing the winner. Nobody does that. First you have to read some of my "stuff". And for today, I've decided to keep a promise I made weeks ago. I'm going to tell you my story about petting a wild possum.
Dee and I were building a little house out in the country. I think it was house number 3 (We've built 11) We'd bought a used motor home to live in while we built. Well, truthfully, we'd bought it to travel in, but found out it got eight miles to the gallon.
The one real trip we took in it was to visit my brother who lived in Florida at the time. We made it as far as Central Louisiana - about 15 miles from Alexandria, where Dee was raised and his family still lives - when it broke down. For five days we spent most of the day - every day - sitting in the mechanic's shop, because every evening when we'd leave to go to Mama's house the foreman would tell us it would be ready about ten the next morning.
Someone had to taxi us back and forth, so when they dropped us off the next morning, we'd dismiss them and tell them we'd be along in a few minutes. Of course after they left we'd discover there were more complications and it wouldn't be ready for another two hours. When those two hours were up, it would be another two hours, and so on until it was time to leave for the evening again. We never made it to Florida, and didn't even get to enjoy our visit in Louisiana. It took some of the shine off of being a motor home owner, that's for sure.
But I digress . . .
One day we worked late into the evening. The porch light was on at the house we were building. Both the house and the motor home were facing the road, which left the front of the motor home in total darkness. The awning was extended and our Bar-B-Q pit was set up on the patio. We kept the cat's food on top of the pit (when it wasn't lit, of course) so the dog couldn't get it.
I headed for the motor home to get something. When I zipped around the corner into total darkness, it took a minute to sort things out. There sat our cat on top of the Bar-B-Q pit having a snack.
"Hi, baby, having a late supper?" I rubbed my hand down it's back.
Oh oh! Didn't feel like cat fur to me. Yet, in my stupor I stood there with my hand on it's back, while my eyes adjusted. A humongous possum's white face came into focus. He stared at me. I stared at him. I'm sure he was as shocked as I was when we recognized each other. He didn't hiss. He didn't move.
I pulled my hand back and excused myself and he went back to eating.I mean these kinds of things happen every day, don't they?
Wake up the drummer!
And the winner is . . . Hit it! . . . (Drum roll) . . . Hold it. Sarah, would you like to make this announcement?
No? She worn out from checking the trash cans.
Okay. The winner is . . . wait. I gotta tell you what a bang-up job Sarah did in picking the winner. She nosed around in the trash can for several minutes before making her choice. (If she could read, I'd say this was rigged.) After carefully selecting the designated winner she headed for the bedroom. "No, wait! You gotta let me read it. You're supposed to lay it down next to the trash can the way you always do."
Under the bed. You heard me, she took it under the bed. I was a little frantic at this point, so she thought I was mad at her and no amount of coaxing would bring her out from under the bed. If I walked away, she might totally eat it, and I wouldn't know who won, except through the process of elimination.
Dee ran to the kitchen for a dog treat. Yay! That did the trick. She came out . . .but she didn't bring the slip of paper with her. So, I had to reach under with a back scratcher and pull out the mangled entry.
Okay. The winner is LOOsi GGGEE. Well, that's what it looks like. Oh, that's a tooth hole. And a little slobber. Turn it over.
And the winner is . . . (Drum Roll) . . . Lisa Grace!
Congratulations, Lisa. Your possum is in the mail.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
One Week to Go!
As promised, today I'm going to tell you who is doing the drawing for the stuffed possum.
First let me tell you a little bit about her. Born in Oklahoma and raised in Texas - she was given very slim odds of survival at two weeks of age. Unable to suck, it was necessary for her caregivers to find other ways to get nourishment into her body. The fact that she's with us today speaks well of the methods employed.
Lovely red-brown hair. Striking eyes. Beautifully manicured nails, which she maintains herself. And an enthusiasm that has brought her through some tough times, Sarah is the perfect candidate for this job. Raised in a journalistic environment, she is an authority soi-distant on all things paper-related. In fact her hobby is reaching into a trash can and choosing one particular piece of paper, which she then lays beside the trash can and leaves.
Did I mention Sarah was a dog?
A very smart dog. She was removed from her mother's care at two weeks of age. One of a litter of fourteen, her litter-mates were dying off one or two a day. I had chosen her and named her at conception (the most dappled female of the litter, please. That she has one blue eye and one hazel eye is an unexpected bonus). I couldn't bear the thought of her dying, although I had not yet met her. So at two weeks, I drove to Oklahoma to visit my granddaughter and two great-grandchildren. And bring Sarah home to Texas.
Neither doll bottles, pet bottles nor baby bottles suited her. She'd either not get enough, or so much would come out it almost drown her. After a harrowing week of diarrhea and/or constipation and struggling to get food down, I put a saucer of milk in front of her. And pushed her nose into it.
She said "Why didn't we do this sooner. I've been hungry for a week." She lapped it down, and hasn't stopped eating since.(She prefers my dinner to hers. Her biggest weakness being a green salad. Extra onion, please.)
That was two years ago. In the ensuing months, she chewed up an antique chair, our camera/computer cable, our printer cable, our Roland keyboard cable, Dee's HBP machine hose. Chewed holes in the sheet-rock walls and the corners off tables, chairs, and stairs. She was free. I figure she's cost us approximately $2,419.72.
In her on-going effort to offset that expense she's eliminated the need for trips to the vet to have her nails clipped. She bites them off to the perfect length. Every little bit helps.
And I'm happy to report she's given all that chewing up - for paper. She's obsessed with paper. Fetching the morning paper, carrying the mail back from the mail box and checking the trash cans on an hourly basis to be sure there's not too much paper build-up. I don't know what we'd do without her.
Sarah Palin Walding is already anticipating her role in the contest. Let's fill the trash can for her.
I've had some entries and some complaints that readers haven't been able to leave comments. (Well, that's better than complaints about the content of my posts I guess.) And I'm sorry I'm not technologically smart enough to just jump in there and fix it. But I'm working on it.
One of my FB friends put it nicely. "For all my friends who are concerned about my consumption of artificial sweetener, you'll be glad to know that it hasn't had any adverse effect on my . . . uh . . . my . . . uh . . . thinker thingy."
First let me tell you a little bit about her. Born in Oklahoma and raised in Texas - she was given very slim odds of survival at two weeks of age. Unable to suck, it was necessary for her caregivers to find other ways to get nourishment into her body. The fact that she's with us today speaks well of the methods employed.
Lovely red-brown hair. Striking eyes. Beautifully manicured nails, which she maintains herself. And an enthusiasm that has brought her through some tough times, Sarah is the perfect candidate for this job. Raised in a journalistic environment, she is an authority soi-distant on all things paper-related. In fact her hobby is reaching into a trash can and choosing one particular piece of paper, which she then lays beside the trash can and leaves.
Did I mention Sarah was a dog?
A very smart dog. She was removed from her mother's care at two weeks of age. One of a litter of fourteen, her litter-mates were dying off one or two a day. I had chosen her and named her at conception (the most dappled female of the litter, please. That she has one blue eye and one hazel eye is an unexpected bonus). I couldn't bear the thought of her dying, although I had not yet met her. So at two weeks, I drove to Oklahoma to visit my granddaughter and two great-grandchildren. And bring Sarah home to Texas.
Neither doll bottles, pet bottles nor baby bottles suited her. She'd either not get enough, or so much would come out it almost drown her. After a harrowing week of diarrhea and/or constipation and struggling to get food down, I put a saucer of milk in front of her. And pushed her nose into it.
She said "Why didn't we do this sooner. I've been hungry for a week." She lapped it down, and hasn't stopped eating since.(She prefers my dinner to hers. Her biggest weakness being a green salad. Extra onion, please.)
That was two years ago. In the ensuing months, she chewed up an antique chair, our camera/computer cable, our printer cable, our Roland keyboard cable, Dee's HBP machine hose. Chewed holes in the sheet-rock walls and the corners off tables, chairs, and stairs. She was free. I figure she's cost us approximately $2,419.72.
In her on-going effort to offset that expense she's eliminated the need for trips to the vet to have her nails clipped. She bites them off to the perfect length. Every little bit helps.
And I'm happy to report she's given all that chewing up - for paper. She's obsessed with paper. Fetching the morning paper, carrying the mail back from the mail box and checking the trash cans on an hourly basis to be sure there's not too much paper build-up. I don't know what we'd do without her.
Sarah Palin Walding is already anticipating her role in the contest. Let's fill the trash can for her.
I've had some entries and some complaints that readers haven't been able to leave comments. (Well, that's better than complaints about the content of my posts I guess.) And I'm sorry I'm not technologically smart enough to just jump in there and fix it. But I'm working on it.
One of my FB friends put it nicely. "For all my friends who are concerned about my consumption of artificial sweetener, you'll be glad to know that it hasn't had any adverse effect on my . . . uh . . . my . . . uh . . . thinker thingy."
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
A Contest! Just in time for Christmas!
Young mothers, I know you want to teach your children to love and respect all of God's creatures. Even the ones that cause you to say "Eww". A visit to "Possums Just Wanna Have Fun" would help them understand some of the mysteries of God's animal kingdom. And teach them that baby possums can be just as cute as baby bunnies. It's true, you know. They start out little and pink, just like bunnies do. In fact, I've not met a baby anything that wasn't cute.
I have an irrational fear of praying Mantises. If one ever got in my hair, I'd probably die on the spot. But a few years back, someone gave me a little matchbox and told me to open it carefully. Inside was a tiny, tiny praying Mantis. As small as a mosquito. And he was praying. I let him walk around on my desk and up and down my fingers. I think if I'd kept him - we might have bonded. (Big Grin). But I didn't know what to feed him, so I released him in the garden and hoped he'd make it. Yes, you read right. I hoped he'd make it.
Regarding possums, most of you have only seen the ugly, skinny looking creatures that roam the night looking for bugs. Okay, granted, they are gross looking. But they have the potential to be beautiful. They are cute as babies. Just as a puppy is.
I had the privilege of rescuing four puppies born to an abandoned dog. They'd never seen a human and when I approached them, they snarled and bit at me. By the time I got all four of them safely in a carrying kennel, my hands were bleeding. And they weren't very pretty either. Bony and matted. Three weeks later they were fattened up, cute and cuddly. It's amazing what a little TLC will do.
Next time you see an ugly possum, think of what he could look like with a little TLC. And if you can't imagine that - look at some of my pics of Soupy.
Now . . . for the contest. Below I've asked three questions. Go to "comments" and leave your name - and a comment if you like. But don't answer the questions there.
Email me at lynne@lynnewellswalding.com. Answer the questions and leave your name and a contact address. The winner will be drawn from a list of those correctly answering the questions.
Again - Leave a comment and/or your name in blog comments.
Leave your answers and your name and contact address at my email address.
Easy as that.
Drawing will be held December 14. The possum will go out in the afternoon mail. In time for Christmas. The winner will be announced in this blog on December 15. I'll tell you next week what completely impartial individual will be doing the drawing. You're gonna love it!
And here are the questions:
Where did I get Soupy?
Where did I get Squirrel Girl?
How did Soupy break his leg?
Get ready. Get set. Go!
I have an irrational fear of praying Mantises. If one ever got in my hair, I'd probably die on the spot. But a few years back, someone gave me a little matchbox and told me to open it carefully. Inside was a tiny, tiny praying Mantis. As small as a mosquito. And he was praying. I let him walk around on my desk and up and down my fingers. I think if I'd kept him - we might have bonded. (Big Grin). But I didn't know what to feed him, so I released him in the garden and hoped he'd make it. Yes, you read right. I hoped he'd make it.
Regarding possums, most of you have only seen the ugly, skinny looking creatures that roam the night looking for bugs. Okay, granted, they are gross looking. But they have the potential to be beautiful. They are cute as babies. Just as a puppy is.
I had the privilege of rescuing four puppies born to an abandoned dog. They'd never seen a human and when I approached them, they snarled and bit at me. By the time I got all four of them safely in a carrying kennel, my hands were bleeding. And they weren't very pretty either. Bony and matted. Three weeks later they were fattened up, cute and cuddly. It's amazing what a little TLC will do.
Next time you see an ugly possum, think of what he could look like with a little TLC. And if you can't imagine that - look at some of my pics of Soupy.
Now . . . for the contest. Below I've asked three questions. Go to "comments" and leave your name - and a comment if you like. But don't answer the questions there.
Email me at lynne@lynnewellswalding.com. Answer the questions and leave your name and a contact address. The winner will be drawn from a list of those correctly answering the questions.
Again - Leave a comment and/or your name in blog comments.
Leave your answers and your name and contact address at my email address.
Easy as that.
Drawing will be held December 14. The possum will go out in the afternoon mail. In time for Christmas. The winner will be announced in this blog on December 15. I'll tell you next week what completely impartial individual will be doing the drawing. You're gonna love it!
And here are the questions:
Where did I get Soupy?
Where did I get Squirrel Girl?
How did Soupy break his leg?
Get ready. Get set. Go!
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