A possum's point of view

by Mike “Michael” Cavin

On a chilly Carolina afternoon, I headed out to deer hunt with my muzzleloader, an old timey-like gun a person pours black powder down the barrel and rams a lead ball down on top of the powder. To fire the gun, a percussion cap is placed onto the port, also known as the nipple, of the firing mechanism. The gun’s hammer is pulled back until it stays cocked. When the trigger is pulled, the hammer strikes the percussion cap, sending a spark into the powder charge, thus making the gun go boom. Seeing as black powder is mighty corrosive, I gave my gun a thorough cleaning after a day of shooting, then swabbed out the barrel with oil. Before hunting, I fired percussion caps to blow out any oil that could prevent the spark from reaching the powder charge, potentially resulting in a misfire.

I was sneaking through the woods as quietly as possible, carrying a portable tree stand, which made a clanking sound when it hit a tree.  Undoubtedly, this caught the attention of every deer in the county, so I stood still, letting the woods calm back down. Something moving caught my eye. I spotted a dog, then another, and so on.  I didn’t know if they were neighborhood hunting dogs or wild dogs. My gun only holds one round, and if I were forced to shoot, reloading would take too much time. I’d need to grab gunpowder from a used film canister in my coat pocket and pour it down the barrel. Next, I‘d grab a cloth patch and set it on top of the barrel, followed by a lead ball from my pocket.  The ramrod would then be used to push the patch and ball down the barrel. Reaching into my pocket again, I’d find a percussion cap to place on the nipple, and then cock the hammer. By the time I reloaded, I could end up as supper for these critters.  That ole “fight or flight” instinct? Yeah, it told me to run.  I couldn’t out run them, and all the trees around me were either the size of toothpicks or California Redwoods. The only tree nearby was nothing more than a sapling. Fortunately, I always carried rope while hunting. I pulled it out, tied one end around the gun and the other end around my belt, then stood at the base of the tree. If these scoundrels came after me, I would be ready to shimmy up through the boughs. 

To determine whether they were curious neighborhood dogs or the aggressive feral sort, I stomped the ground and hollered, “Get outta here!” If they were neighborhood dogs, they’d probably run off. However, they aggressively ran towards me.  I scampered up the tree like a scalded cat and held on. That pack of scruffy-looking monsters surrounded the tree, barking, growling, and jumping up, trying to grab my legs.  Every time I transferred my weight to keep my leg from being grabbed, the tree would bend in another direction. No matter which way the tree swayed, there were just more gaping mouths and teeth to meet me on the other side. 

If I could hook one of my legs in a fork that was above me, I could hang upside down. Being hands free would allow me to pull up my musket. I’d also be able to stay in the tree longer since I was starting to lose my grip. I finally got one leg hooked in the forked branch, and while hanging upside down, I heard lead balls and percussion caps sprinkling the ground. Pockets simply don’t hold contents as well when they are being transferred to the upside-down position!  Well, there went my ammo!  I only had one ball in the barrel and one percussion cap on the port.  The last thing I wanted to do was to shoot any of those critters, but I truly felt that my life was at stake!  I just pointed downward and pulled the trigger.  “SNAP”.  There was no bang—just a snap!  Realizing that I hadn’t fired caps through the gun earlier to dry out the oil, I knew there was a layer of oil between the fired cap and the gunpowder.  And I had no more caps! 

That mental state of “I can’t believe that just happened!” suddenly came over me!  Quickly jumping from the tree to the ground, then popping back up to the semi-safety of the tree with a handful of ammo, is something that could only be accomplished in cartoons.  My mind was in a haze. I was seeing little cartoon characters hopping up and down from the tree, grabbing handfuls of ammunition, completely unharmed while laughing at the snapping dogs! 

Luckily, the loud snap of the cap firing was enough to scare off that pack of nightmare mongrels!  Well, I’m no idiot (even if I was the one hanging upside down from a tree in the middle of nowhere), and I knew the pack was still out there somewhere. I figured it would be safer to stay in the tree for a while with my ears tuned to any sounds. My mind started wandering back to the home place.  I could have been sitting in front of a fireplace drinking hot chocolate.  But nooooooo, I was hanging upside down in a cold forest, waiting to be chowed down on by wild canines!  Since the shoe was on the other foot, I had a better understanding how a possum must feel when on the run from a pack of hounds.

I climbed down, and while walking out, I heard something behind me. After pushing my heart back down my throat, I saw it was only a harmless fox scampering off. I finally spotted my truck, and how pretty she looked in the evening moonlight!

The IR will be featuring some previously written short stories by Mike and included in his memoir “There Should Be A Law Against Boiled Okra” ©2017.