The Incredible Killing Machine

By which I mean the Illustrious and Infamous Honey. Sounds innocent enough, doesn’t she? Honey. Just 65 pounds of Chow Retriever, lots of fur and big brown eyes and, very polite under the most trying circumstances, well-mannered now and then, and everyone thinks she’s just soooooo cute.

They’ve never seen her go after a possum. Lucky them. I wish I hadn’t seen it either. This will take some recovery time.

So there we are, out for our 9:30 pm walk, which happens never on schedule and only occasionally at 9:30. The important thing is that we were out, at night, in the dark, alone. We were by the fenced off nature preserve that sits smack in the middle of our apartment complex. There’s a pond in there with ducks, and, I’m assuming, nature stuff. Which is why it’s a nature preserve. I don’t venture in there. Honey has ventured in there before, of her own volition and in direct violation of a direct order not to, but she’s never been particularly obedient. Anyway, we were close to the nature preserve and the outdoor pool, minding our own business. At least I was, minding my own business, but Honey was apparently minding someone else’s business.

She jerked on the leash. This happens when she sees something interesting, such as a cat. She likes cats, and we have a plethora of them. Usually I just jerk back on the leash, but this time there would be none of that. She was not to be deterred. She jerked the leash and it was either let go, or be pulled down. We’ve had a lot of rain and the ground was rather muddy. I let go, knowing I’d end up face first in the mud otherwise. Against the wall that encloses the pool area something was moving, and The Incredible Killing Machine was on it before I’d regained my balance. “It happened so quickly, officer, I didn’t see a thing!” It’s not just a cliché, really. Something with a prehensile tail, claws, light in color, was being vigorously shaken by The Machine.


At first I was afraid it was a cat. We have many cats roaming around loose, so many that management has said they’re going to have them rounded up and taken to our local animal sanctuary. But it did not look like a cat, at least not a normal cat. It looked like a rat, a large rodent. I have an irrational fear of rodents, so I didn’t want to get any closer than I was. And I’m not particularly interested in saving the life of a rodent. It was a large rodent though. I yelled at dog to drop it.

You can imagine how effective that was. The shaking continued. Dog did drop it, looked at it, then looked at me. She looked rather happy. And why not? Doesn’t this just sound like fun? Then she picked it up again and shook it, she waved it around, the poor thing would have suffered severe brain damage from shaken possum syndrome if nothing else, and then she dropped it again.

What was I doing while all this was going on? Several things, actually, despite my seeming indolence. Yelling, “Stop, Honey, put it down!” Wondering how close I could get without becoming a victim. Saying “oh, gross,” to myself. Losing my appetite. Pacing. Wondering if Honey was going to grab her prize and run off into the wilderness, which was just a few feet away, with it.

Honey dropped the possum again, then looked at me. It was obvious what she was thinking. She’s never actually caught anything before, and her primary concern at this point was, “Hey, mom, what do I do next? Do I eat it? Take it home? What?”

Since the flailing had, at least temporarily, ceased, I took the opportunity to find the end of her trailing leash, making sure I didn’t go anywhere near the dead or dying creature (what if it was only damaged?). I didn’t expect Honey to leave her victim easily, but she did. The possum was playing possum, or was dead, or was napping, or something, and Honey was content to walk away. She looked back a time or two, as if thinking about returning for her prize, but I never wavered. We left the possum.

Andrew and I returned later, to see if the possum needed to be disposed of, or if it did not. I took a quick look and returned to the safety of the car, just in case the supposedly dead possum should rise and attack. We left it there, and I phoned the management office and reported the murder, leaving out the fact that I was harboring the murderer in my apartment. Today the scene of the crime is quiet and there is no sign of the victim. No crime tape either, which leads me to suspect the police are not doing their job effectively, but that’s just as well, as I can’t really afford a defense lawyer for the hapless Honey right now.

Andrew took me out for dinner, to help me recover from the shock. A margarita was called for. Honey was left at home alone, to think about what she’d done, but I don’t think she did think about it, other than “Wow, that was fun!”

The Incredible Killing Machine is quite pleased with herself today. She assures me it’s not her last kill. I assure her it most certainly is.