The three opossum orphans were soft as chick down. Each was about the length of my finger, if you didn’t count their pink, snake-like tails. They all had that dazed, faraway look on their slender faces—that look that all of us get when our lives have been suddenly, violently altered.
These three babies were in their mother’s pouch when she was struck and killed by a car on a moonless, wet night when the rain poured down like ocean waves and the trees cracked and groaned in the wind. The possum babies were in good physical shape, it seemed, for all their trauma. Just stunned and unnerved.
I’d never fostered baby possums before. Greta, WildCare’s possum team leader, gave me a sheet of feeding instructions and a bag possum formula frozen into ice-cubes, and sent us on our way. Before I’d gotten home, I’d named the two girls Lily and Sage, and the little boy Red. Read the rest of this entry »