I couldn’t sleep the other night, so at a little after 3 in the blessed a.m., I turned on the TV.
Big mistake. I have 500 channels of TV, and I can barely find something to watch during prime time. The overnight hours are a vast wasteland, filled commercials for Snuggies and Pocket Fishermen.
This night, though, there was a commercial I had never seen before. It was a commercial, filled with sad pictures and sadder music, trying to raise money for abused and neglected animals in Africa. Tanzania, I think.
They weren’t trying to help lions and tigers and elephants. The money was to save dogs, cats and other domesticated animals. The announcers practically begged viewers to call a toll-free number and donate “whatever you can.”
Now I’m an animal lover and, certainly, that’s a worthwhile cause, but I imagine the typical audience of TV programs at 3 a.m. – insomniacs like myself excepted – aren’t exactly your philanthropic types.
Really, it’s nothing new. Americans have rallied to help animals forever. We try to save the whales or the manatees or the spotted owl. Back in the 1970s, I remember an effort to save the snail darter. I was young at the time, but I seem to recall that the snail darter was a small fish. The reason I suspect this is because all of the snails I have ever seen barely moved, must less darted.
I started thinking. And in my sleep-deprived mind, it came to me. If we really wanted to do something to save an animal, we ought to start a campaign to save the possum. I actually laughed out loud when the idea first entered my brain.
But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea.
Now, you might be asking yourself: What exactly are we saving the possum from?
I’ll tell you. From getting flattened by a car every time one tries to cross the road, that’s what.
Those of you who grew up in the South know what I’m talking about. I don’t have any scientific evidence to back me up on this, but I’d be willing to bet that eight out of every 10 possums that try to cross the road end up getting hit by a vehicle, whether it’s a Honda Accord, a Greyhound bus or a pulpwood truck.
I haven’t kept count of how many dead possums I’ve seen on the road in my lifetime, but I know I’ve seen many more possums that dogs or chickens, which are both legendary road crossers in their own right.
Of course, it’s possible that some of the possums I’ve seen in the road aren’t really dead. They could be playing possum.
Chickens cross the road to get to the other side, at least according to that old joke. I have no idea why possums cross the road. Maybe they are looking for more possums. I’m not exactly Jack Hanna here.
By the way, some of you are probably saying, “Mitch, you are smart enough to know this. It’s not possum. It’s an opossum.”
True. And do you know what they got that “O.” They were walking across the road, saw headlights coming and said, “O, heck. I’m about to get flattened.”
Come on and help me save the possum. The “O” can stand for “‘O’nly You Can Prevent Road Kill.”
Which remind me: Why did the chicken really cross the road? To show the possum it could be done.
