Possum? It’s What’s for Dinner

by Marvel Goose on June 25, 2008

Animal activists were horrified at a fraternity at the University of Georgia that “killed, skinned, cooked, and ate” a raccoon at a park in Athens. Just twenty miles from this keyboard in Echols County this is what is known as “supper”. It could well be opossum or armadillo on the half-shell — depending on what wild animal looked directly into the high powered Q-Beam floodlight as it shown over the baited field last night.

These people are also squealing about a drunken pet pig that was found on a campus. Getting your pet drunk has been going on as long as people have been getting drunk and have had pets. Would they have been upset if the frat boys had killed and eaten the pig? Aren’t the squeamish already asking that we anesthetize animals before slaughter?

In my fraternity we had a dog named “Dammit” because that was what we shouted at him all the time. Dammit acquired the taste for beer by licking up the normal spillage at the sloppy end of a televised football game. Before long, Dammit started begging when people opened a beer.

We thought it was cute until Dammit was alone one day and ripped open a case of beer. He bashed a six-pack around on its little plastic rings until something gave and spilled. Dammit picked up several unprintable nicknames after that one.

A meeting was held and it was decided that Dammit was going on the wagon. The next morning, he was locked up in one of the bedrooms. When we came back after lunch we found Dammit passed out on the floor with a broken bottle of Crown Royal he had smelled out from the top drawer of the dresser. Crown Royal — this was serious.

We chained Dammit up in the garage and made sure his chain run did not approach any alcohol. In our garage that took some doing and emptying the place took most of the afternoon as we carried empties and half empties to the garbage. Dammit howled and howled the entire time. We went inside and had a beer. When things got quiet outside someone went out and snuck a peek to find Dammit’s collar on the floor and no Dammit.

Oh, did we look and look for that dog. Oh, did we piss off so many people driving down their street shouting “Dammit! Dammit!” It took a week to find that dog and then only on a lucky break when some pledges spotted him hanging around outside of the ABC Liquor store begging for handouts.

It was time for professional help. We took the dog to a vet hoping he would have a canine drunk tank or maybe some doggy anabuse pills.

“Boys,” he said, looking over his glasses, “the only way I can stop this dog from drinking is to put him down. Once a dog is hooked on hooch, he’s history.” He stared at us and we stared at the floor and he made us promise not to spill beer on the floor anymore and let the dog drink it up.

We buried Dammit under a headstone made with beer cans. We didn’t swear off eating squirrel or frog legs, or possum, but we never again fed alcohol to a dog. Giving a monkey a lit cigarette? Ahhhhh, That’s another matter altogether….


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