This is what greeted me this morning:
|Smile for the camera!!|
It's Mr. P, back in his happy place under the nesting box in the coop. In an astonishing turn of events, the chickens are now safely locked out of the coop and Mr. P is locked in, kind of like jail for incurable party crashers. A security task force, consisting of me and Matty, will be visiting the local hardware store after nursery school in order to bring back a humane trap for the express purpose of reassigning Mr. P to a location as far away from my chickens as possible. The Canine Border Patrol Officer has also been briefed on the current breach of security,
although he is disinclined to act rashly--or indeed at all-- at this juncture.
p.s. I am plagued by the thought that this might be an enterprising Mama Possum looking for a nice place to raise her babies. I might need therapy to deal with the guilt involved in tossing her freeloading possum hiney back out on the streets. Debating whether retail or chocolate therapy would be more efficacious.