This season sometimes makes me nostalgic, and I recall a story from over ten years ago that some of you may remember. Every year we have an abundance of incoming orphaned, injured and sick baby wild animals.  Just as predictable, every year we rescue a greater number of one particular species. In 1999 it was Opossums, many hundreds of them.

Looking over the carriers, boxes and nursery cages containing the dark, yet bright-eyed, softly-furred bodies, I well remember the literally thousands of these incredible marsupials who we have seen through the years.  They have come to us after suffering the trauma of being slammed by a swiftly moving automobile, chewed to near-death by an overly excited dog, clubbed by teenage boys, or poisoned with deadly toxins, yet miraculously time and time again they survive. This was not due solely to our heroic efforts to save their lives; it was owed as well to the Opossum's ability to survive life-threatening events. These animals are unique in that they have a slow metabolic rate and, consequently, a lower than average body temperature and a slower heart rate.  Apparently these factors contribute to their innate ability to survive almost anything.  Interestingly, the Opossum can endure emotional loss as well, but with this sometimes they need a little help-not just anyone's help, but help of just the right kind.  

A mother Opossum came to us, all of her babies dead.  She had been found on the side of a road late one night, her pouch filled with tiny babies. All had been victims of a collision with a car. Baby Opossums were strewn about the road; Mom was lying bloody and broken. Left behind to slowly die, she was seen some time later by a passing motorist. The Opossum family was gathered up, placed in a box, and brought to
the Sanctuary.  

By the time they arrived the babies were dead, all thirteen of them.  Momma Opossum was barely hanging on to life. Several hours later, after intense fluid therapy, she was, amazingly, standing, trying to walk, and sniffing about the carrier looking for her babies.  When no young were found she began to investigate her pouch, licking, probing and once again finding no one.

In a few days, Momma was beginning to feed herself. She would take small bites of fresh raw chicken and slices of purple grapes. She seemed interested, but soon we were to realize that she was not eating enough to keep body and soul together. As the days passed, the mother with no babies began to show distinct signs of depression. Her appetite plummeted; she would sleep both day and night.  She spent little or no time investigating her living quarters. Day by day she was deciding to die. We moved her to a larger outside area.  Fresh-cut tree limbs and a soft bed of fragrant green alfalfa would hopefully bring back her interest in eating and maybe restore her will to live.

Another week passed and Momma Opossum was not improving. Once again fluid therapy was necessary. Once again she was at death's door.  Two days later she rallied.  She was lapping a special formula, walking about, and renewing our hope for her future.

This time we were taking no chances. We placed a young, male Opossum in her carrier.  Perhaps the companionship was what she needed.  We were sadly mistaken. He was interested in the new relationship, but Momma Opossum did not share his enthusiasm. The young male was ready to be released, so we gave him his freedom and tried another male who had been rescued from the jaws of a large Dog.  Maybe their shared traumatic past would make them a more compatible pair.  Wrong once more!  Momma Opossum was not interested.  She was once again not willing to eat, socialize, or get back to the business of living.  Now, we were faced with the dilemma: do we let her quietly drift off or do we continue to harass and stress her with IV fluids, forced feedings, and other efforts to save her life?  
    
Very early one morning, a young woman called WRR.  She had just found a small Opossum in her backyard.  He was lethargic and covered with Fleas.  She was instructed to bring him immediately to the Sanctuary.  When he arrived, we saw that he was anemic, had a severe infection in his right eye, and his fur was matted and dry.  After removing all of the Fleas, treating his eye, and tube-feeding him, he was placed on a heating pad in a small cardboard box.  Inadvertently, we had in fact placed the young sick Opossum right next to the grieving Mom.  

An hour later when we went to check on the new patient we were met with sounds of scratching and sniffing.  But these sounds were not coming from the weak male; they came from the carrier just next to his.  Momma Opossum had suddenly come back to life. She was frantic to get to the little male just outside her carrier door. We knew his chances for survival were not good, but maybe Momma Opossum could help him.  And by helping him, help herself.  

We placed the two in a large hay-filled cage.  There was a bowl of sliced bananas, apples and grapes.  Beside that was a small bowl of fresh water.  One wooden sleeping box was furnished for privacy.  Momma Opossum wasted no time.  She deliberately walked over to the weak youngster, began licking his injured eye, and in her best mothering behavior had his dry matted fur clean and fluffy in no time.  

In the days to follow, Mom and her new baby grew to be an inseparable twosome. The young male never regained sight in his right eye, but by the time they were ready to live in an outdoor enclosure, Momma Opossum was willing and able to look after him whenever he needed her. Climbing on the thick oak limbs, the male regained his once agile climbing skills and if ever he needed her, Mom was always there to coax him along and restore his confidence. This incredible, once near-lifeless mother Opossum who had lost everything, even her will to exist, had found someone who could not survive without her: a young Opossum who, without even trying, had brought her back to life and given her a reason to live.  

It was well after midnight on the evening that mother and now half-grown baby were set free.  A gentle rain had fallen through the night and a warm breeze made its way over each branch of the stately green Cypress trees. The male was first to leave the confines of the carrier.  His now single vision perspective was no longer a challenge.  He had long ago learned to compensate for his loss. As he made his way agilely through the tall, soft grass his adopted mother was close behind. Together they climbed the angular branches of a bent Oak.  As they reached the top of the leafy canopy, the young male stopped to sniff the fresh night air.  Mom stopped, too. Once again her soft pink tongue caressed his scarred face.  In only minutes, the two disappeared into the dark green mass.  

Now their life was their own.  They could stay together or go their separate ways, but whatever they decided, they had a bond of one incredible caring animal looking after another; two Opossums who had courted death but, with the help of one another, had chosen life.

Wildlife Rescue & Rehabilitation, Inc.