P-eew Is for Opossum

Dave has been on the prowl for a set of free weights with a bench. Apparently, he looked at new sets online and then searched nearby Craigslists. Wouldn't you know one turned up in Conway.

So, Friday evening we trekked to Conway. After sitting in stand-still traffic on I-430 for 30 minutes, we finally made it past a very pathetic fender-bender that had traffic blocked for miles and got to Conway. I should insert now that I only went along for adventure because I was under the impression that Chik-Fil-A was in the cards.

We traveled through downtown Conway following directions given by "Rupert" from Craigslist. When we arrived, we met "Rupert". He was sitting next to his driveway in a camp chair having a smooth 7 and 7 cocktail and a cigarette.

"Rupert" can only be described as a "college hippie". You know him. That auburn-haired guy with a beard, but no mustache, who is probably just smoking a bunch of pot while his parents are paying for it and a college education. We've all known him. And we've all liked him.

As Dave and "Rupert" discussed the "equipment" I surveyed the surroundings. "Rupert" was surrounded by a bunch of...well...by a bunch of crap.


There were four camp chairs, a picnic table, a RV, a 10-feet by 8-feet stack of cinder blocks, a beautiful German Shepherd named Spider, a small "deep freeze” sitting on top of the air conditioning unit, and a pile of beer cans. When I say "pile" I mean it was a solid foot high directly outside the backdoor to the home. Obviously "Rupert" and his roommates were walking outside the backdoor and tossing empty beer cans directly to the right. It was an interesting place.

I couldn't fault the guy. He was 21, maybe 22 years old, and that's how guys that age live, right? We've been to those houses. And had the time of our lives while we were there.

"Rupert" was a super nice guy. He joked around about "y'all wanting the equipment", which we all know I will never use, and about Dave not needing the heavier weights "because he didn't look like he'd need ‘em". You got it. I liked the guy. Anyone who makes fun of Dave without knowing him is immediately placed in the "Linsley Likes You" camp.

While "Rupert" and Dave dismantled the bench and loaded up all the heavier weights that Dave will likely never use, I played with Spider and looked around.

One guy, then another came home. I assumed they were "Rupert's" roommates. One had a bunch of Obama signs in the back of his car, so I immediately liked him, too.

"Rupert" made a couple of more jokes. I put down the back seats of the Forester to make enough room for the equipment. Just a normal Friday night in the lives of Dave and Linsley.

Then I noticed it.

Right next to the air conditioning unit with the deep freeze on it. There it was. Plain. As. Day.

An opossum carcass.

Not a recently deceased opossum. But a carcass. The head and tail were immediately recognizable. What was also recognizable was that it had been there, next to the deep freeze and the air conditioning unit, for some time.

There were no flies. No bugs. Spider wasn't inspecting it. It had been there a while, and it clearly wasn't going anywhere soon.

Again, Dave takes me to the nicest places.

I never got Chik-Fil-A. By the time we left, Dave had a headache (probably all those heavy weights that will now sit in the garage to rust), and all I wanted to do was get home to a nice hot shower. Gotta wash off the thought of that opossum carcass.

L.