It's Possum Time: Southern Short Stories

By John LanhamSr.

The book has something for everyone who believe that young or old stories must be heard and read. Stories are captivated by human or universal experience, timeless in events and learning. In the history of man, oral storytelling was a means to pour down history. It gave meaning to life and roots to family and community. Where did you come from? I've provided tales mixed with spiritual and literary illumination. We have a mix of children and adult stories. I've added a few poems and remarks on our environmental problems and our care of earth-which I feel we have a duty to protect as good stewards. We have failed as we have allowed greed to drain people, animals, land, air, and seas. I encourage all to make a stand for earth. Thank you and God bless.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644244203

Book preview

A Bedtime Story for Harper

The story of grace given from a little girl. It all began in 1865, the year of the Civil War. A little girl, five years old, could not sleep. She could hear the big guns miles away from her small home in Tennessee. She lived on a farm. She could see the flashes of canon over the hillside, light jumping up at the sky like thunder. Soon she saw troops on the small road by her window. They were marching slowly; some hurt, with a dark color on their gray uniforms. Some stopped by the well and got water. The moon was out, lighting the poor souls as they passed. It was a spooky cast that ran over the troops’ uniforms. They were gray like the moonlight and her front porch—where just this afternoon she and her mother and father swung on. It was such fun. She loved them so very much. Her mom and dad had heard the battle and the troops marching by the house. Guns and swords banging against other parts of the uniforms. Some did not have shoes to wear, the mud pushing up between the toes. She ran to be with her mom and dad. Her father told her the war was over. The men were going home after four long years of killing on both sides.

We must remember we are all Americans.

She ask her dad, Can we give them some food?

He said, We will see what we can do.

They look so hurt.

Her father told her, You can help too. I want you to give each man a cup of water and allow each to fill the canteen and such.

Sure, Dad, I can do that.

Her father told Harper, You are doing a great job. She smiled. You have a good heart that only God can give a person, that can care for others. You remember this night. Always do you best for others. The Civil War is over now; yet pure goodness will long stay in the men’s hearts tonight. You all take a little more of that bean soup. It will help stick to those ribs.

Yes, sir, we sure will. It’s a long way to Florida from up here in Tennessee.

That’s right, 432 miles.

Yes, the pure goodness her dad spoke of would be recalled. Ms. Harper became a nurse at a city hospital, which she later would be called on again, in the war of l898 with Spain after the USS Maine blew up in Cuba’s harbor.

Well, count your blessings and all your good deeds.

Good night.

Love you,

Your great-great-uncle Possum

A Home for Zapper the Bulldog

In today’s fast-moving world, in a dog’s world, he only wants to love his master. Now, Zapper was of noble blood. He was born in the English countryside near one of King George’s homes. The land was green with small hills like in Tennessee. In World War I, his family protected those in the Royal Family. It was a bad time for the world. Now, in 1935 the world was again to go to war. No one notices changes as fast as a bulldog, but in Zapper’s case, he was only a pup of eight puppies. He was royal at birth, born to protect. He was born on May 14, 1935, in the movement to prepare for war.

Now H. R. Hamton, Royal Army General, was away from his home. It was a foggy English day. The family had left the door open on the rear of the home. In normal times, it would be unthinkable what happened next. Two men drove up to the house, got out of the jeep, then came to the door to find the eight bulldogs. Upon seeing the pups, the captain of the Royal Air Service took Zapper then placed him in a bag for cover. He then told the sergeant to forget what he saw.

The sergeant said, Are you sure you want to take the general’s dog?

He said, Well, as a matter of fact, I do. He won’t miss one bulldog pup. Let’s go now.

They drove off with Zapper in hand. Somewhere after this, war had begun. It was now 1940. England had been fighting alone. Zapper’s old home was now gone duo to a V-2-missile hit. He had lived good in the Air Service with Captain. They had flown over the war zone on attack runs at night. The captain always said, Don’t worry, boy. If we get hit, we will jump together into Germany. As Zapper looked out the window, some twenty-one thousand feet up, he could see great flashes on the ground.

It now was 1941, and he had flown many strikes from the air. In June 1941 they were about to fly out on a new mission. Luck run out; As they were on takeoff, a V-2 missile hit the runway. The force of the blast on the runway caused the aircraft to belly flop upside down on the runway. The blast tore the plane apart. Zapper was blown into the air some one hundred feet into the street. His master, Captain G. W. Right, was hurt and was taken away. That’s all Zapper saw from where he lied on the cold stone street.

Zapper lied in a dirty pool of water, brown and oil-filled by the aircraft now slowly burning. Zapper was pleased anyway; the water cooled his hurt legs. Confused and still in a daze, he pulled himself up partway. From here he could see, his black-and-white coat was now gray with sticky oil. It was not long that Zapper heard a transport truck moving fast toward him. The transport truck was loaded with the queen’s guard.

Zapper thought, Well, boy. Do you get up or get run over? He got up and moved away from the road. That was close, Zapper pondered to himself. Well, he was out of the Air Service. Shot down at home now. With no home, what can I do? Where do I go . . . For the moment, he was out of military service. So he walked toward the city of London. Maybe he can find a home. It was cold, and he hurt all over now. He was dirty, and he was hungry. So he walked on until he was down in the heart of the city. He saw a Bobby, a policeman on duty. As he walked, he stopped and sat down in front of a townhouse with a gated doorway and a Bobby on each side. He didn’t think they would mind if he would lie near the postbox.

The rain began to fall lightly now. Now broken, body dirty, cold, hungry, and alone now in the world—at war—but fate was still on Zapper’s side. Yes, inside the gated townhouse lived one cat with one eye. He was a fat Tabby cat named Buddie. A war wound for trusting dogs, Buddie had a good heart and saw the problem at hand for this dirty bulldog. Buddie was on the windowsill, watching the street, the rain, and this bull dog. When the Bobby opened the gate and then the door, Buddie ran out the door to where Zapper was. He said, You need to come with me now.

Then Buddie rushed Zapper into the gated home. It was warm, and it had a fireplace to sit by the fire. It sure felt good to Zapper as he lied on the area rug from India. It was won from the battlefield when London had a vast empire. It had been said that the British empire could be seen from setting sun to rising sun on this earth. The 1800s had been good for the kingdom. That empire, like all empires, falls sooner or later.

As Chancellor A. Hitler will soon bring forth to the world, Zapper said, That’s true for now. He had the upper hand on the world and our small kingdom. After all, I was on flight missions over Germany. Also shot out of air on our own runway, mind you.

Buddie tells his young guest, Zapper, you are out of the war now. So go to sleep.

Zapper took his self to the rug and dashed off to sleep as the fire cracked sparks on the rug. The night was quiet as the rain fell outside the large bay window, where his new pal first saw him. Dirty as he was cold and wet, Zapper knew he again had beat the odds. It was early the next morning that He heard the voice of a big man asking for tea.

Then came along Buddie, happy as could be. The master of the house is home. Please come and meet him.

Sure, Okay. I shall, but I don’t know him, and he is not aware of me, that I am in his house.

Zapper, you are a bulldog of noble birth. Come on.

Zapper said, Yes, I am a bulldog. How do bulldogs sound?

They bark deeply. Now, the master will be in the great room, full of books and fireplace and a huge chair. He likes to rest there, and that is how we shall ease up on him. Let’s make way now. Walk easy on the floor. Watch me as I come upon his lap.

Buddie hops up on the arm of the chair and then rests in the master’s lap. Buddie calls out to Zapper, All right, come on.

So the bulldog’s pal hops up in the lap of Mr. Prime Minister Churchhill. Zapper looks in deep surprise at the leader of Great Britain. He told Buddie, I’m out of the war? This is the prime minister.

Then the Mr. Churchhill spoke to the bulldog, You are a fine-looking dog, with a smile. Buddie, how did we get such a lovely English bulldog? Well, no matter. You are home now. I need someone to talk to as I do with Buddie as to the war. I know you two will keep a secret, he said as he drank his tea and smoked a very large cigar. Which quite frankly stinks, Zapper thought—a small issue, when night after night, German planes attack the city of London and use the V-2 missiles to cause more terror within the city, as these things run out of fuel and just fall any place, two thousand pounds of explosives. We would always go to the bunker under 10 Downing Street. Things would rock back an fourth. Mr. Churchhill was never concerned about it. You do what you can and leave the rest to God. Things at times were so busy at the place no one even saw Buddie and me. Plans were being made to protect the people of London.

Mr. Churchhill said, We can only do so much, but I think Radar and our RAF Spite Fires can catch some of the V-2 before they hit the earth.

The Royal Air Force was key to the Battle of Briton. Mr. Churchhill, one night, was in his chair with a book in one hand and his two close friends. He said, You know, Zapper, they call me a bulldog. They mean I act and look like you. What about that? That’s because I never give up. I press on for victory. At that moment, Zapper knew what it meant to be a bulldog.

The day came that was one of fear of the unknown. It was June 6, 1944; all was trusted to that one day, the retaking of Europe. Mr. Churchhill never looked so worried than that day. We were with him. We heard a soft prayer for all the allies now in battle there. The landings were a victory for all who love freedom.

Mr. Churchhill was known as that old bulldog to the world and English people. Buddie and Zapper now curled up on the master’s lap, warm, and both looked at each other. Home sweet home—where love stands fast as the painter, Mr. Churchhill, paints his friend and flowers each day, Zapper. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Ha.

The test of life is learning to always stand your ground for good and never give up.

A Possum Comes A-Walking

This story is true, if only you allow your mind to release all that you know to be real, for the art of the story is to touch your mind. So follow me as we find seven possums. In the year 1996, Mr. Pepperweed was going to college in a small town in Tennessee. We must be good learners all our life, just as our founding fathers were in the early America.

Mr. Pepperweed was able him to help others not far from his home. He was driving his car past a wooded area along the way. He happened to look to his left on the side of the road. What caught his eye was movement. So he looked again and saw seven baby possums on top of the mother. She had lost her life due to a careless driver. The baby possums ride on top of the mother’s back as she goes about her nightly meal runs. She will eat bugs and human food if she can find any.

The possum is much like a cat. They will eat any kind of food. They really love pizza and stinky cat food. They have a long hairless tail that is used much like a fifth hand. They can hold on to things quite well. The mother can have up to twenty babies, but only thirteen, at most, can live. Until they are older and can hunt for food, she feeds them very rich milk. If danger is near, she can put all the young in her warm pouch. This can be done in less than two seconds. The possum has hands like humans and will hold a baby bottle like a newborn human baby.

Now the babies on top of the mother were calling her. They do this by clicking sounds. The babies can live up to four hours in the mother’s pouch if the mother is killed. The fact is, cars, people, and dogs are the biggest danger to the possums. These possums were eight weeks old, too young to live alone. Mr. Pepperweed knew that he could not leave them on the road. They needed some help. So he slowly picked each possum off the mother’s back then placed them in a blanket. This would keep them warm until he