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CSI determines origin of newly discovered species in dirty garage

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CSI determines origin of newly discovered species in dirty garage

Wed, 09/05/2018 - 12:00 am
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    Beth Beggs Just Passing Through

There must have been a full moon — or Jupiter was aligned with Mars — because I was driven by some powerful force to clean out the garage last weekend. It’s probably been twenty years since that garage was completely cleaned out. And to be honest, I didn’t completely clean it this time, but I did get rid of a bunch of stuff, and I swept the floor, shoveled out all the debris and trimmed up the vines that had grown in through the walls.

Maybe I need to explain. My garage is not a nice attached garage with storage bins and bicycle racks. There is no official peg board for tools and no work bench with a vice and pipe cutting tool. The walls are not sealed against “the elements.” Although I’m pretty sure that the roof is sound, the walls have gaps that will admit wayward birds, pregnant cats, and lizards of various political affiliation.

Insects and critters have made the building less than sound, necessitating some new studs to hold up the roof and a sturdy pillar to prop the large shelf along the back of the space. Termite deterrent and squirrel/rat treatments have helped to keep most of the varmints at bay, but I still sing loudly and bang around on the doors before going inside, just to give them fair warning. The large hole in the back wall and the rotted boards along one wall allow them to exit without much ado.

That being said, when the family across the street had a “free” garage sale last weekend, I cleaned out some of the junk in the garage and piled it with theirs for anyone in desperate need of a Kirby vacuum cleaner without a front beater attachment, a child’s bicycle with two rotten tires, or a rug shampooer so plugged with dog hair that it would make a better art project than small appliance. What the public didn’t take, we hauled to the dump.

The whole process inspired me. I found a push broom and immediately went to work on the digested cardboard boxes, shredded plastic bags, minced Christmas decorations, and the residue of countless birthing experiences. It was nasty, but below the muck and mire was a nice concrete floor. I rid the building of most of the worthless broken flowerpots, and more half-bags of fertilizer than I should have bought.

I also came across a treasure which required research on Facebook and Google to determine what it was. It was a skeleton. A little over a foot long with a perfectly formed head and backbone. It was polished clean and there was little doubt that it had met its doom in the back corner of the garage behind some boxes. After much searching, my CSI friends determined that it was a possum skeleton without legs or ribs. He or she did have teeth — many teeth — smiling for the camera as I documented the find.

I’ve kept the skeleton. After all, I am a grandmother and a retired school teacher. Poppy, the possum, will be available for in-house viewing, trips to Show and Tell, and possibly a final resting place in a glass box to be saved in someone else’s garage.