How I Discovered My Niche Species

Most wildlife rehabilitators will tell you that they have a niche species, which essentially is a species of animal that a rehabilitator has an affinity for working with. Sometimes you may already know your niche species. Other times you fall into it. You may even have to work with multiple species before you discover yours. This niche may develop slowly or happen quickly. For me, the Virginia opossum is my niche species. And as much as I wish I could say I knew from the start, or that it was after having been working with wildlife for a while, for me, it happened in the absolute last way I ever could have expected due to an event that took place many years before ever becoming a licensed wildlife rehabilitator.

It was a rainy Halloween night, and I was driving home after trick or treating with my daughter. For some reason I decided to take a main route instead of my beloved woodsy back roads. Driving, I was pulled from my thoughts, when I suddenly came upon a gruesome scene. There, in the headlights of my jeep, an opossum flailed about the road having been hit by a car. I instantly went into a panic. I can still remember the sound of my heart beating in my ears and how my hands shook gripping the steering wheel. What do I do? I frantically asked myself. Do I run it over and put it out of its misery? I couldn’t bring myself to do that though. And instead, turned around and circled back… when it was struck again. I hoped that was the last of its movement because I couldn’t bear to see it suffer any longer, but instead its movement only slowed.

I pulled up to the poor animal; my headlights bringing the horror into clear view. The pavement was covered in blood in what must have been twenty-foot radius in all directions. I looked down at the opossum trying to assess the situation still unsure of what to do, when I saw the look in its eyes, and one in which I will never forget. It was so scared, yet so weak, that it couldn’t even lift its head up as I knew it wanted to get away, and instead, tried to drag itself. That’s when I remembered my hatchet. I felt like I was going to be sick at the thought. The look in its eyes however full of pleading made the decision for me. Going into “help the animal at all costs mode,” I yanked open my trunk, grabbed my hatchet, knelt beside it and said, “I’m sorry buddy,” meeting its eyes. I took a deep breath, raised my arms, and coming down hard and precise, put an end to its suffering.  

I must have looked like a monster to oncoming traffic. And I certainly felt like one. There I was this wild black-haired girl wielding a hatchet, blood all over the road, hunched over in the pouring rain on Halloween of all nights, killing an animal. It horrified me.

I moved the opossum to the side of the road and left, feeling absolutely sick to my stomach and in shock. I had never killed an animal before. I had been rehabilitating them since I was a child in the woods under my makeshift fort that adorned a crooked sign that said, “Animal Planet.” I had never met this side of myself before, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I liked her. She scared me.

I went back the next day after having bought a shovel and took the opossum away far away from where it met such a gruesome end and drove it to where I had once lived. There, beneath old and lofty hemlock trees I buried it, giving it a shamanic type of ritual. In that moment, I finally felt some peace, mainly for the opossum, but also for myself. It didn’t deserve to suffer the way it did, and now it could rest nestled in quiet earth. My decision to move it was later reinforced as a little while later a line of trucks backed into where I had pulled it off the road making me realize that it would have also been run over on top of everything else.

It took months for me to process this event, as I certainly suffered from PTSD over this experience. I would replay it my mind over and over, most likely an unconscious attempt to desensitize myself to it. I not only needed to process the experience itself, but also integrate this part of myself who was able to do this. Over time however, the PTSD began to fade, replaced by picturing my opossum friend climbing onto my lap and me stroking its marbled fur in the afterlife. I wasn’t the barbaric one I reminded myself. The driver who hit the opossum and left it for dead was. Though the means to end its suffering was not ideal in any sense of the word, it made all the difference to the opossum, and that was the only thing that had mattered to me. I became proud of myself in that respect. I was proud that I was able to muster up the strength and courage to help this animal. In the most tragic and ironic of ways, I truly believe that the opossum had given me something unspoken as much as I had given it something unspoken, and this would be the experience that would act as the sacred initiation in what would later become my niche species.

Years later, during and after having successfully rehabilitated my very first litter of orphaned wildlife; that being five amazing baby opossums, I realized just how much the opossum, and I had in common. We are both a little misunderstood and perhaps even intimidating, but at our core, we are gentle beings. I also thought back to all the times I had encountered this animal. Though I’ve always known the bear to be my ‘personal’ spirit animal; the bear is solitary, maternal, and enduring; something I have in spades due to having lost my partner to suicide while four months pregnant. I now know that my ‘servitude’ spirit animal is the opossum. The opossum with its gaping mouth, sideways grin, rat like tail, and scavenger behavior, is often misjudged and misunderstood, something I too resonate with as I am someone who openly talks about death, does her own taxidermy (never pets or rehabs but only what I find in nature that’s already deceased for the record), and lives a spirituality centered life that many probably don’t understand.

With all this said, I am very grateful to the opossum. It is an absolute honor to have the opossum not only be my niche species, but my spirit animal when it comes to serving others as well. Discovering this has not only allowed me to further develop this bond with my beloved opossum, but also become a better wildlife rehabilitator and a better care giver overall.