Part of me wants to be Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’ rescue possum

This morning between eating cereal and “doing yoga” with a black and white cat on my back I watched two videos that impressed me: one was of a large dog catching large salmon in a river and the other was of a rescue possum.
The dog impressed me because here was a dog earning its keep and then some. He waded into the water and carried salmon back out, placed them on the shore and returned for more salmon. I wonder what the limit is for dog-caught salmon.
The possum impressed me because it was the first clean possum I had ever seen, and it was just very cute in its little red sweater, although the scene where a small child cuddles the possum disturbed me some because isn’t that ultimately dangerous? Children have sharp teeth.
Has the idea of rescue always been popular? Is this a new trend or has it always been around?
Rescue dogs, rescue pets.
Wild animals should be wild. With the possum, okay, she was rescued as an infant and I suppose it would be impossible for most people to rehabilitate a possum enough for it to be released into the wild and survive so they get a pass.
But there is something else rescue-related that disturbs me: the idea that seems to be most common among older people i.e. adults that we will be rescued from this untenable situation we have gotten ourselves into by uncritically accepting the status quo, or critically yet passively and fatalistically accepting it.
Mueller will save us from Trump.
AOC will save us from the right.
Greta Thunberg will save us from climate change.
All they can do is point the way. We are not off the hook work-wise.
All our lives, most of us have been to a greater or lesser extent complicit in a system that has resulted in the present situation: catastrophic climate change, mass extinction, democratic failure, slavery, etc.
Either we, ourselves, work to affect change, or we don’t.
Either way we deserve what we get.
Sorry for ranting.

The first rule of peanut club

A man is walking to the store on his lunch break. Because he has run out of peanuts, he takes the only street where the crows don’t know him yet.
Two crows (one hooded, one regular) land in the grass next to the street and watch him expectantly.
Man: Fuck.
Man: This was my secret street, dudes.
Man: You guys are like a block away from your territory. Were you watching from your tree or something?
Man: I’m really sorry, but I’m all out of peanuts today.
Hooded crow: The first rule of Peanut Club is, always have peanuts.

So I bought a bag of peanuts, still in the shell, because that gives the crows something to do, cracking the nuts.
But they were nowhere to be found when I got back.
So I filled my pockets today on my lunch break and walked down their street and they showed up.
I tossed a peanut to the hooded crow, which is about 40% larger than the black crow, at least in this case, and it caught it before it hit the ground.
“Hey, nice catch,” I said.
They got a couple more nuts each, then a different, larger, black crow got a few.
Sometimes I give them more than they can hold at once to see how they solve that. They can hold 2 easy, sometimes 3 with a little time spent arranging the peanuts. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one hold 4 at once.
The first two crows opened and ate their nuts on the spot. The larger crow, who might be new to this, carried his peanuts to some scaffolding around a house across the street and ate them there.