A few weeks ago, I stumbled on a delightful series of short videos from For Fox Sake Wildlife Rescue, located in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

Apparently, the Rescue, which takes in all manner of orphaned and injured wildlife, had gotten a baby opossum, “Carson,” that had an extremely overactive “playing dead” reflex.

Every time the little guy would get so much as a glimpse of the handler, he would immediately assume “the dead” position.

The Rescue shared these interactions, declaring him “doing well, except for being dead,” and made up a little tombstone for his hide.

These clips were so well done, and so cute, that they garnered worldwide attention, and dramatically increased traffic to the site. Recognizing a good thing when they found it, the site also hyped-up donation requests, and started marketing “RIP Carson” merchandise.

It wasn’t long before they had to release him into the wild, where he, of course, “died” again. They did try to watch from a distance to make sure he got on his way, but as long as he could sense them, or another threat, he remained “dead,” but they assured us, he was probably going to be fine.

Of course, I’ve clicked on this site so many times, now it appears at the top of any social media feed that I log into, which is definitely not a bad thing.

It doesn’t pay to get attached, though, because as soon as animals are healthy or old enough to survive on their own, they get right back to where they belong. There is a steady stream of new faces to take their place, although none quite so engaging as Carson.

Again, recognizing their platform, the coordinators of the site are doing their best to include educational information about how, and most importantly, when to handle seemingly orphaned wildlife, and how to safely handle injured animals. I never realized how many turtles end up getting run over by lawn mowers!

At any rate, as I was sitting on my porch, watching the animals of Instagram, the dogs took advantage of my distraction to chase a real live chipmunk over my feet and through several flowerpots.

Luckily, no one needed a wildlife rescue or a vet visit after that interaction, although I did have to repot a few flowers and sweep up the mess.

But it got me thinking that for many people, those brief glimpses of wildlife might be as close as they come to the wild kingdom I have in my own backyard, or even on my own porch.

While Steve was the woodsman, I did grow up, and currently live in the middle of trees, isolated from most of the noise and lights of town.

We have many, many neighbors with four legs. Nighttime means the onset of the chorus of katydids and spring peepers.

The year that we moved back to the farm, we were entertained by the stylings of the whippoorwill. The kids would listen quietly to try to be the first one to hear him as dusk fell. Sleeping in is rarely an option as the bird chorus, accompanied by our chickens, starts a few minutes before the sun comes up.

Recently, light pollution became something a lot more people were aware of as the aurora borealis were visible in our area thanks to a rare geomagnetic storm.

Of course, most of our area ended up being under cloud cover anyway, but had it not been, we would have had a glorious view of all of it. Watching for falling stars is an activity we frequently do while the campfire dies down, and any passing comet was duly tracked and photographed by Steve the expert.

I don’t think anything of looking out the window and seeing several squirrels hanging from my bird feeders by their tippy toes, trying to scrounge every bit of food that they can. Later in the day, the deer usually stop by to pick up the leftovers. I’ve lined every one of my flower beds with marigolds, trying to save them from being snacks.

I was glad to return to the farm and get out of town, especially during the years of quarantine and isolation during the pandemic.

Even though my kids are very much of the electronic age, and usually attached to a device in one way shape or form, I’m glad that they still take the time to find constellations, or that when a screaming, yapping melee ensues in the middle of the night, they’re more likely to argue about if it was coyotes or foxes, or possibly some escaped dogs, than they are to be freaked out by it.

On the rare occasion that we hear the fisher scream, we can all appreciate that we’re hearing something incredibly unique.

Losing a flowerpot to a chipmunk chase was a small price to pay for the reminder that although internet clips about wildlife may be entertaining, may help contribute to a good cause, and may be the only access some people have at observing wildlife, I have my very own show right in front of me, and real live action is always better than the screen.

Liz Pinkey’s column appears on Saturdays in the Times News.