Down at the bottom of Nana's garden, under the woodpile, there lived a family of opossums. There was Mama Opossum, and Papa Opossum, and five little opossums, and the smallest of all the little opossums was named Ollie.

Now, every opossum in the world knows how to do one very important trick. When something big and scary comes along, an opossum lies down flat, and shuts its eyes, and sticks out its tongue, and holds perfectly, perfectly still, until the big scary thing thinks, Oh, that opossum isn't any fun at all, and goes away. This is called Playing Dead, and it is the most important thing a little opossum ever learns.

Ollie's brothers and sisters learned it right away. Flop! Down they went, still as stones.

But Ollie couldn't do it.

It wasn't that he didn't try. He tried and tried. He would flop down, and shut his eyes, and stick out his tongue, and then a blade of grass would touch his nose, or a leaf would land on his tummy, and Ollie was the most ticklish opossum who ever lived. And he would giggle.

Hee hee hee!

"Ollie!" said his sisters. "Dead opossums don't giggle!"

"I know," said Ollie sadly. "I'm trying."

He practiced every night. He practiced on the soft grass and on the hard dirt and on a pile of Nana's old dish towels. And every single time, something tickled, and every single time: Hee hee hee!

"You'll never be a real opossum," said his biggest brother, who was not always kind.

Ollie went and sat by himself under the rhubarb and felt very small.

*

Then one night, something big came into the garden.

It was a dog. A great big shaggy dog with a great big nose, snuffling along the fence, snuff snuff snuff, and it was coming right toward the woodpile.

"Everybody play dead!" whispered Mama Opossum.

Flop! Flop! Flop! Flop! Down went Mama and Papa and all of Ollie's brothers and sisters, still as stones, tongues out, eyes shut.

Ollie flopped down too. He shut his eyes. He stuck out his tongue. He held perfectly, perfectly still.

And then the big dog put his big wet nose right down on Ollie's tummy and sniffed.

Snuff.

Oh, it tickled. It tickled worse than grass. It tickled worse than leaves. It was the most ticklish thing that had ever happened to Ollie in his whole life, and he couldn't help it.

HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!

The big dog jumped back. He cocked his head to one side. He had never, ever heard an opossum giggle before. He looked at Ollie, rolling around on the ground laughing, and then, very slowly, the big dog's tail began to wag.

And then the big dog lay down, and rolled over on his back with his four big paws in the air, and stuck out his tongue, and shut his eyes, just like an opossum.

He was playing dead too! And he was very bad at it, because his tail wouldn't stop wagging.

Ollie laughed so hard he got the hiccups. The big dog made a happy snorting noise that was the closest a dog can come to laughing. And one by one, Mama and Papa and the brothers and sisters opened one eye, and then the other eye, and stared.

*

The big dog's name turned out to be Biscuit, and he lived on the farm next door, and he had never had a friend who was an opossum before. After that night he came by every evening, and he and Ollie played Who Can Hold Still the Longest, and they both always lost.

And nothing big and scary ever bothered the opossums under the woodpile again, because they had the biggest, shaggiest dog in the whole county looking out for them.

"I guess you don't have to play dead after all," said Ollie's biggest brother, who was learning to be kind.

"I guess not," said Ollie. "I guess I'm good at something else."

"What?"

Ollie thought about it. "Making friends," he said. "And giggling."

The End