Disturbia
Mind you, since the sighting last week in the family room, no raccoons have been seen on the premises. And storing the dog food up on the washer seems to have curbed the mysterious morning spills. But I can't shake the feeling that the little rascals are out there, waiting.
I hear them at night.
So does The Dog. The other night he woke me up with his frantic barking, which then transmuted itself into a low, terrifying growl. He wouldn't come when I called, his little body poised in a tight I-will-get-you-and-I-will-tear-out-your-throat stance as he stood before the window. I looked outside but I couldn't see a thing. No punks, no innocent late night dog walkers and certainly no wild life. But The Dog would not be dissuaded. He ran to the back door to be let out but I wouldn't open the door. In the first place, and at the very least, it was entirely too late for him to be outside barking his warnings. In the second, if there was a raccoon out there, all The Dog's fierceness would still not likely be enough in an actual street brawl. Raccoons are MEAN.
I finally just picked him up and took him back to bed but you could tell he was very disappointed. He curled himself up to sleep but I lay there, listening for the weird raccoon bark. Then I heard, I was quite sure, the rattle of the cat door and the cautious padding of feet across the floor. The Dog remained still. Must have been my imagination. Surely if there were actually an interloper in the house The Dog would have sprung up again, a furry mess of agitation and threat. Unless, I thought, he was all talk and his lack of response now was basic survival instinct kicking in. What, I thought, if all a sudden a furry bandit face poked up beside me? Why, I thought, don't I sleep with a baseball bat under the bed?
For a time all I could hear was the beating of my frantic heart. I took slow, deep breaths and listened. There was no sound. No rustle, no padding footfalls. No raccoon. Of course there was no raccoon. A raccoon couldn't get into the house. Oh. Wait. One did. It happened before, it could happen again.
I don't want a raccoon in my house. If the occasional procyon lotor comes by and makes hay of the garbage can well, that's very messy and inconvenient but it is to be expected. But they have to stay outta my house. They just have to.
Did you hear that?
I hear them at night.
So does The Dog. The other night he woke me up with his frantic barking, which then transmuted itself into a low, terrifying growl. He wouldn't come when I called, his little body poised in a tight I-will-get-you-and-I-will-tear-out-your-throat stance as he stood before the window. I looked outside but I couldn't see a thing. No punks, no innocent late night dog walkers and certainly no wild life. But The Dog would not be dissuaded. He ran to the back door to be let out but I wouldn't open the door. In the first place, and at the very least, it was entirely too late for him to be outside barking his warnings. In the second, if there was a raccoon out there, all The Dog's fierceness would still not likely be enough in an actual street brawl. Raccoons are MEAN.
I finally just picked him up and took him back to bed but you could tell he was very disappointed. He curled himself up to sleep but I lay there, listening for the weird raccoon bark. Then I heard, I was quite sure, the rattle of the cat door and the cautious padding of feet across the floor. The Dog remained still. Must have been my imagination. Surely if there were actually an interloper in the house The Dog would have sprung up again, a furry mess of agitation and threat. Unless, I thought, he was all talk and his lack of response now was basic survival instinct kicking in. What, I thought, if all a sudden a furry bandit face poked up beside me? Why, I thought, don't I sleep with a baseball bat under the bed?
For a time all I could hear was the beating of my frantic heart. I took slow, deep breaths and listened. There was no sound. No rustle, no padding footfalls. No raccoon. Of course there was no raccoon. A raccoon couldn't get into the house. Oh. Wait. One did. It happened before, it could happen again.
I don't want a raccoon in my house. If the occasional procyon lotor comes by and makes hay of the garbage can well, that's very messy and inconvenient but it is to be expected. But they have to stay outta my house. They just have to.
Did you hear that?
Labels: all creatures great and small, The Dog
cobbled together by Moi at 7:09 AM
10 Comments:
I hear coon skin caps will be all the rage in your neighborhood come fall.
There's gas in the pickup truck and I'm looking for my gun.
They are so cute.wouldn't it be cute if they cuddled with you and the dog. They have such cute faces, and rabies and fleas...bonus
Sage darling your skills as a counselor are ... interesting... yes that's the word.
Just as well you didn't let the dog out - they can be really mean little critters.
Don't forget about all those Bigfoot sightings in the Pacific Northwest.
You know.
Ba Ha Ha Ha
Hhhmmmm. You are actually pretty close to the park by the lake. I have seen huge racoons there. 35 - 50 pounders. Maybe a juvenile got in throught the cat door and maybe it was a ferral kitty.
Have you ever seen the fabled parrot colony? I have gotten a fleeting glance a couple of times.
Oh and by the way. I have picked chanterelle mushrooms there on several occaisions.
Peace
:+}
Raccoons are outside animals!
Um...what about bringing The Cat in for the night and latching the cat door so no wildlife can get in? Because, yes, fleas, rabies, etc., would not be fun to have to deal with!
Rocky Raccoon,
checked into his room,
only to find Rainey's dog food.
But Rainey checked out,
and left it,no doubt,
to aid in poor Rocky's survivalhood..
Crap..It sounded better in my head.
P.S.
I have a buttload of Little Slinglets running around! :)
Yikes! John & I were very close to a raccoon on a recent hike...I was scared being close to one in nature--I would hate to have one in my house!!
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