*Disclaimer: Although no animals were injured in the making of this blog entry, it does contain some pretty graphic discussion about pest control. If you are a hardcore animal lover, please read no further.*
Back to the raccoon shit problem.
So the other day we're all getting ready to visit family for the afternoon, when suddenly I hear a crash in the garage. I knew what I would find out there before I even looked, but I still just about peed my pants when I opened the door to find the raccoon about a foot away from me, chowing down on a bag of garbage that someone (ahem) left on the stoop. Run away? No, not this guy. He starts reaching his creepy little paw (far too much like a hand for my liking) towards the door like he'd like to come in for a while.
I slammed the door and, like any mature adult would, went running and shrieking for my husband. I told him that the raccoon was in the garage and trying to get in the house (I may have exaggerated a little for effect). I don't know what I expected him to do, but I definitely wasn't expecting his reply: "Well, that's it. I'm going to have to kill it." My husband said that. The one who still reminds me about the day that I put a baby chipmunk out of it's misery after our cat mauled it half to death. "What are you going to do? How? With what? Are you serious??" The questions came pouring out of me as I hopped from one foot to the other, following my husband around the bedroom while he got dressed. "What choice do I have?" he answered matter-of-factly, "It's shitting everywhere and destroying everything and we're trying to sell the house...". "Should you wear your good clothes?" I asked finally. "What if there's like....spattering?"
Let's roll it back a bit to a story my brother told me. About a friend of his who tried to take care of a little raccoon problem using a bow and arrow. So picture this (and if you're at all squeamish please stop here): This raccoon is being a nuisance on this guy's deck so he shoots it with an arrow (and don't ask me why he has a bow and arrow) and stakes him right through the chest, pinning him to the deck rail behind him. Bye-bye raccoon, right? Wrong. This little bugger screeched and writhed and finally snapped the arrow, leaving the long part through it's chest and the arrow head still in the deck. And then it takes off running for the bush, leaving the guy with the decision of having to follow him into the darkness to finish the job or trying to sleep at night wondering if the poor thing was suffering.
What I learned from that disturbing tale was that raccoons are not easily killed. Not to mention that the raccoon we were dealing with was, like freakishly bold and smart. And here's my husband going out to the garage to try and take care of our little problem with something far more primitive than a bow and arrow. Like a shovel...or a hammer (eww).
So out he goes to do the deed and I'm frantically pacing around the house with horrible images running through my mind of my kind, gentle, man doing horrible things to this poor creature. After an eternity he comes back in house. I waited, expectantly, for the news. "He...uhhh....got away," my husband stammered. I think we were both equally relieved.
I apologize for the anti-climactic ending to my story, but the sad truth is we are looking into getting a live trap, so we can drop our little friend off somewhere to become someone else's problem. In the meantime, I cringe as I listen to the pitter-patter of little paws up on my roof in the middle of the night and try not to think about what I know he's doing up there. Just to be sure we don't forget who has the upper hand though, he occasionally leaves a steaming pile by my front door where I'll be sure to see it.
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