I’ve been off blogging for a few days, which is highly uncharacteristic. It’s not that there’s been any lack of stories to tell around here; quite the contrary. The truth of the matter is, I just haven’t been feeling very clever or quippy of late, and couldn’t seem to get it up to write a decent post. I would hate to deliver substandard quip.
I will be trying to get you caught up in the next two days. First up…The Raccoon Hunt.
The bungee cord did its job keeping the feed safe for a few days, and I became complacent. The next time I went back for feed, I found (say it with me) that the raccoon had removed the bungee cord and feasted. Again. I wonder what it’s like to just sit in more food that one can possibly eat, and then eat it?
Now, he didn’t chew through the bungee cord, as I had expected he might; he removed it. And it was stretched tight. Time to bring the trap behind the coop, methought. Having bungeed shut the feed bin and set the Have-A-Heart trap, we waited.
The Stepdaughters went behind the coop with their dad early Sunday morning, giddy with anticipation of seeing a real, live raccoon, up close and personal, only to discover the raccoon had tipped over the nearly-empty feed bin, still bungeed, which then set the trap off, rendering it useless. Argh.
Yesterday, The Man and I bought a) more feed, and b) a 5-foot steel bicycle lock, with a four-digit numerical combination. I stretched the steel cord firmly around the handles and lid, leaving the combination tag on the lock for ease of use. Raccoons can’t read, can they? We were about the find out.
So, the bin was heavily weighted down with a full bag of feed and firmly locked shut, and the trap was set with a delicious combination of 2-day old granola bar and peanut butter.
I was awakened this morning when The Man came up to the bedroom and asked “Want to see a raccoon?”. Under the assumption this was not some new, kinky double entendre, I sprang up and declared, “Hellz, yea!”.
He led me to the opened tailgate of his truck, and I saw this:
Not so big, after all, and pretty darned cute, at that. Now, I had a pet raccoon one summer as a kid, and I have a soft spot for the little buggers. It was like having a half-cat, half-monkey hybrid. I’m not sure I could kill one unless it was threatening my chickens. But, clearly, this one had to go. I know the objections to catch and release, so I made sure The Man dropped him off miles from anyone’s home. Some of you will have issues with our decision, I have no doubt.
According the The Man’s report, the raccoon, released, ran through the fields of a huge hay cutting operation, into the woods. Bye, Rocky. Don’t come back, now, y’hear?