July 28, 2014

• Six Little Bandits

  It happened one sunny day.  I was walking past the old house that I used to keep my chickens, ducks & geese in, when from upstairs I heard what sounded like kittens mewing for their mama.  On a closer listen, it didn’t quite sound right.  It sounded kind of like a backwards meow.

  I got our tractor, raised the front end loader, and climbed up into the second floor.  I’d never been in there before, as the door leading to the stairs was nailed shut.  I could hear the little voices calling from under the floor, so  I started ripping up floorboards.

  I saw a little gray-and-black baby scampering away from me, and caught him.  Eventually I found four little baby raccoons, and gathered them up.  Upon checking a certain downstairs room, I found two babies, next to their mother.  Their mother was a big old raccoon.  Unfortunately for her, she had decided to live in that house, and had been regularly eating my poultry.  I had put out some rat poison, and Mama Coon wouldn’t be eating any more chicken dinners.  That meant the little ones were now my responsibility.

  I put the baby raccoons in a rabbit cage I had laying around.  After talking to my dad, I mixed a formula of milk, raw eggs and honey.  The little buggers sucked it down eagerly.

  After a few days, I knew they recognized me as their new mother, so I turned them loose.  I would go out and make a call like their own, and they would come running, fighting each other to get their turn at the bottle.

  I had them for a month or two.  It was fun playing with them, and watching them play with each other, and our dog and cats.  When they got older, two of them just naturally went wild.  I found one back in the old chicken house, and caught him again. One I never caught again.  Four of the other five, I turned loose where they could live as Nature intended.

  That last little raccoon was as tame as any pet, and was a constant companion to my Blue Heeler dog.  One time I got a call from a neighbor who lived about a mile and a half away from me, saying my dog was at their place.  I drove there, looking the whole way for the little raccoon, but didn’t see him.  Imagine my relief when, as I pulled up to the house, a little masked face peered around the corner at me.  “Has your dog got a pet raccoon?” the neighbor asked, and we laughed.  My little friend was okay, for now, at least.

  I’ll always remember those times fondly, although later I wished I had turned that last little guy loose somewhere, too.  He was trying to help my dog chase the cows out one morning, and was stepped on and killed.  Rest in peace, my friend.
  
  Image taken from www.247wildlife.com/raccoonphotos.htm

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