January 2010
Had any wild visitors to your yard lately? I did.
Why do it?
“No way! It’s the middle of the afternoon!” Muffled by the sliding glass doors in the kitchen, my voice drew an unconcerned glance from the bandit’s glossy black eyes. Swaying plants pulled my gaze to the strip of thigh-high winter garden behind the waddling 20-pound raccoon, where a small coal-coloured nose on a short triangle of eggshell white fur was pushing aside dried stalks. I saw two alert eyes in a black mask appear, and then a band of white, followed by the rest of the broad little grey head with its cup-shaped ears. A baby raccoon! It shuffled out into the clearing and my lips formed a crescent. They rounded to an ‘oh’ when I spotted two siblings following. Three babies! Shifting to a more comfortable stance, I watched as they followed their mother across the grass like rail cars attached to an engine. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that she was leading her bandits-in-training to the bird feeder. Bolting out the door, I grabbed the corn broom and raced to cut her off.
I knew that the large raccoon was dismissing the threat when she barely glanced at the waving broom before ambling on. She arrived at the bottom of the cement pedestal and my brow creased. I swept the air a few feet closer to her and she responded by swishing a hand-like front paw through the inch of discarded shells and spilled seed on the ground. My broom froze when the first baby ambled up to her. How cute are you? I better get a good look at you before I chase you. While I was studying it, the mother chuckled. My eyes widened when she rose to her hind legs, inserted a paw through the chicken wire around the feeder on the pedestal, and scooped seed into her mouth. You brazen hussy! I’m standing right here. When the baby scratched its way up the cement base and stretched up to copy her, I gasped, “Don’t teach it that!” Then the other two waddled up to her hind end and I realized what was about to happen. Rushing toward them with the broom, “Shoo!” shot from my mouth. Their mother dropped to the ground and turned to face me. Her eyes met mine. I bit my lip when she calmly dropped her head and shovelled more food into her mouth. My broom nudged her well-padded bottom. “Go on. Go eat in the bush.” I urged, but she simply shuffled around to the opposite side of the base and called her babies over there to eat. Why do it when you know you’re going to get whacked? Well okay. Here it comes! With a shout, I charged around the base and swooped down with the broom to give her ample bottom a good smack. She jumped, her wild eyes touched me, and then she galloped away with her charges.
The encounter with my wild visitor returned to mind as I was entering the kitchen at bedtime. Glass of water in hand, I peered out through the glass doors. My breath caught because the moonlight-bathed half-circle of back yard grass and its perimeter of thick evergreen trees looked like a magical silvery setting prepared for a dancing fairies. If those are dancing fairies, they’re awfully fat and awkward. “The coons are back,” I yelled to my husband.
“Be careful you don’t hit them in the eye,” instinctively rolled off my tongue. The oft-repeated words elicited a lopsided grin and another promise from Allan that he’d only sting them on the bottom. He quietly closed the door behind him and I pressed my nose to the glass. I watched as he aimed the airgun. The pop sent my eyes flying to the family near the feeder but they didn’t react. Missed. Another pop sounded and I saw the mother start. When she turned her backside slightly away and continued eating, I heard two quick pops break the silence. I watched her right hind leg jerk. That stung. She moved off a foot or so but my relief only flickered because she waddled right back to eat at the same spot. What are you thinking? You’ve got lots of good food in the bush. You know you’re going to get hurt eating here. The popping sounds picked up speed and I heard myself chuckle while she was stuffing her mouth between jumps and sideways body-shifts. Then Allan stepped off the deck, fired as he approached, and I sighed, “At last.” My mouth opened in a yawn as the round grey family was disappearing into the night. Time for bed.
Eleven-thirty. Snuggling further under the blankets, I glanced at the empty side of the bed beside me and then at the door. Where is he? The house seemed strangely quiet as the red numbers on my digital clock began to work their way towards midnight. Finally curiosity drove me back into the dark kitchen. I stopped dead as soon as I spotted Allan standing motionless by the outside wall. “Whatever are you doing?” I asked, watching as he peeked outside. He flashed me a smug grin and replied, “Waiting for them to return. They’ll be back.”
And they would, but I wasn’t staying up. The great white hunter can wait and zing them again. You’d think they’d learn. Sunflower seeds might be tasty at the moment. But they come with a helping of sting or whack. I padded in the direction of the bedroom. Guess though, that raccoons aren’t the only ones that insist on returning to momentary pleasures that bring pain. People do it too. The corners of my lips curled. Maybe at this time of year we should all be asking ourselves, “Am I any smarter than a raccoon?”
Raccoon at feeder in summer
