Will he send a postcard?

Not knowing what to do – I called my better half . . . who promptly had to go because the sound of the yelping baby raccoon baby was too much for her to bear.

For a split second – my brain reverted to a nine year old – and (with an exclamation point above my head) I had the thought that I could just take him home – and that we would forever more be known as “that house where the raccoon lives . . .”  Then my brain kicked in – what if there were more raccoons around – especially a mother – who probably had teeth and claws and wouldn’t be thrilled that her cub had been used as a squeak toy . . . and speaking of teeth and claws – was Socks okay? Had he been bitten or scratched? I decided to ring up the vet (Cameron Animal Hospital) to figure out what I should be doing – both with my dog – and with the tiny raccoon.

They called animal control on the other line – and while I ran home to drop off the dog, get some gloves and a box, we set up an appointment for the next morning for a rabies booster shot for Socks. Now this was starting to cost money!!

The raccoon had done that ridiculous thing that I’ve seen kittens do – where they are trying to hide – and so – they jam their faces into a nook – and assume that no one can see them . . . but there he was. I got my gloves on, got my big paper bag ready (no boxes were available) and started to do some sweet calming talk – so that he knew that I wasn’t going to eat him – or anything. Then I gently grabbed the raccoon by the nape of his neck and spun him around to get a good look – to make sure that he was okay. He started hissing and spitting at me . . . his cuteness knew no bounds!

I put him into the bag – and then put some grass and big leaves on top of him so that he could rest easy. About 10 minutes in – my neighbor (a nameless teenager) walked by – and cocked his head – visibly trying to figure out why I was sitting on the curb a few houses down from our house . . . and so I pointed at the bag and said “Baby raccoon!” – to which he replied – while never breaking stride “Cool.” After 10 more minutes the man in the truck pulled up – and we put the raccoon into a cat carrier. When I asked where he was going – he said that they have a reservation – where he will be monitored and cared for – before probably coming back to attack my dog for biting him – when he was just a cub.

The dog got his shots, the raccoon baby got to go to some sort of resort and I finally got my certification badge for wildlife preservation . . . all in all – a pretty great turn to what could have been a miserable situation. Now – I just have to hope that the raccoon (once he learns to write) will send me a postcard or two . . . I’d love to know how he’s doing . . .

Hooray!