The raccoon got three more chickens last night. It is the apparent practice of these creatures to bite the heads off and leave the carcass. So says the resident expert on these matters, the 10 year old neighbor James. My own theory is the carcass is too heavy for the getaway since “Mustard” was found headless near the fence and “Betsy” close by, partially alive with head dangling to the side and “Henrietta” the little one completely gone. Feathers were everywhere, evidence of a heroic struggle.
Could it be that these purveyors of night raids, these waddling black eyed menaces are the devise of all things bad in the world? James is knowledgeable. The raccoon thrives among human habitation and it is the advance of housing tracks and loss of nature’s forests that has led to the murder of our three chickens and the mastery of the night by this criminal element of the four legged kingdom.
Could it be that these purveyors of night raids, these waddling black eyed menaces are the devise of all things bad in the world? James is knowledgeable. The raccoon thrives among human habitation and it is the advance of housing tracks and loss of nature’s forests that has led to the murder of our three chickens and the mastery of the night by this criminal element of the four legged kingdom.
It was less than a month ago that I left my car unlocked and some raccoon of the human variety stole my iPod. They took my bottle of Advil too. I hope he had a bad headache and my musical taste gives him a worse one. James offered the consolation that they left the car. I am thankful of this fact, but I suspect that James knows more than he is revealing. Perhaps he understands the origins of the criminal mind as some grander reality working with Mother Nature to return us all to the wild.
I collect the eggs from the nest and wonder if there was some rule about eating the last laid eggs of dead chickens. It’s bad luck or bad taste or not Kosher. James thinks its ok as long as you hard boil them. I don’t ask why. We bury poor Mustard and Betsy. James says that 50% of the raccoon population has rabies. There is no indecision on my part about burying, not eating our dear departed hens.
So how do I face my daughter Molly when she comes home tomorrow with her mom and finds Mustard, Betsy and Henrietta gone? She left them in my care and I forgot to put them away in the chicken coup last night. James offers to tell Molly. They are such good friends. I stand over the grave after putting stones on top to mark the spot in the backyard. Should I recite the Kaddish? Yitgadal v’yitkadash… James looks at me like I am from another world. Sh’mei raba… and I choke down a tear.
He thinks revenge is what I want. We can wait in the tree fort tonight and shoot the raccoons with my BB guns.
B’alma div’ra chirutei…
I think about my grandmother who is long gone and my mother who is also gone and how they raised chickens on the farm in Petaluma.
V’yamlich malchutei…let’s get those sons of bitches, James. You and me what do you say? Ok. Ok then. Yeah. And I wipe away another tear.
The night sky is purple then black until the full moon rises and I see the miniature bears walking the fence. Hold your fire ‘til you see the whites of their eyes, whispers James gritting his teeth and exposing the shiny metal of his braces.
What am I doing here? This is stupid. A grown man sitting in a tree fort 15 feet above the ground with a BB gun and the neighbor’s know-it-all kid waiting to blast away the entire raccoon population of Contra Costa County.
On the count of ten…nine, eight, seven, six, fivefourthreetwoone. FIRE!!!
I collect the eggs from the nest and wonder if there was some rule about eating the last laid eggs of dead chickens. It’s bad luck or bad taste or not Kosher. James thinks its ok as long as you hard boil them. I don’t ask why. We bury poor Mustard and Betsy. James says that 50% of the raccoon population has rabies. There is no indecision on my part about burying, not eating our dear departed hens.
So how do I face my daughter Molly when she comes home tomorrow with her mom and finds Mustard, Betsy and Henrietta gone? She left them in my care and I forgot to put them away in the chicken coup last night. James offers to tell Molly. They are such good friends. I stand over the grave after putting stones on top to mark the spot in the backyard. Should I recite the Kaddish? Yitgadal v’yitkadash… James looks at me like I am from another world. Sh’mei raba… and I choke down a tear.
He thinks revenge is what I want. We can wait in the tree fort tonight and shoot the raccoons with my BB guns.
B’alma div’ra chirutei…
I think about my grandmother who is long gone and my mother who is also gone and how they raised chickens on the farm in Petaluma.
V’yamlich malchutei…let’s get those sons of bitches, James. You and me what do you say? Ok. Ok then. Yeah. And I wipe away another tear.
The night sky is purple then black until the full moon rises and I see the miniature bears walking the fence. Hold your fire ‘til you see the whites of their eyes, whispers James gritting his teeth and exposing the shiny metal of his braces.
What am I doing here? This is stupid. A grown man sitting in a tree fort 15 feet above the ground with a BB gun and the neighbor’s know-it-all kid waiting to blast away the entire raccoon population of Contra Costa County.
On the count of ten…nine, eight, seven, six, fivefourthreetwoone. FIRE!!!
A hail of BB’s descended not from my cock and shoot version but from James’ semi automatic. In the commotion of James rapid fire barrage a thud hit the fort. The beasts slipped over the fence and were gone. You think we got one. I don’t know. What was that noise? I don’t know. What’s that on the floor?
What the hell James it’s my iPod.
What the hell James it’s my iPod.
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