Raccoon Rescue Team!

Honestly, my wife should be granted an Honorary Raccoon merit badge. As a child, she and her family rescued a raccoon that was stuck inside a tree.

Our next foray into raccoon rescue sadly had a grim outcome. A pregnant raccoon had fallen down our chimney. Now our chimney hasn't been functional in years, so basically it's just a hole in the middle of our house. For days, we couldn't figure out where the sudden influx of flies and horrible odor was coming from. Then we finally pulled the blocking board from the chimney and voila! Hello hotel!

When the animal guy came over to remove the remains (possibly the least romantic job in the world), even he was retching and gagging through his mask.

He said, "If I were you, I'd get that chimney capped." 

When we found out how much it would cost, we scoffed, said, "What're the chances another raccoon could fall down our chimney?" and went on our way.

Flash forward to the present. While our two nephews were visiting, we heard squealing sounds and finally tracked it down to the chimney. With horror, I said, "Not again."

The 3,000 pound piano had to be moved as it sat in front of the boarded up chimney (thank gawd rain had delayed the nephews' departure). Then our youngest nephew slipped his phone behind the board and took a picture.

"It's a raccoon," he said. "A little one. I'm not touching that thing."

The three of them concocted a plan. My wife found a big cardboard box and had it positioned over the board while our older nephew was to slide up the board leaving no choice but for the raccoon to leap into the box. And me? Hey, someone had to video the historic event (from a distance, natch).

"Now!"

The board slid up. The raccoon did nothing. The board slid back into place.

The raccoon rescue brain trust reconvened. "I think with these oven mitts, I can grab him and put him in the box," said my wife.

I took a few more cautionary steps backward.

On all fours, my wife scrambled after the raccoon, while it avoided her at all costs.

Finally, "Got him! He's in the box! He's in the box!"

I opened the back door to let my wife, the box, and the raccoon out.

In the yard, my wife put the box down on it's side with the top open.

"Be free, little one," I yelled with necessary dramatic flair. "Go on! Off you go!...Um...c'mon, get out of the damn box..."

Yet Rocky wouldn't leave the box (I had taken to calling him "Rocky.") My wife shook the box, then tilted it. Nothing. Rocky was clawing onto the box for dear life.

After a while, it was decided to leave the box open and let him come out on his own. Except he wouldn't.

Night fell. Still in the box.

"Honey," I said (talking to my wife and not Rocky), "we've got to do something. The dogs probably need to pee."

So my wife moved Rocky and his box to the side of the house where our fence would keep the dogs from getting him.

In the morning...success! Rocky had finally left us (and his box) in the middle of the night, moving on to forge his own path in the big world. They grow up so fast...sniff...

Alright, while I have critters on my mind, there's a whole menagerie of creepy-crawly critters to be found in my short story collection, Twisted Tales From Tornado Alley. I'm talking Bigfoot, giant bugs, and other various forms of varmints and monsters. Gotta catch 'em all! HERE!