Oh, Yes . . . The Varmint!
Oh, Yes . . .the Varmint!
(Part 2 of 2)
Where was I? Oh, Yes! That extra hour of sleep after my guy had gotten up yesterday morning. That deep, dream-filled sleep that’s makes you feel like you’ve finally gotten enough sleep when you do get up.
All of a sudden, I hear racket. Racket was wrecking my dream.
“Hey-Ahh! OUT! Back you two. STOP!”
Nails scratch the wood floor. Heavy nails I recognize. Thin nails I don’t. Barking. Meowing whines. More barking– this time from my guy. Something heavy hits with a thud.
“Hey, hey, HEY!” A door slams shut.
Silence. Inside, that is.
I can still hear commotion outside. Iron patio chairs getting shoved aside. Frantic barking. More whiny, meowy screeches.
Then, “Get back, Sam, Penny, get back! GET BACK, DAMMIT!”
I throw on a shrimp-colored, moo-mooey summer dress, grab my glasses, and run outside. “What’s going on?”
My guy’s wearing long blue, cotton pajama bottoms, large white t-shirt, panting heavy breaths and swearing. “Where’s a broom? Damn raccoon came in the house.”
Sam and Penny are in the middle of the front yard wrestling a raccoon.
Two brown dachshunds in their element, working in tandem, giving this raccoon hell. The raccoon is curled up around whichever dog he can get at the moment. Hissing. Clawing. Snarling. One-inch fangs snap back and forth. I didn’t realize how raccoons can sound like cats in a cat fight.
I run inside to grab a broom from the kitchen and return to see the raccoon fall off the little side wall down onto the drive. He keeps trying to jump back up and attack the dogs again.
At this point, it’s a 2-foot wall that lines the driveway and curves around and across the entire front yard. You’ve seen old houses with front walks, retaining walls, and center steps leading from the sidewalk up to the front porch? That’s us.
My guy takes the broom and whacks and whacks him.
Plastic brooms aren’t exactly designed for raccoon whacking. But he does manage to smack it around to the front by the street on the sidewalk where the wall is about 40 inches high.
The raccoon is limping with battle scars from the dogs, but continues jumping against the wall trying to fight. Sam and Penny are trying to jump down and finish him off.
My guy is balancing with his left foot on top of the wall, whacking the raccoon with the broom below, and kicking at the dogs beside him with his right foot.
“Get the dogs outta here.”
I’m afraid to touch the dogs because of rabies. I don’t know how it spreads and, even though I know they’re up to date on their rabies vaccines, they’ve obviously been in a biting frenzy.
“GET THE DAMN DOGS INSIDE!”
No question what my guy wants me to do.
“What about rabies? They’ve been biting it.”
“GET ME THE SHOVEL!”
I run get a shovel by the side of the house. He pins the raccoon by the neck down on the front side walk.
Cars are slowing down to watch two old people, still in pajamas, in their front yard with two dachshunds running in circles, barking, and a raccoon going into spasms on the sidewalk with its neck pinned under a shovel. Three cars stop and roll down their windows for a better view.
“Kill it!” I yell.
“I can’t lift up the shovel, he’ll get loose. CALL ANIMAL CONTROL!”
I call 911.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“We’ve had a rabid raccoon get inside the house and attack our 2 dogs. We have him pinned by the neck with a shovel on the front sidewalk. We live…”
“You need Animal Control. This is not an emergency.”
TO HELL IT IS!
Next, I hear, “Animal Control.”
Repeat. They come. Take away now-dead raccoon. Dogs go to vet and get a bath.
All is well.
Moral of this story–
Sleep late. And make sure your vaccines are up to date.**
Until next time. Be sweet.
**PS . . . Later, I received a phone call from Animal Control. They tested his brain (BTW: the only way you can test with positive accuracy for rabies is on the animal’s brain–which means he must be dead) and he was not rabid. The lady said, “They’re just one mean sonofabitch.”