the attack of the zombie raccoon

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8/8/2019 The Attack of the Zombie Raccoon http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-attack-of-the-zombie-raccoon 1/4  The attack of the Zombie Raccoon.....no...really. So I’m talking over the internet with one of my friends and he says...”Sorry for disappearing for a while, but I had to check something out”. And, over voice comms, he tells me the following story (there may or may not be some artistic liscence involved in the following story):  The motion sensor light on my back porch was coming on. It came on...then it went off...then it went on...then it went off....So I figured I should go out and check to see what was going on. So I go out to see what the problem is and I find...three raccoons on my porch all interested in the garbage can. Now usually just going out the door scares them away. After all, I am a lot bigger than they are and apparently slightly more intimidating...usually. And for two of the three, this was the case. The third raccoon, however, seemed to think that the vision of me in my rubber shoes and shorts was not as intimidating as I had anticipated. Thinking to exert my dominance within this particular piece of territory, I bonked him on the nose with a rattan stick. He did turn around, I thought to leave by the same path as his two comrades had previously taken. But no. Instead, he only turned far enough to plop himself down into the nearby compost bin. (Editor: At this point I would have just gone back in the house and left the beast to his foraging for the night. But it was pointed out to me that it had gone beyond that and was now a territorial dispute. Hokay then....)  This was not a cute little furry raccoon we are talking about here. This beast, when standing in the bottom of one of the big green city compost bins, was able to peer out over the top at me (It must have been a dirty look) and he had to weight at least 35 pounds. I hit him twice on the head and he fell back into the bin. I tipped the bin over away from me and opened the lid, thinking he would now leave via the clear path presented and run away. Nope, instead he turns and comes at me all hissing and spitting and teeth. (I’d be pissed too if someone beat me over the head with a stick just for looking at them.) There was a lot of flailing at this point (please remember, dear reader, the outfit presented at the beginning of this tale – shorts and rubber shoes). The yard looked like the set of a second rate slasher flick by the time we were done and some of the “snow” had to be removed with a shovel because of the splatter. After about 8 hits that would get an authorization card yanked for sure, the raccoon was left twitching. Not one to leave an animal to suffer, the coup de grace was delivered as humanely as possible and the body was returned to the composter from whence it came. (At this point, being the *girl* that I am, I asked if he had at least skinned the carcas since he may as well use somethng from the kill. I know it bothers him as much as me, the thought of killing something not for meat. The the following conversation happened:)

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Page 1: The Attack of the Zombie Raccoon

8/8/2019 The Attack of the Zombie Raccoon

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-attack-of-the-zombie-raccoon 1/4

 The attack of the Zombie Raccoon.....no...really.

So I’m talking over the internet with one of my friends and he says...”Sorry for

disappearing for a while, but I had to check something out”. And, over voice

comms, he tells me the following story (there may or may not be some artistic

liscence involved in the following story):

 The motion sensor light on my back porch was coming on. It came on...then it went

off...then it went on...then it went off....So I figured I should go out and check to see

what was going on. So I go out to see what the problem is and I find...three

raccoons on my porch all interested in the garbage can.

Now usually just going out the door scares them away. After all, I am a lot bigger

than they are and apparently slightly more intimidating...usually. And for two of the

three, this was the case. The third raccoon, however, seemed to think that the

vision of me in my rubber shoes and shorts was not as intimidating as I had

anticipated. Thinking to exert my dominance within this particular piece of territory,I bonked him on the nose with a rattan stick. He did turn around, I thought to leave

by the same path as his two comrades had previously taken. But no. Instead, he

only turned far enough to plop himself down into the nearby compost bin.

(Editor: At this point I would have just gone back in the house and left the beast to

his foraging for the night. But it was pointed out to me that it had gone beyond that

and was now a territorial dispute. Hokay then....)

 This was not a cute little furry raccoon we are talking about here. This beast, when

standing in the bottom of one of the big green city compost bins, was able to peer

out over the top at me (It must have been a dirty look) and he had to weight at

least 35 pounds. I hit him twice on the head and he fell back into the bin. I tipped

the bin over away from me and opened the lid, thinking he would now leave via the

clear path presented and run away. Nope, instead he turns and comes at me all

hissing and spitting and teeth. (I’d be pissed too if someone beat me over the head

with a stick just for looking at them.) There was a lot of flailing at this point (please

remember, dear reader, the outfit presented at the beginning of this tale – shorts

and rubber shoes). The yard looked like the set of a second rate slasher flick by the

time we were done and some of the “snow” had to be removed with a shovel

because of the splatter. After about 8 hits that would get an authorization card

yanked for sure, the raccoon was left twitching. Not one to leave an animal to

suffer, the coup de grace was delivered as humanely as possible and the body wasreturned to the composter from whence it came.

(At this point, being the *girl* that I am, I asked if he had at least skinned the carcas

since he may as well use somethng from the kill. I know it bothers him as much as

me, the thought of killing something not for meat. The the following conversation

happened:)

Page 2: The Attack of the Zombie Raccoon

8/8/2019 The Attack of the Zombie Raccoon

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 There is no way that fur is going to be good for anything. Not after that. There was

blood all over the yard. I had to clean off the step with a shovel.

Okay, but what about the tail? Are you even going to slavage the tail?

I don’t usually worry about trophies, but if you want it, I’ll go get it. But if I get it

you are going to use it! I have to go out there and dig that body out of the

composter and get the tail off.

Okay, but you have to skin it.

What? You want me to what?

Skin the bone and flesh out of the tail and salt it so it doesn’t go bad. Or you can

freeze it.

 You want me to skin the tail

Or freeze it. Just the tail, not the whole raccoon.

Okay. Now I have to remember where I put the ziploc bags. I’ll do it. I’ll be back in

a few minutes.

(There were about ten to fifteen minutes of silence then)

Okay...I did just tell you about killing a raccoon out in the yard, right?

What? Yes. Why? Is it gone?

I went out and looked in the composter and it’s gone.

*Snort**Chuckle**laugh!* Great, now you are going to have a zombie raccoon

hunting you down!

No! Really! It’s gone! I killed it! And now it’s gone.

So now you have a brain damaged, pissed off and bleeding raccoon staggering

around your yard.

Well, I can’t leave it like that. I can’t just leave it to suffer, I have to go and find it

and finish it.

Well, take something with you to kill it.

Do you think I should take the 12 guage or the .22?

At this time of night, unless you think you are a damn good shot, take the 12 guage.

I was thinking the same thing.

Page 3: The Attack of the Zombie Raccoon

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I’ll be back.

Be careful.

(See at this point, it’s not funny anymore. There is a fatally wounded wild animal

out in the dark of the yard and he is going out to try to find it to put it out of it’s

misery. After a half hour I start to worry. Then, I hear)

Okay, I’m back.

So is it dead this time?

Oh it’s dead. Funny thing. You’ll appreciate this. This is funny.

Funny “ha ha” or funny “odd”?

Funny “haha” I think.

Okay...

So I get ready to go out to find the raccoon. But first I find a flashlight. Then I get

dressed. I put on knee high rubber boots to tramp in the snow. I have my knife in

it’s sheath in one boot, because a knife can’t jam. I have on my camoflage hat (I

wanted to say something about that but didn’t) and my coat. I looked all around the

composter but could find no sign where it climbed out and left. I’m not a bad

tracker so this confused me. I couldn’t find it around the step so I found the tracks

the other two raccoons had left leading to the barn across the lane and found them

huddled terrified under the barn. (I pointed out that I’m not surprised they were

terrified). So I went back to the composter and looked in it again with a better

flashlight. The composter has a grate in the bottom. I didn’t know it was hinged.

Under the better light, I saw fur under the grate. The raccoon was there wher I had

put it the first time, dead. I got the tail for you!

(That may not seem like a big paragraph, but keep in mind it took 45 minutes for

this whole search)

 You can tell this t=story any way you like. But as far as I’m concerned, there was a

raccoon, I killed it.

(Later on)

 They’re back.

 The raccoons

 Yeah, the light is going off again. I’m going to go out again. This time I’m going to

piss on them! (he’s had 6 beer by now) I’ll be right back

Okay...

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I’m back. I scared them off again. I figure with the blood and the scent of my piss

they’re going to leave the porch alone for a while.

I would imagine!

And thus victory was achieved, at the cost of a bit of grief over the necessity of the

death of one raccoon that just didn’t get it and got mean.