the attack of the zombie raccoon
TRANSCRIPT
8/8/2019 The Attack of the Zombie Raccoon
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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:)
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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.
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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.