Midnight ramblers

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This article was published 21/07/2009 (6010 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

If you’ve spent five minutes at a Manitoba lake you’ve probably experienced wildlife. Few things offer more joy for a pet-lover than watching your cat bat at a floating butterfly or dog inspect a squirrel as you take in the lake air.

Not all animal interactions are safe. I’m referring not to the obvious skunk or bear, but rather the raccoon. It appears cute, and I’ve even heard reports of someone keeping one as a pet. But if you’re a cottager, you have no doubt heard about the tales of nasty raccoon antics.

 

Before I got a cabin, I had no idea what damage they could cause. And I was certainly unaware that they’d pose a threat to family pets. It makes sense. Any animal, if threatened, can be vicious, let alone wild ones. Raccoons are no different. Their paws are like human hands with huge claws. They possess an unbelievable capacity to reach and cling to things that should be beyond their grasp. Professional football players likely drool at this ability.

Seeking food, raccoons meander through neighbourhoods on the prowl like naughty teenagers looking to tag something. They wreak havoc on anything with the potential reward of food.

Engaging them can be dangerous. It’s why I was warned by other cottagers to keep a cat or dog indoors at night.

Last week, I was awakened at 2 a.m. by banging outside. Thinking of the raccoon warnings left me more skittish than a politician expected to make tax cuts. Screwing up all my bravery, I opened the window a sliver, banged on my inside wall, and yelled at them. I accomplished little. The Queen had a better shot at sounding gruffer than I did.

Eventually, they left. The raccoons likely realized there were no treats outside my cabin. My kids could have saved them the trouble. They complain that there are no treats inside the cabin either. Leaving food outdoors isn’t wise. I learned this the first year at my cottage. I’d unwittingly kept bird feed in a container outside. Within days, two raccoons sniffed out the food. While one raccoon opened the bin, the other rummaged inside. I noticed them just after they’d destroyed our front deck and fled.

We cleared out the feed. Remnants, however, must have remained in the bin. They came back the next night. This time, my husband heard the bandits, too. We opened the front curtains and saw the reflections of four shiny eyes. It felt like we were being robbed by twin McDonalds hamburglers.

Without fear, my husband put a leash on Bella, our dog, and said, "She can chase them away." Images of the raccoons injuring my pup filled my head. Just as he grasped the door knob, I stopped him and said "You can’t take the dog, they’ll hurt her." So I shoved my husband out instead.

This sounds like an odd thing to do. But after polling every animal lover I know, they agreed it was the thing to do. Besides, my husband was armed. He took a nine iron with him.

As he stepped outside, he yelled. They didn’t move. One decided to take on my husband. It let go of the bin cover, trapping its partner inside. The tough raccoon then splayed his arms out like it was doing an impression of Robert De Niro about to say, "You talkin’ ta me?"

Sniggering, my husband used the grip end of his nine iron to poke the raccoon in the belly. It growled. This shocked him. He’d long felt these cute creatures, if they spoke, should say "Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo," like the Pillsbury Doughboy.

Once De Niro’s wild imposter was scared off, my husband opened the bin to deal with its partner in crime. As he did, it chose an interesting tactic. Grabbing an adjacent golf towel, it pulled the cloth over its head. It then sat silent. My husband whispered, "I can see you." Like a kid fearing he’ll be found in a game of hide ‘n’ seek, the raccoon remained still. Preparing to take a defensive pitch if need be, my husband carefully overturned the bin. Thankfully, the raccoon scurried away.

My husband later confessed that he was shocked that the mere presence of his golf club didn’t frighten the beasts away. But I’ve seen my husband use his nine iron. I wouldn’t have been afraid either.

Pet lovers encountering raccoons might choose a different approach than my husband did. Prevention is key. No food should remain outdoors and garbage should be locked up. Recurrent issues should be dealt with by a local animal control professional. Above all, never grab a nine iron. Choose a driver instead.

 

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Leslie Hancock recommends The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein.

char.adam@mts.net

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