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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

Rocky is a Rockette

A few weeks back, I heard scratching and thumping above my head at home.  Again.  There, somewhere above the ceiling, and beneath the roof, ran the likes of Rocky the Raccoon.  Again.  He would try to pry the ceiling vent off of the bathroom fan and other adorable antics that made me feel like a Tazmanian Devil was ready to fly into the house at any minute.

My husband set a trap, i.e., a cage with peanut butter inside.  We returned a couple of days later, and there was Rocky… along with two babies.  Rocky was a Rockette-!

Of course, Benedetto did not tell me what he found.  He simply released them into the wild and hoped that they never crossed paw into our pad again, ripping off the soffitts with their super-human claws.  Naturally, he didn’t tell me a thing, until after the fact.

“We released her,” he announced, “but there’s a slight twist.”

“Her?” I’m startled.

“She had two babies with her.”

“Babies?  She carried her babies into the cage?” I can’t figure out this one.

“She must have given birth to them in the cage,” he conjectured.

“IN THE CAGE? What do you mean, she gave birth in the cage?!” This was incomprehensible, even a raccoon mama was part of the sisterhood.  Had we forced her to give birth in a prison camp?

“We got her out of the attic just in time.  Would you want babies up there?” he asked.

“She gave birth in the cage-?!  She needs water!  The babies need food!” I feel sick.

“The babies nurse–.  She gives them milk.”

“The mother needs water.  Maybe she’s dehydrated–.”  I feel very sick.

My son is looking at me, sort of sickly himself.  Benedict Arnold.  He was party to the crime and never told me.

“They’re fine,” Benedetto decrees.  “The mother is with her babies and all is well.”

Fine.  Case closed.  I start to read a bit on baby raccoons.  While my husband is out at an activity, he happens to wander by where he dropped the family.  Accidentally, of course.  He looks guilty when he returns home.

“You’re probably going to not like this…” he starts, “but I passed by where I dropped the raccoons.  The mother left one behind, so I brought him home.”

“WHAT?!  YOU BROUGHT HIM HOME?!  Where?  How did you get him?” I interrogate.

“I picked him up with one of our cloth bags from the car.  He’s a little guy, and I put him in the car.”

“A BAG IN THE CAR?!  YOU PICKED HIM UP WITH YOUR HANDS?!  Don’t you know these things are rabid?”  I feel sick.  “Where is he now?”

“In the car.”

“IN THE CAR?!  You have to keep him warm.  You have to feed him certain things,” I say, suddenly the Raccoon Expert, and definitely not the excitable type.  “Are his eyes open or closed?”

“Closed.”

“Is he hairy?”

“No, he’s a newborn.”

“Call the animal hospital, the emergency one.  YOU ARE NOT KEEPING HIM HERE!  Did you wash your hands?”  I feel sick.

It’s the horrible realization that this poor creature will probably die on our watch.  Nobody we call in terms of animal rescuers or animal control will return our calls.  I guess we should simply leave him on the banks of the Nile to die….

Just on a week where we don’t have a spare moment, where we’re all overtired, where we have 101 other things to tend to… Baby Raccoon comes home to roost.

We do not have a heating pad, a place for him to live away from the dogs, and all of the other necessities of life.  Because he fell into our hands, he will probably die.

By the end of the night, Benedetto has him in the warm car in the garage, and is feeding him a few drops of kitten milk from a squeeze bottle.  Finally, an animal hospital says they’ll take him in the morning.

Please God, let him live the night….

 

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(Good Report:  He’s crying, eating, and alive early this a.m., and my co-conspirator will take him to the animal hospital as soon as they open….  Truly, His eye is on the sparrow, and apparently on the raccoons around us, as well.)

 

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2 Comments : Leave a Reply

  1. avatar Sybil says:

    OMG, as much as I am laughing at you, we probably would have done the same thing. You get the Girl Scout Raccoon Badge for sure. Benedetto gets the Raccoon Medal of Honor.

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