Friday, October 26, 2012

Today was like any other day...

Today began like any other day. Dori and I went on some walks, we cleaned up the house, we played with Ferdinand (Dori's favorite toy) and we were starting to sew. Dori was being especially annoying so I tied her out back on her run-line. About 5 minutes later she started to bark. A lot. I figured it was just a car on the street or the neighbors were home, so I let her bark. When she didn't stop, I went out to investigate. I peer around the corner and Dori is barking at a furry animal that is larger than she is! I screamed, hauled Dori inside and gained the courage to investigate.

Peeking around the corner again I determined it was a raccoon. Gross. Climbing on the kitchen counter and sticking my head out the window I determined that it was sleeping....or dead. Double gross.

Don't go thinking it was an adorable little raccoon. 
 Raccoons are not adorable. To me they always look like this:
Every since I was little I've hated rodents. Dad would find cool dead things in the barn, or say we have a possum in the wood pile and I would RUN. Inside, behind firmly shut doors. My memories of rodents include hiding in my bedroom until I head the shotgun and got the all-clear from mom. I hate them. They creep me out and I just think they are gross. I'm a bug person. Got a spider? Creepy crawly thing? Ants? Flies? Bees? No problem. I'll squash 'em! I'm the bug person in our house. They don't scare me at all. Chris is the rodent person. Really he is the "any animal that isn't Dori" person. He handles all of that.

Problem 1: I'm the BUG person.
Problem 2: The rodent person, Chris, is at work. All day.
Problem 3: There is a rodent of unusual size outside my house. 
Problem 4: It could be dead.

If there is anything I hate more than rodents, it is dead rodents. Probably because I've seen a possum pretend to be dead and so I automatically assume that every dead animal is going to spring to life at any minute. Earlier this year I managed to get a muskrat out of our garage at the apartment by wearing Chris' snow boots, standing on a chair and shooing with two brooms. This was going to be a much more complicated extraction.

Step 1: Determine if the animal is dead. I made a loud noise, clapped and ran back inside. After calling my dad, only to hear him laugh at me, I again attempted to officially determine it was dead. I threw a tennis ball at the raccoon. It landed on the raccoon. No movement. No breathing. Raccoon is dead.

Step 2: Put dead raccoon in a box. I put on my trusty rain boots, wore my work gloves and grabbed a shovel. I slowly approached the raccoon. Remember, it looked like this:
I poked the raccoon. No movement. I poked harder. Again, no movement. I poked one more time to be sure. And that's when I realized the raccoon was stiff. I about lost my breakfast. I moved the box as close to the raccoon as possible and started to scoop up the stiff, very dead raccoon. The dude weighed a ton! After pining the animal against the siding so I could slide the shovel underneath, I managed to keep the raccoon on the shovel. I went to dump him in the box. He didn't fit! The fatty didn't fit in the box. Despite the rigor mortise that was already apparent I shoved and much to my relief the big, dead raccoon was finally contained to a box. With a lid.

Step 3: Dispose of raccoon. While it may appear that I had now conquered the hardest part, I beg to differ. I now had to carry the box, full of stiff, fat dead raccoon to the front of the house. Take it in my car out to the country, find a secluded area and dump the beast. Still wearing my protective boots and gloves, I carried the box to the front of the house. I put the box ON the trunk of my car and slowly backed down the lane. Having been on the phone with my dad and mom, they both advised that I make sure the box didn't open and that the raccoon didn't crawl out and come back to life. I had assured them that this thought had already passed through my mind. Multiple times.

Step 4: Drive to disposal location. As I slowly turned the corner out of our allotment, the lid flew off the box. Luckily it was because of the wind and not because the monster had pushed it off. So I slowly turned down 600 N, and then onto 400 and then 550 and then some more roads. As I was contemplating the dumping/disposal procedure I realized that I would have to carry the box without the lid. And it still had this guy inside:
As I pulled off the side of the road at the perfect location, I stepped out of my car, picked up the box and launched. Then I sprinted back to the car and drove away before the gigantic, dead raccoon could follow me home. And yes. I littered. I left the box, with the raccoon still partially inside, on the side of the road. And then I got the heebie jeebies and felt the need to shower and disinfect the outside of my house.

So the problem has been solved. The raccoon beast is resting on the side of a country road. I have washed my hands multiple times. Dori has settled down and I'm quite proud of myself for disposing of the monster all by myself.  Do I want to do it again? Not a chance. Can I do it? Yes. If I absolutely, positively HAVE to do it.


  1. I'm proud of you Drea! Aren't there woods behind your place? You could have dumped it there!

  2. We didn't want Dori to find it. She has fun rolling in dead animals. And she loves to dig. So we dumped it where she can't get to it.

  3. Oh that makes would make you think twice before cuddling with Dori again!

  4. HAHA! You crack me up. I would've left it for Jason to deal with. No way would I be putting a dead coon in a box and hauling it off. The dog would just have to pee in the front yard until he came home. I am however very impressed with your CSI skills and that you know the signs of rigor mortise :)

  5. Raccoons are not rodents.