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:
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:
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:
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.