Dear Raccoons -
I don’t mind that you have a virtual Raccoon Highway along the southern fence line of our tiny backyard. I don’t mind that you have a raccoon toilet along the highway behind the brick wall under the cedar tree. Everyone needs a rest stop and since it’s under the tree, hidden, doesn’t smell, to each to his own I say.
I don’t mind that you occasionally climb and nap in the cedar trees.
Don’t care that you use the trees as your own private jungle gym, or that you snuffle through my yard, digging in the monkey grass beds for grubs. Nice of you to keep the soil aerated.
But I draw the line at the garden beds. After last night’s apparent bacchanalia in my newly planted veggie bed (please see above photo), you're lucky I'm not Annie Oakley. Raccoon stew is sounding mighty good right now.
So here’s the deal … I’m putting up the raccoon fencing … again … which as we know after last fall and winter, is inconvenient and annoying to us both. Last year I watched you try, with your tiny hands, to get through that netting. I watched one of you get a hand stuck in the netting and squeal and elocute to the high heavens before managing to escape.
Wow. Not only are you guys prehensile but you’re really pretty whiny about that netting. Glad I don’t understand raccoon-speak as I assumed – based on your comrade’s tone – that you can be quite naughty with words.
Anyway, the fencing goes up and if you leave the fence in tact, I promise not to go all Annie Oakley on you and I'll skip the raccoon stew. I’d have to do a bunch of Google research on how to skin and butcher, it’d take a lot of time, be messy, etc., etc., and really … between you and me … I don’t much have the stomach for that sort of stuff. Not that I couldn’t in a pinch … I’m just really not a Woman v. Food kind of gal.
Bottom line – ramble along on the Raccoon Highway, play and sleep in my trees, use your toilet -- but the stay hell out of my veggie beds and you’ll live.
Not so warmly yours,
ThinkLady

