Reckless Raccoon

I arise early in the morning—a little after 4:00 am, to begin my day. Shortly after I am up and stumbling around, I usually get the urge to excrete some of the previous day's solid menu items. We have an outdoor composting privy, so I step outside in the dark, with a flashlight in hand.

One recent morning I was faced with a raccoon, nosing around the yard, looking for any food tidbits that may have been left for him. I stopped, surprised, and pointed the light at him. He stopped, surprised, and looked at me, without moving. Trying to shoo him away, I hissed at him. He stood his ground, as if to be puzzled by a hissing beam of light. OK, I thought, maybe he needs something more threatening to urge him on his way. I lowered my voice as much as I could, and growled—trying to imitate a bear or a 1,000-pound raccoon predator. He turned and slowly ambled off. So much for my frightening impression.

The next morning I ventured out in the dark, this time pausing at the doorstep and pointing my flashlight out to his yesterday's location. There he was again, sniffing around for food! I did my best to growl again—sounding as large as I was able. Once again, he turned and slowly sauntered away... appearing not the slightest bit worried.

A couple of days later I opened the door to seek my morning's relief at the privy, and guess who was waiting for me. He was actually sitting down, as if he was waiting to see if the snarling light would come out to greet him yet again. This time I did the loudest and nastiest growl I could produce, as I simultaneously stomped my feet. Maybe a growling light with big, pounding paws would intimidate him. This time he turned and moved away at a slightly greater pace—but still too leisurely for my taste, so I pursued him, making as much stomping noise as I could. He retreated.

I turned and headed toward the privy, believing I had made my point that he was not welcome. Suddenly I heard the skittering sound of little feet, as the raccoon came streaking up from behind, almost brushed against my leg, and vanished into the darkness ahead of me.

It was almost as if he was toying with me—as if we were engaged in some playful game. A bit rattled, I did my privy business, nervously peering into the gloom, but he seemed to have moved on. I've not seen him since, on my morning affairs. Maybe he tired of the game, or decided there were no morsels of food to be had, or is off seeing if he can startle a neighbor as much as he did me.