Have you ever looked a raccoon in the eye? Up close, with no barrier, no mesh between you?
Ascloseasthissentenceoftype?
No? Well, I have, and let me tell you—it was a scary experience.
As Gilda and I were watching television Monday night, we were disturbed by the sound of our garage door opening. Gilda’s iPhone has an app that pings every time the door opens or closes.
We feared a home invasion. Did we call the police? Of course not. We weren’t thinking.
I slipped into my shoes, walked to our mudroom adjacent to the garage and heard clanking noises coming from the other side of the door. Quickly I opened the door a crack. Even more quickly I shut it as I realized a small raccoon was staring back at me from a storage ledge six feet off the ground.
As I composed myself in the mudroom the raccoon knocked down several more cans of bug spray.
A standoff began. We grabbed two small flashlights and went outside to the driveway. To get to the ledge the raccoon must have climbed up some lattice work stored along the back wall closest to the mudroom door, then touched the garage door opener as it made its way to the storage ledge.
We shined our flashlights on the ledge. Two eyes were illuminated. We surmised the raccoon was a youngster, probably as frightened and distraught of his predicament as we were. He, or she, was not moving.
We further reasoned that the raccoon had surreptitiously entered the garage about five hours earlier when Gilda returned from exercising. We figured the only option was to leave the garage door open throughout the night while locking the access door to the mudroom and hope the raccoon fled.
Our stratagem worked. But we did not know that until a wildlife control specialist came and checked out the garage. We engaged his services for a week—two traps, one outside near Gilda’s vegetable garden where some animal(s) had foraged on her tomatoes, one inside the garage just in case there was a secret hole in the wall that provided access.
Thursday morning a poppa raccoon awaited his discovery in the cage near the vegetable garden and eventual relocation to Putnam County.
The garage trap was moved to the yard. Both traps were baited with a raccoon’s delight—tuna fish (who knew?). No new guests Friday morning.
So far this experience has been just another joy of home ownership. But really, how stupid was I to open the door to what could have been a two-legged predator? I didn’t even have a bat or knife in hand to attack or defend myself.
I would have known better had I recalled what transpired some 45 years ago in our first house, a small Tudor with a slate roof.
After an especially deep snow fall, we were getting ready for bed when rumbling started, lasting about six seconds. I thought someone had rolled up the garage door and was breaking into our home.
I yelled to Gilda to call the police as I threw on a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers, grabbed a baseball bat from the closet and raced outdoors to confront the intruder.
Outside I saw the garage door had not been opened. I spotted a pile of snow on an otherwise smooth blanket of snow. I looked to the roof and realized the snow had rumbled down the slate. I felt foolish.
But not as concerned as Gilda felt. The police had cautioned her I should not be outside lest they suspect I was the suspected burglar, armed as I was, with a bat. The patrol car arrived just as Gilda opened the front door and screamed for me to get inside.
Not so fast. After due process, the police let me go with an admonition never again to play the brave fool.
I remembered that sound advice too late for its appropriate implementation Monday night.
