Animal Stories
The pastel blue and pink sunset drew me out into the steam heat. I opened the gate, the large one on the north side of my property, and I heard the sound of a stream, a whispery sound, the water racing across rocks and around fallen limbs. A raccoon in silhouette scampered to the culvert.
One, two, three raccoons came down out of the dead tree near the street. I stood my ground. The rippling of the Peace banner hanging on the white pine attracted my eye. Raccoon eyes stared out at me. The sound wasn't rushing water; it was raccoon nails scratching up the tree bark.
Pop pop pop three raccoons whooshed down the tree trunk and bee-lined to the culvert.
SEVEN raccoons!
My sunset time on the front deck was ruined. I am afraid of the raccoons. I have heard that if a dog corners a raccoon, the dog is dead.
I went back through the gate and around my house to the safety of my backyard.
A screechy death sound erupted from the streetside red maple. One, two, three, four, five came running down a long branch, down the trunk to the tree fort. The light now fragile and nearly vanquished, illuminated the chartreuse night-vision eyes of each raccoon as they peeked around the wood structure. They made a hallow whistling sound, small, somewhat like the hiss of a frighten cat.
I was nothing to them. They simply continue down the tree, hit the ground, and went right over to my bungeed garbage cans. Dinnertime!
Twelve raccoons. How silly of me to think that there were only three.
I called a nice man. He is going to live trap them and take them away. I want my sunsets back.
The pastel blue and pink sunset drew me out into the steam heat. I opened the gate, the large one on the north side of my property, and I heard the sound of a stream, a whispery sound, the water racing across rocks and around fallen limbs. A raccoon in silhouette scampered to the culvert.
One, two, three raccoons came down out of the dead tree near the street. I stood my ground. The rippling of the Peace banner hanging on the white pine attracted my eye. Raccoon eyes stared out at me. The sound wasn't rushing water; it was raccoon nails scratching up the tree bark.
Pop pop pop three raccoons whooshed down the tree trunk and bee-lined to the culvert.
SEVEN raccoons!
My sunset time on the front deck was ruined. I am afraid of the raccoons. I have heard that if a dog corners a raccoon, the dog is dead.
I went back through the gate and around my house to the safety of my backyard.
A screechy death sound erupted from the streetside red maple. One, two, three, four, five came running down a long branch, down the trunk to the tree fort. The light now fragile and nearly vanquished, illuminated the chartreuse night-vision eyes of each raccoon as they peeked around the wood structure. They made a hallow whistling sound, small, somewhat like the hiss of a frighten cat.
I was nothing to them. They simply continue down the tree, hit the ground, and went right over to my bungeed garbage cans. Dinnertime!
Twelve raccoons. How silly of me to think that there were only three.
I called a nice man. He is going to live trap them and take them away. I want my sunsets back.
