Fucking Raccoons

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Before, and definitely pre-raccoon.

mrpeenee’s attempt at a lily pond was an unmitigated disaster.  Fucking raccoons.  They were out there every night gleefully splashing in it like it was a goddam waterpark.  One night I leaned out the bathroom window to shine a flashlight down at the ringleader and I can only describe his attitude as insolent.  I couldn’t find anything to throw at him except several packages of Rolaids, but since I throw like a girl (and a particularly uncoordinated girl, at that) I completely missed.   And then the motherfucker ATE THE ROLAIDS.  I lay in bed listening to him crunching on them as I seethed.

That was pretty much the last straw.  I finally broke down last week and moved the lilies to a big pot that I fitted with a mesh screen cover (very attractive.  It looks like the latest thing in white trash trailer park decorating.  The upside: raccoon-proof.)

The lily “pond’ although “lily bucket” would probably be more accurate.

Secret Agent Fred and I bailed out the tank and I’ve planted it out with irises.

After.  Sigh.

R Man and I  moved into this house 16 years ago and every spring when the irises around town burst into their frilly beauty, I would plan to plant a bunch the next fall and then I would promptly forget all about it until spring rolled around again.  It was one of them cycle of nature thingies.  This year, though, the presence of a big ass empty planter right in the beginning of the season to put out irises was nothing short of a godsend, so maybe all this worked out.  Still, fucking raccoons.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

11 responses »

  1. I'm so sorrry, sweetie, but the racoons eating the Rolaids made me laugh so much I coughed. That said, fucking animals. I finally called the health department about the neighbor's chickens and the reps came today . . . the only day this week the damn birds weren't in my yard and right after I'd cleaned the patio and sidewalks of their shit. Nature. Hate it.

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  2. The little bandits always seem to know what thing you have that you care about the most, then do their utmost to destroy it.
    I know, it has happened to me on several occasions…

    Try sprinkling cayenne pepper around.

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  3. Have you tried a B-B gun?

    How about blow darts?

    Electric fencing?

    I could send Shareeka my Boston Schnauzer who kills possums on command. I'm sure a fucking raccoon would pose no problem.

    For that matter is Saki an outdoor cat?

    He is an attack cat after all.

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  4. Tragically, he only attacks people trying to pet him. And he regards “outdoors” as some alien universe that does not interest him. He is as useless as most attractive, young males typically are.

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  5. The “Fucking Raccoons” sounds like a good name for a budding Emo band. That said, I'm with Diane. Nature. Hate it. I thought the “great snail invasion” was bad… Jx

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  6. Get a mean-tempered Doberman or a hunting rifle. Just think, you could have that Davy Crockett coonskin cap or Roaring '20s raccoon coat you've always wanted!

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