The Little Raccoon That Couldn’t (Dateline September 2005)

I recently heard that the worst time of year for animals in our area is spring. I heard this on NPR radio so it must be true - cars hit more animals in the spring because they (the animals, not the drivers) are slower moving and not quite awake from their long winter nap. Well maybe in his hometown. But in my neck of the woods open season on animals is all year long. I have some sympathy for the ones that get hit, and if and when I find one thatis a recent kill (translated – not too gooey) I generally stop by the side of the road and scooch the carcass to the shoulder.

My husband doesn’t get it, but I can’t stand to see them turn into red spots in the middle of the road. I especially hate to see someone’s pet, usually cats, being smashed flat by uncaring drivers. I’m afraid my attitude is wearing off on my kids. This past spring we were privy to the mating dance of a male pheasant strutting his stuff along the side of the road in an obvious mating dance. But one day our beautiful pheasant was gone, just one more bag of bones in the middle of the road. Of course I stopped (just me and a van full of kids). The kids asked why the pheasant was dead, and my answer would have made a sailor blush. I don’t think the kids forgot the pheasant for quite a while. (At least I hope it was the pheasant they remembered…)

On any given day my neighbors see me out there bunny hopping to work as I remove slightly squished animals over to the shoulder of the road. My husband, in a moment of weakness, actually told me that I was a nice person for making him stop so I could remove a neighbor’s dead cat off the yellow line to the grass. I know it probably sounds like a strange hobby, but experiencing firsthand the softness of raccoon fur, or the sharpness of prickly porcupine spines makes it worthwhile. I’ve even had the “pleasure” of handling a beaver, and too many deer that cross the road and don’t quite get to the other side. (How a deer ran into my car is another story all together. Getting the deer out of the road required the skills of a much younger person.

So it wasn’t too surprising to me to find a dead raccoon down the road from our house, an obvious victim of one of the many blind drivers that Northern Michigan is famous for. As per my custom I pulled over, picked up the raccoon and placed him way off the shoulder of the road. Coming home that evening the raccoon was right back in the middle of the road. It was a little worse for wear (90 deg heat and a few flies), but still recognizably a raccoon. So, once again I stopped and put him further back in the grass. Early the next morning darn if that thing wasn’t back in the middle of the road. This time I got out and scooched the thing back to the side of the road with my shoe, the raccoon being a whole lot worse for wear and tear.

But by 5 p.m. that evening the raccoon had made it’s way back to the middle of the road. By this time I had declared war on the d#$@ thing! No dead raccoon was going to get the better of me. Using my other shoe this time, I scraped what was left back to the other shoulder this time. But by the next morning I had to admit defeat. What were obviously the remains of a raccoon in a prior life was again back in the middle of the road. This time I kept going. It takes a smart person to admit defeat, and this raccoon was long gone to raccoon heaven. It rained later that afternoon and by the time I drove by on my way home most of what had passed for a raccoon could no longer be seen.

My kids were totally mystified. I mean this raccoon defied mommy and got away with it. Now that was worth noting! So instead of telling the kids a raccoon ghost story, I told them that what was probably going on were crows and ravens in the area were having lunch, and through all the poking and pulling the raccoon ended up in the center of the road. Three times.

My early morning mission still continues - making the roads safer for all the wombat drivers a tourist area is prone too. But I never fail to remember the raccoon that couldn’t, but wouldn’t stop trying, to cross the road.

As always, love from Buckley Where the women are nuts, the men are amazed and the kids don’t play in the road…