What you are a bout to read is a true story, so you might as well keep on keepin' on. The tale took
place back in the 1980's when I was in my early twenties and darn near invincible--weren't we though?
I had a 1981 Ford F150. We got along great. She had an old school 3-in-the-tree standard shift which I dug. I pulled up the back alley to my place and shut her down outside my garage. I walked through the garage as I had hundreds of times. The sun vacated several hours earlier. Something was in the air that night as I walked across the back lawn but I couldn't put my finger on it.
|Trucks have your back!|
On the grass I turned back to check her progress and thankfully I didn't trip on a tree root and roll my ankle the way distressed damsels often did in bad 70's flicks. The furry mother was still coming with a quick waddle. My ego was shot. There I was a 200 pound red-blooded black Canadian ultra-male turning tail from a carnivore a tenth my size. In that moment I wondered if I'd lose my place at the top of the food chain table.
In my defense I wasn't scared I was merely respecting family...and hissing, fangs and claws. Honest! As momma accelerated I did the same and emerged into my alley. I peaked back with a chuckle thinking she was done. Didn't they have a home to get to? As it happened she came barreling out of my garage. We now ran toward each other as I was heading for the box of my pickup truck. (A pick up truck always stands by his man by the way).
|Terminator or Raccoons|
She was now in the box and coming in hot.
"By momma," I said and hopped onto the cab's roof. Trucks are awesome. The raccoon wasn't done. I didn't even know what the hell the beef was about but she didn't seem the type to calmly explain it to me. She got the end of the box and began scaling the side where the side panel meets the cab.
Ok it was on. Now I was pissed. Nobody and nothing runs me off like this. Does this little mammal know who I am, I thought as I leaped up to my garage and pulled myself up chin-up style to the roof. I considered making a stand. I could jump back in the box and kick a field goal with that little thing. Nobody humiliates me like this.
However, that's not my style. Besides it would have made for a horrible barroom story.
"Say fellas I kicked the crap out of a mother raccoon last night. Cool huh?"
Do you see my dilemma? I thought you might. Now on the roof I was king. I'd read Sun Tzu's Art Of War. I had the high ground. I had the vantage point. I could do recon and the whole bit. I out smarted my furry foe.
Alas, my self back-patting was short lived as a familiar (now angry) paw crested the roof. Are you like the friggin' Terminator of raccoons? Geez Louise baby!
There we stood: mano-a-raccoon-o. I straddled the ridge in a fighting stance. She held her spot briefly before waddling forward hissing and whining at me.
"You're lucky I don't hit ladies," I said, turned and leaped off my garage. Two hundreds pounds came down on the lawn with heat. I did a shoulder roll because I was young and that's how they did it in action movies!
The cubs stood on the lawn and stared at me.
"Hi kids. Stay in school," I said as I ran passed them and up the stairs. Ha! The high ground was mine again. Not only that I'd retaken my castle and secured my spot at the top of the food chain table. Ha! I say again Ha!
I stood at the balcony's railing and surveyed my land. The raccoon waddled out of the garage and stood with her cubs and stared up at me. She eyeballed me and I eyeballed her right back. She made some sort of squeaky sound then turned and took her family back through the garage. I'm sure she told me to shove it or something like that.
Back in the castle I grabbed a remaining half bag of chips and cracked a cold Kokanee beer. Once in my Lazyboy all tilted back and chillin'' I asked myself aloud, "WTF was that all about?"
Blogger's note: No raccoons were harmed during the forging of this blog post.