Margo Oxendine
|
I know quite a bit about raccoons because I once had
one as a pet.
Well, it’s full-on spring, and the raccoons are back.
I know many of you probably consider them pests, but I think they’re
quite cute.
Sure, for a brief time, before I wised up and
invested in a huge, round-top trash can (with my old tin can stashed
inside), the raccoons were a problem. They’d descend upon the back porch
tin can, shake it over, and spread garbage hither and yon, after ripping
the bag to shreds. They did this around 4:30 every morning. And they
made quite a clatter.
I’d storm out there in my pajamas and yard shoes and
rubber gloves, and pick it all up after I’d shooed them away. There was
an entire family — big old gray raccoon dudes, surly teen raccoons, and
several babies, learning the trade.
I’m always a little sad when I see a dead raccoon in
the highway near my house. “Is that one of mine?” I wonder. “I hope
not.” But, since the new double-can system, they haven’t awoken me
before the crack of dawn.
I know quite a bit about raccoons because I once had
one as a pet. My Key West beau, Tom, took a long bike ride up the Keys
one day, and came home with a tiny baby raccoon tucked in his shirt
pocket. We named him Earl. We’d hoped he’d learn to use a litter box.
But Earl was having none of that.
Earl was certainly the most curious pet I ever had.
We finally moved him from our little Conch cottage onto Tom’s boat,
which was part of the ragtag Treasure Salvors fleet. It was an 80-foot
converted shrimp boat. Plenty of room for a crew of eight and a curious
raccoon. Earl liked to sleep in a drawer just behind the wheelhouse.
He’d go out to sea with us. He’d eat whatever we shared with him. He did
his business out on deck, and one of the crew would simply hose it out
the scuppers. Earl also loved to scamper around up in the rigging,
entertaining us with his acrobatics.
Once, we took the boat up the Keys. We docked along
the Miami River for a few days. Soon, a crowd would gather on the docks
around sunset, and watch Earl’s evening performance. Dads would hold
youngsters on their shoulders. The crowd would clap and cheer. We’d
laugh. One night, a Cuban fellow who’d become a regular approached.
Would we, he wondered, sell him the raccoon for $2,000? My heart leapt.
Tom, however, said, “No way! He’s our mascot!” Sigh.
Earl loved to open up my purse and rummage around. He
was looking for gum, which he loved. And whenever he found it, he’d get
it all over himself — sticking in his fur and whiskers, all the while
chewing furiously.
At least, his breath smelled fresh and minty.
One day while we were out at sea, Earl disappeared.
We all looked everywhere — and there are lots of “everywheres” on an
80-foot vessel. Finally, our engineer — the only name we ever knew him
by was “Spaghetti” — suggested Earl must have slipped out the scupper.
(Those are the “holes” between the deck and the gunwales, so you can
clean the decks and the water goes back in the sea.)
We were all bereft. Earl was gone — slipped into the
Gulf Stream; probably a shark snack by now.
And then, lo and behold, Spaghetti found Earl down in
the bilge. He was black and oily, covered with the grime and goo and
diesel fuel that gathers in the bilge.
What to do? Well, Tom figured it out. He grabbed
Earl, the hose and a small bottle of Wisk and gave Earl a seriously
sudsy scrubbing.
It was hilarious.
Earl grew. And grew. Finally, we changed his name to
“Fat Boy.” No way was Fat Boy slipping through any scuppers.
Then, my parents visited Key West for a trip out to
sea. I knew there was no way they would welcome the presence of Fat Boy,
and he was really becoming too big and unwieldy and rambunctious to keep
as a pet. We borrowed a car and drove him back up to Big Pine Key, where
he’d been found beside his dead mother. Tom took him into the woods, and
let him go. Earl looked back once, as if to say goodbye, and trundled
happily off to the life he was meant to have.
Enjoy a book of Margo’s
columns, A Party of One, by ordering at 540-468-2146, Mon-Thurs, 9-5, or
email: [email protected].