This morning Ramona woke me up saying; “there’s a dead raccoon in our garbage can.” Raccoons have attacked our garbage cans regularly since we moved here, despite our attempts to foil them with heavy rocks on the lids, etc. While some hate raccoons, I like them, and don’t begrudge them our garbage, although I do dislike the mess they make.
So, I went out to the garbage can, armed with a pair of gloves and a shovel, ready to take on the task of removing a dead critter. When I looked into the can I immediately regretted that I hadn’t been awake enough to bring the camera. There was a raccoon in the can, but it wasn’t dead. It was breathing slowly and seemed quite comfortable. I kicked the can, and it opened one eye and looked at me, as if to say: “Dude. What?” I then laid the can on its side and he lumbered off. looking over his shoulder at me in a resentful manner. Ramona and I figured out what had happened. The night before we had thrown out a couple of grapefruit and a handful of nectarines that had gone off. They had probably fermented a bit, and as a result, Rocky Raccoon probably got a buzz from the semi-rotted fruit and had fallen into a drunken stupor. So cool, and so understandable. I’m glad Rocky is OK, and glad that he got a buzz from my trash. I hope he wasn’t too hungover this morning.