Ode to Persistence

We finally found the solution to our mama raccoon’s nightly marauding of the birdfeeders. It’s no small effort, but we bring the feeders inside at dusk and hang them out again at sunrise. By we, I mean Moe, and he does it without complaint as part of his daily ritual. 

Removing the feeders from the deck for the night is the only thing that keeps that raccoon from consuming the seeds intended for the birds. 

Cayenne pepper on the banister didn’t phase her.

Carabiner clips were no match for her deft fingers. She was somehow able to spring the springs to get the feeders off the pole and empty them.

She considered the trap-and-release plan a temporary setback.

Even a fall down the steps inside the trap didn’t deter her, nor did the night we chased her off and she had to abandon her kits. (We assume she came back for them after we left, because they were gone in the morning.)

Yet she keeps checking for the easy food source she once found here, as evidenced by these tracks in the morning dew on the banister. Aren’t they cute?

I’m not sure who is the more committed, Moe or the raccoon, but I watch and marvel and applaud them both for their persistence. 

~dkm 11/6/22

Night Prowler

OR

Why the Bird Feeders Keep Getting Emptied Overnight

Night 1:

So, we filled a lid with peanut butter, set a cage trap on the deck near the feeders, and were awakened in the night by a terrible scraping sound followed by a deck-shaking rumble. I sat straight up in bed. Moe said, “ Caught him,” and went to investigate. Our thief had somehow dragged the cage across the deck to his entry point, and fallen all the way down the stairs to the patio below.   

Next morning:

We learned they have good memories for unpleasant experiences and avoid repeats. How pleasant could it be to fall down the steps and spend the night in a cage? Thought we’d seen the last of our thief. 

Night 2: 

Maybe he/she liked the thrill. 

Online advice said cayenne pepper is an effective deterrent. I bought a tub of it and spread a thick layer on banister under feeders. 

Days 3, 4, & 5: Feeders emptied again. 

He even tried to unhook it. 

And, for the record, I saw a squirrel sniff the cayenne, bat his nose with his front paw a few times, and climb right onto the feeder. So much for that theory. 

 Don’t want to take the feeders down and deprive the birds during mating/nesting season, but our seed bill is out of control, as in $150/month. Don’t want to relocate caged raccoon in case she's feeding young. 

Next best option: Bring all four feeders inside at bedtime. Wonder how long I’ll have patience for that?

Whole thing reminds me of an old New Yorker cartoon with a picture of a woman standing on a chair in her plant room and the husband saying, “If you’re going to live in a jungle, you’ve got to expect snakes.”

~dkm 4/15/2022

Do You See What I See?

A pair of them came calling at the sliding glass door one evening after dark, as curious about me and my light as I was about them and their noise.   Or maybe they've learned that light at night in a house that is commonly dark might mean good trash.   Whether they were more curious or expectant,  I was all curiosity from my side of the door.  First came a great deal of leaf rustling outside on the deck, then a scritch scratch on the glass, then two sets of front paws pressed against the glass, followed by two adorable raccoon faces peering back at me.   I leaned over the arm of my big comfy reading chair to get a better look at them.  The light from my reading lamp shone directly on them for a clear view.  We were less than two feet apart, but they didn't run.  Quite the opposite.

They pulled up straight with deadpan faces, turned to glance at each other, then back at me---not unlike those funny tv commercials where someone says something inane and the other person responds with a  blink that says the statement has registered, but the receiver doesn't immediately know what to make of it.  That's how the raccoons responded to my face in the glass.  I laughed out loud.  They calmly backed down and walked away.

It's a lovely comical memory from my recent writing retreat on Wilmington Island,  and I send my gratitude to good friends Paul and Carla for the use of their vacation home overlooking the Wilmington marsh.  It is for me a place for rest, reflection, and slow passage of time.  A sacred place free of tv, radio, news, music, calendar, and interruptions.  A place to feel fully steeped in the simple complexity of the natural world---none of it remotely interested in me or my writing---with the possible exception of the raccoons---all of it alive with the energy of the universe.  A place that offers the luxury of burrowing deep into story and staying there, day and night, and sooner or later, despite powerful avoidance strategies, to write.  Six more chapters drafted.

Thanks, Paul and Carla.  Your names will be in the acknowledgment page if this manuscript ever gets whittled enough to find a publisher!  dkm