I Remain Locked in an Epic Struggle With a Raccoon
Okay, I’m back. We've been through nights three, four, and five of what we are now calling, “The Great Raccoon Incident of 2004.”
Let’s recap, shall we?
As I described in the first part of this story, we discovered that a raccoon had taken up residence in one of our chimneys. This chimney is a rectangular wooden covering over a round metal exhaust pipe. I have now discovered that about half of this chimney is empty space, presumably to keep the exhaust pipe away from the wood.
We consulted L., an expert, who told us to wait until the raccoon was out foraging at night, then shut him out by sealing the opening. The idea was that the raccoon would simply find another den. The first night I did a poor job of sealing the hole, assuming that planks nailed over it would be enough. The second night I secured the hole well enough, but accidentally sealed the raccoon inside the chimney, which I did not discover until about 9 pm on the third night when I had to let him out.
Our story continues
I came inside about 9:30 pm on the third night, very confident that I had solved the problem. I had seen the raccoon leave the chimney before I sealed it by screwing boards over the opening. I went to bed that night feeling sure there was no way this raccoon could pull these boards off. I felt certain of this.
Pretty certain. I HAD been impressed with this raccoon’s surprising strength and determination.
About 2:30 am I awoke to the sound of the raccoon scratching around the roof over our bedroom. I smiled to myself and listened to his efforts. “Sorry buddy, time for you to move on.”
But he didn’t move on. The scratching got louder and more persistent. I sat up in bed. I heard something splinter and the sound of gnawing. “What is he doing?” I wondered if he had found a loose board on another part of the chimney. Then I wondered what would happen if he started ripping up the shingles. One thing was for sure, he was tearing up something.
Furious, I got dressed and went outside. I had left my ladder by the roof, so I went up and shined my flashlight on the chimney, startling the raccoon who took off running. I ran after him, shouting and waving the flashlight. “Get outa here! Go on, GET!” The raccoon leapt off the roof like a base jumper, landing in a small tree that swayed dangerously with his weight. I heard claws scratching on bark and got a glimpse of a dark shape moving silently across the lawn.
This raccoon went from the chimney on the backside of my roof to the yard across the street in about ten seconds. It was an amazing thing to see, and once again I was impressed by this little creature.
I stood on my roof watching him disappear into the darkness.
“Damn, the little sonuvabitch is quick, I’ll give him that. Oh well, maybe that scared him off.”
I went to bed, but was wide awake. That didn’t really matter though, because at 3:00 am I heard him again, ripping at the chimney. I went up the ladder again, only this time I got there just in time to see him disappear into a different tree. I didn’t even have time to yell at him.
He was learning. Sadly, I was not.
Now at this point in the story I am presented with a quandary. I take my storytelling seriously, so I want to think carefully about how I should proceed. Should I continue with a straight narrative and describe my further trips to the roof at 3:45, 4:15, 5:00, and 5:45? That wouldn’t be bad, but it might be a bit tedious.
Or should I present you with a montage of images? Images to delight and amaze you. For you see, I became obsessed with the raccoon. Knowing that sleep was impossible, I gave myself body and soul to guarding my homestead from this raccoon and preventing him from doing further damage to our roof and chimney.
Call me not Ishmael, but rather Ahab, standing firm on the deck of my suburban ship, eyes ever watchful for the appearance of my great nemesis.
I say we go with the montage. No need to labor over tedious details.
Picture if you will, an insane man, a crazed and silly man, running all over his roof in the wee hours of the morning. Can you see him with his flashlight and a wild look in his eyes?
Can you imagine him hiding over the pitch of the roof, wanting to surprise the raccoon? Can you see him getting bored and laying down, banging the back of his head on the shingles? Of course the raccoon comes when has just about fallen asleep. Startled awake, he drops the flashlight and makes so much noise that the raccoon is long gone by the time he gets to the chimney?
Can you see him?
Can you see him crouching behind one chimney, carefully watching the other chimney, swearing that he won’t fall asleep this time? Can you see the raccoon coming up a Juniper tree on the other side of the house, creeping up behind the man, but not seeing him? Can you see the man hear a scratch and turn around to find himself facing a huge raccoon, startling the both of them so that they ran in opposite directions.
Can you see this man keeping his lonely vigil until daybreak, protecting his home and family at all costs. And finally, with the coming of the sun, can you see them each retiring from this epic struggle, the raccoon disappearing to find shelter from the sun and the man, exhausted, going inside to get his children ready for school?
Can you see it? Can you see the insanity? I see it now, but on that night I saw nothing but the raccoon and my chimney. I was living in a more primitive state, where reason and sanity meant nothing to me.
Okay, montage over. Back to the narrative.
That morning I kept listening for the raccoon as I got my kids ready for school. I heard nothing. I felt it was likely that the raccoon had gone somewhere to hide during the day, but would probably be back the next night. I wondered how many nights he would keep this up before he finally gave up and admitted that he no longer lives in my chimney.
I went to the church at 9:00 am, returning to the house at 3:00 pm to meet my two youngest daughters when they got home from school. I went up on the roof to make sure that everything was okay.
To my horror, I found that the raccoon had come back in broad daylight – very unusual for a nocturnal creature – and chewed a brand new hole in the side of my chimney. Unable to budge the boards I attached so firmly to his first hole, this little animal ate his way right through the chimney wall and was back in his “den,” snug and secure.
I stared at the hole for at least five minutes without thinking or feeling anything. I wasn’t angry. I gave up. It was time to get help. I looked through our yellow pages and found an organization called, “Wildlife Rescue and Rehabilitation Inc.”
I gave them a call and talked at length to a woman named Amanda. She knew exactly what the problem was.
"Your friend L., was right in normal circumstances. Usually if you seal up a raccoon's hole, he'll just move on to another place. In your case, however, you're dealing with a mother raccoon, and her babies are in your chimney. I'll stake my reputation on it. It's the only reasonable explanation for how determined she is to get back in. Raccoons are ferocious mothers. They will stop at nothing to get their babies. She will tear your house to pieces if that's what she has to do.
"What do we do?"
"Well, what is normally the right thing to do is now the wrong thing to do. If you keep stopping up her holes, she'll keep making new ones. Quit trying to force her to leave. You'll never win that battle. Instead, we're going to convince her to leave. And I know how to do it."
Coming Next: We try a new tactic, and I make peace with the raccoon.
rlp
3:58:46 PM 
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