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It would be easy and even cathartic for me to vent my spleen and other internal organs against raccoons, but I have been reading Lincoln lately, and I'm trying use his example as I wage a never-ending war on raccoons.
Perhaps no other leader in human history was as kind, gentle and forgiving, yet strong, purposeful and resolute, as Abraham Lincoln. His rare abilities turned opponents into friends who loved him and helped him save the Union.
Attorney Edwin M. Stanton of nearby Steubenville, Ohio, for example, rudely dismissed Lincoln from a legal case and privately called him "the original ape," yet Lincoln made Stanton his secretary of war and he became the most loyal and effective of allies. Stanton loved this wise, humorous, melancholy man, and wept for days when Lincoln was assassinated.
Citizens put up a brass statue of Stanton in Steubenville, depicting him with arm outstretched and the fingers of that hand slightly curled, unfortunately in such a way that it was just right to hold a beer bottle. Local wags used to oblige by climbing up and placing a bottle in his hand.
My point here is not to compare Edwin M. Stanton to a raccoon. Rather, it is to suggest that if you live-trap and relocate troublesome raccoons to "the country," you are my opponent, not my ally, in the raccoon war.
If raccoons would remain in their natural habitat, eating crayfish and frogs, I would be a devoted friend to raccoons.
But no, they must scatter our household garbage, tear down my sister's birdfeeders, and uproot my dear wife's potted plants. Worst of all, they consume and despoil the strawberries and sweet corn in my garden.
These are capital crimes. It is their behavior, not any native animus of mine, which has made me a reluctant conductor on the express train to Raccoon Heaven.
A friend whom I shall call Parsons, because that is his name, confesses to being a serial relocator. He should know better because he lives in the country. He told me that a couple of summers ago he trapped and relocated 13 raccoons. When the raccoon depredations did not diminish, he suspected they were finding their way back, like homing pigeons, so he spray-painted their backs yellow to test his hypothesis. This idea so impressed a neighbor that he began spray-painting his relocated raccoons blue.
To date no yellow or blue raccoons have come home. I wonder what people think when they find a painted raccoon in their live-traps. A government program? A game? A fad?
I would suggest painting their own raccoons green or purple before dropping them at Parsons' house. That should really confuse things.
(Marshmallows, by the way, are the never-fail best bait for raccoons. They cannot resist a sweet treat and are unafraid of traps, believing themselves too clever to be caught.)
My brother-in-law General Doc said when he learned a city dweller was trapping raccoons and dropping them off out our way, he placed a dead one on the man's yard. I strongly urge against doing that.
When I trap a raccoon, I kill it and toss it over the fence for Beaky, our family turkey vulture. He often finds it within the hour. This is the Circle of Life for raccoons on our farm: sweet corn, trap, death, Beaky.
During our recent graduation party in the barn for grandson Rufus, I was informed by a younger grandson, The 747, that a raccoon was in a trap in my garden. Groups of children were leaving the party and trooping over to look at it. The 747 said I should shoot it.
"I can't kill it in front of the children," I said, but eventually I gave in, thinking this might be a lesson for them in the realities of life in the country.
I do hope to hear of no "Lord of the Flies" type behaviors by those adolescents who witnessed the event. (By the way, a group of boys who actually were marooned on an island behaved in a very civilized manner instead of devolving into savagery as the author of that novel imagined.)
To recap: raccoons aren't homing pigeons, Edwin M. Stanton wasn't a raccoon, and if you drop off a raccoon on Gas Valley Road, Doc may put a dead one in your yard.
(Fred Miller's third book of stories, "A Dead Carp on Shadyside Ave." is $10 and available locally at Calcutta Giant Eagle, Pottery City Antique Mall, Museum of Ceramics, Frank's Pastries, Davis Bros. pharmacies, Connie's Kitchen restaurant, and the Old Ft. Steuben gift shop.)