Its a Cruel World Sometimes...

I awoke in the middle of the night to such a ruckus in the yard. Ahh..raccoons! They seemed to be in the tall oak tree just a few feet from the house. This is a tall, Red Oak or "Water Oak". It towers over the house unlike the more squatty, wide Live Oaks. It is probably a good fifty or sixty feet tall and has few limbs as it was damaged by storms in the past. The coons seemed to be quite a ways up the tree judging by the sounds. This kept up for some time, making for a sleepless night for me and an miserable night for Ezzy. She was agitated by their screams and wanted to be let out so she might squelch that awful racket! After a night of squabbles in the tree top over the house, I heard a loud "whomp" as a raccoon smacked the roof. After a bit of clambering around on the rooftop...quiet..too quiet. No more shrill snarls, gurgling growls or menacing hisses. Just quiet. The dog soon settled down and I fell back to sleep. Ahh...peaceful sleep!

In the morning, Ms. Ez and I headed to the pier unaware that something was amiss. We enjoyed our usual walk but were chased inside by the light mist of a rain. Once in, I was startled to hear moans..sad, painful moans. Ezzy again became agitated. She wanted outside! I listened again to hear a weak moan...something was hurting! Leaving the dog inside, I slipped out and made my way around the side of the house. For an instance, I did not see anything that could be making the sound but then my eyes focused through the early morning grayness. In the rose garden was a small mound of dark fur. Another weak moan and the little body convulsed. Oh, my goodness! My poor baby raccoon! I eased over to the small furry heap. The little raccoon tried to lift its head. It was then that I realized that my baby raccoon was dying. Its back hips were broken and it was convulsing badly from the pain. Within minutes, the life drained from its little body and tears welled up in my eyes.

This young raccoon would come for handouts almost every day. I believe this is one of the little ones that I had found near the pier. As the raccoon aged, it never caught up in size with the others around the Bayou. I called it "my baby" even though it was an adult. Compared to others its age, it had only reached about half the size it should have..probably only weighing in about six or seven pounds. Although, it was small in stature, it was huge in character! The little rascal was my friend. Just last month, I wrote how it would come receive handouts of cat food and sunflower seeds. The little tyke would climb up my pants leg trying to grasp my camera but never once tried to "bite the hand that fed it". Now, my little friend is gone.

Mark came out and buried the raccoon in the drizzling rain. It was fitting that it was such a dreary morning for such a dismal task. If it is possible to mourn for a wild animal, I was surely doing it. Later, Son came out and placed some concrete pallets on the burial site to keep any marauding animals from trying to uncover the body. When I took Ezzy out for her afternoon hike, I noticed the site. There sitting on the ground were two concrete chunks..one laid down flat and the other sitting upright. A headstone..Son knew I would miss my little friend and he thought this might be a fitting memorial. Sure..the "headstone" will not stay there forever but somehow...it does seem "right". A little life cut short.

I am assuming that the "coon fight" from the night before was the large, rogue male protecting his territory. I had witnessed this time and time again. The large, dominant male will kill any young that is not his own. This is the time of year that the females are having their little ones so the large males are extremely territorial. My poor little raccoon must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps, he was seeking comfort by crawling to the rose garden..hunting for the one friend that could help him...but I could not. And my heart breaks....