Animal Lovers Are Ruining My Marriage

I am surrounded by carnage.

And no, that is not a euphemism.

I walked out the door this morning to put some sheets on the line.  (aka the zip line.  After the washing machine stopped working, I decided that I actually like having my sheets dry outside.  We don't have an official line for the laundry, so the zipline works just fine.)  As I was headed to it, I literally tripped over some ribs.  Not ribs that we had for dinner.  An animal's rib cage.  I'm sure most people in that situation would be alarmed.  I wasn't.  I knew exactly where they came from. 

Last week Turken went out to play, but within seconds was back in to tell me that he found a big dead animal.  I looked out and saw the very large, very dead raccoon in my front yard.  You may recall that last week was a rough week.  I wasn't about to make it worse by dragging a dead animal anywhere.  I left it. 

Apparently the dogs messed with it a bit, as I found part of it under the tree on the other side of the yard.  After a couple of days, it started to stink.  Mightily.  I still didn't touch it.  Basically, Hubby and I turned into one of those marital showdowns of who can wait the other one out the longest.  Very mature.  Very considerate of us, too, as the kids pretty much had to avoid the entire area. 

Over the weekend,  part of our plan was to mow.  When Hubby asked me if I wanted to mow, as it is usually a chore I like to do, I promptly said, "No, go ahead.  I'm going to get things done in the house."  I knew that whoever mowed was going to have to deal with that partially-decayed, maggot-infested raccoon.

He mowed, I won. 

At least I thought I won, until I tripped over the rib cage. 

Hubby moved it alright.  When his mowing took him to the area of the raccoon, he simply moved it over with a stick and went on his merry way.

After hanging the sheets, heading back to the house, I noticed two dark lumps on the other side of the walkway.  Upon closer inspection, I realized that there are now two more dead raccoons.

I've heard there is another one in the far corner of the side yard.

City-folk must be busy.

Soon after we moved here, I was driving home behind a pick-up truck.  When we stopped at a red light, I saw that the back of the truck was piled high with cages.  In each of those cages was a live, full-grown raccoon.

I sat at the red light with my mouth hanging open.  We don't live in the south where some people still raise 'coon dogs.  There is no 'coon club where folks can come with their 'coon dogs and hunt 'coons.  It seems we have people who live-trap wild animals then release them in the country, thinking they are being kind and taking care of God's creatures.  (That, or they are just too squeemish to deal with the dead animal a real trap would leave.)

Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there is no happily ever after for those wild animals.

These people are releasing their raccoons into the country, where country dogs will then make sport of capturing those 'coons and leaving them as gifts for their owners. 

And the dogs don't leave those gifts out in a field where nature can take it's course.  They leave them directly in front of the house.  In precisely the one spot that a vulture will not venture.

So Hubby and I can be reminded each and every time we leave the house, look out the window, or send our kids out to play, that our children got their stubborn streaks from us.

I ain't movin' those raccoons.

(It just dawned on me that I have now proven that I am not a redneck.  Wouldn't a redneck have grabbed up those 'coons and cooked them up some supper?)


Happy Flag Day!  (I know it's Flag Day, because my mom was kind enough to give birth to my brother on Flag Day.  Happy Birthday, Donnie!)