In light of everything, particularly this year's garbage strike, our annual summer battle with the racoons hasn't been as bad this year. I think it's mostly because we've been winning. Well, if you consider it winning when every time you put out the garbage you have to go through an onerous process of unlocking and relocking and rehanging what constitutes our current security system. Or, emptying Clare's wading pool after every use so as to not have to wash the dirty little paw prints off the bottom of it the next day.
Still, not having to clean up garbage from our deck is considered a serious victory. We've been quite proud of ourselves this summer, in our ability to outwit the family of 5 (5!!) baby racoons and the mom and dad who daily visit our house. That is, until yesterday. In an attempt to scare of the little ones and maybe discourage them from coming around again, Rob started throwing things at the little buggers. We threw his sandals at them. They retaliated but carrying off one of his sandals under the deck. Dammit! There goes our winning streak!!
Talk to you soon,
B.
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Do your racoons live under the deck? If they do, you can convince them to leave by liberal use of tiger balm on pop sicle sticks. The smell makes them reconsider their choice of living quarters.
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