Raucous Raccoons

Backing up into my driveway late one dark night, I noticed a large shadow slugging slowly over the front lawn. As I parked, I noticed another, then a third. Barely illuminated by the house's Christmas lights I thought, "What kind of dogs are those? And what are they doing on my front lawn?" Wanting a better look, I pulled out of the driveway and drove back straight in, so my headlights could reveal these animals. They were too big for skunks, I thought.

They were raccoons! And huge ones too. Oh, no, I turned off my engine and sat. I was too frightened to get out of my car. Looking around, I remembered my car windows were broken and stuck down a ways, with the back-left one down completely. I did not want the intruders entering my car, especially with me inside. I had to make a decision. Be brave, Joe, I told myself as I took a deep breath and opened the car door.

The raccoons took quick notice of me, barely being ten feet away. From nowhere appeared a fourth, to my immediate left. Then a fifth to my right. I was completely outnumbered as they seemed a wall separating me from my house. My heart started pounding. The raccoon to my left stood on its hind legs to frighten me, followed by the one on the right. Not looking at them, I stepped forward, hoping to split their line.

Feeling I wasn't worth a fight, the masked marauder to my left wandered under my mother's car. But I didn't trust it. The one on the right wandered away into the darkness. Fearing this gang could jump me, I refocused on my front door and pressed forward. But one raccoon ran before me and beat me into the courtyard. Oh no, this now seemed like a losing battle. I knew that raccoons were very cunning, and excellent strategists as well as tacticians. I remembered a similar standoff long ago in the mountains, where a horde of raccoons harassed us but finally did not attack and eventually crawled off. That memory gave me some confidence these raccoons would not attack me now.

Creeping toward my courtyard to get to the front door, I was only two feet from two stubborn bandits. They were eating my persimmons on the lawn! That's why the whole family was here and wouldn't budge. They were feasting on my persimmons! Now it made sense, but before I could relish in the discovery, the two with bad table manners snarled loudly at me, making me jump to the gate of the courtyard.

Yet I froze there. Where was the intruder that had gone before me? I could not find it among the large potted plants. Trying a tactic of my own, I held out my car keys and shook them hoping to either scare the hiding raccoon away or draw him out. Nothing. No movement, no sound.

Taking a last deep breath, I walked into the courtyard straight for my front door; my salvation, my safety, my freedom. Peering over both shoulders to make sure I wasn't being followed, I quickly swung open the door, and swung it closed even quicker behind me, where I let out my breath.

Skunked

"Go home!" I yelled out, at the skunk staring me in the face, some fifteen feet away. So it took me seriously and turned and lumbered off. I then entered my home in peace.

I'm tired of scattered skunks visiting my premises in the late afternoon. Where do they all come from? I live in the suburbs, not the foothills. Everybody is so scared of skunks, dashing at the mere sight of them. But for me, I get mad at them for dropping by uninvited. And at a safe distance, I usually yell at them and they leave.

Last summer I was vacuuming my pool before sunset. Feeling a presence at my right, I turned to find a skunk had entered my gate, and was reviewing me from the other side of the pool.

"Go back!" I yelled out, with a voice full of authority and confidence. And without hesitation, the young skunk made an about face back through the gate.

I have every right to be mad at them. They dig up all my freshly planted pansies, as well as the dianthus. The skunks stealthily sneak in at night, and dig into the soft soil to nibble at the roots. The next morning I discover the dug soil supporting a semi-withered flower, only to fall dead at my slightest touch, its roots completely gone.

Now for those of you slightly shocked at my stand against skunks, remember, they are peaceful animals and will only spray you if endangered. When cornered, or an aggressor moves in too close, the skunk will face the aggressor and stomp the ground as a warning. At this point the attacker should reconsider and flee. If not, the skunk will turn and spray the threat, up to fifteen feet with deadly accuracy.

Knowing this, I've never come that close to my silent stalkers. I find staring and shouting at them to leave does the trick.

On any given night I might be awakened by a trespasser toppling over a flowerpot. Then I'm reminded of who's out there by that horrid stench that seems to permeate the walls. I do hate that stink, however I can assume the scavenging skunks think I stink for confronting them and demanding they leave my flower gardens alone.

Don't Duck

The pair of mallards must have been lost, for they decided to make a rest stop, and landed in my swimming pool. This had never before happened in my twenty years of pool ownership. The mallard couple, a male and a female, swam around the deep end, paddling sometimes in circles, trying to make friends with a white duck that was there before them. After several unsuccessful tries, the mallards left the host alone and decided to explore what else this rest stop had to offer.

The brown female paddled toward the shallow end, possibly looking for something that just wasn't there. The green-headed male, on the other hand, decided to climb out of the pool and cross the dry cement. He disappeared into the bushes.

About five minutes had passed when the male mallard wobbled back out of the bushes to rejoin his spouse in the water. He obviously had not found what he was looking for either. Regrouping, they both paddled back to the deep, attempting one last communication with the white duck. Still, the duck would not quack with them. So they paddled ever closer to this duck, which was now facing them, and barely a foot away. The couple kept from quacking and just stared at this incredibly rude white duck, for being so averse to interact with them.

Having enough of this inhospitable rest stop host, the mallards took to the air and flew off. The white duck, bobbing its head up and down, still said not a word, for it was not feathered, but plastic.

The Persimmon Birds

But this new breed of bird would not stir. They would not scare away by my jumping and clapping. I even hissed at them. Ignoring me, they kept pecking at the remaining persimmons until there were only a few left for me.

I was in wonder about this new bird; they looked like small bluejays but with light green stomachs. Either they were too caught up in eating the persimmons off my two trees to notice me, or they indeed were fearless.

And so, after a minute of my own squawking, I gave up. It was finally their time, the birds' time to win. Before them, the sparrows scared away very easily. I would run out to my trees and clap, they would scamper in two seconds. The crows would surrender too. These huge birds, landing in my trees in pairs, would take turns taking huge bites of my persimmons on the highest branches. After my live scarecrow show, it seemed the crows had to debate leaving, turning their heads from left to right. Then they would clumsily push off into the air, cawing obscenities at me.

Then the screeching from hell arrived in my trees by the dozens. And hundreds more large green Pasadena parrots filled the nearby skies, awaiting their turn to land in masses. At first I was shocked by the invasion, then running outside in pajamas, actually took a moment to admire these beautiful birds hanging upside down ripping my harvest to shreds. These picturesque yet noisy birds sported red feathers on their heads. But nevertheless, I snapped from my short stupor and clapped only once. Scattering them in an instant, all screeching back at me as if I ruined their vacation buffet. These pretty parrots were the most scaredy-cat of all the birds. I guess they were chickens.

So I let this first new batch of birds with green chests stay in my persimmon trees, and win. It wasn't a total win for the birds, for I had spent the last two months picking persimmons by the hundreds and giving boxes away to friends, and pairs to passersby. I also walked back into the house knowing, in the big picture, I had won. For I had eaten with great enjoyment at least one persimmon every day the past two months, and sometimes more!