I have an amazing story to tell you. I have been holding onto this one for months. I think this might have been the most astounding and surreal thing that happened to me while I was trapped in the USA.
So it is a normal morning. For a given value of normal. My kids are outside playing and my step-dad is outside working in the yard. (garden, whatever. I can not translate everything for you. I kinda can not translate anything anymore. shuddup)
There are many dogs barking. Step-daddy (hereafter known as Pat-Pat) goes to investigate. There is a raccoon.
For my British readers; I guess you will just have to think of this as a fox. It is fine to feed it, but only if you know that it is totally possible that the cute little bugger might decide at any given moment that it would rather eat your face than the treats in your hands. Meh.
There is a raccoon in the bushes. It is being all friendly and…oddly thirsty. It is not afraid of the dogs or people. This is a bit strange, but not overly worrying. The Pat-Pat tries to run it off. It just moves into the next yard. All of the barking brings out the neighborhood kids. There are now twenty-hundred kids surrounding the ‘friendly’ raccoon, either poking it with sticks or throwing food at it, depending on the gender of the kid.
This is when I bring my kids in the house. I am sorry, but I do not let my kids play with wild animals that are mysteriously active during the day and wandering around looking both high and sniffy. My kids were FURIOUS about my decision. “But the other kids get to play with it!! It’s *cute*! The raccoon is hungry mumma! ” Yeah. No.
That raccoon wandered around the neighborhood trying to die for about two hours. Where does it decide to live out it’s last few hours? Yep. On our front lawn. Of course. My parents decide to take a nap.
There are many man-folk in the neighborhood. One plaid-wearing man says ” Welp, i would help you, but i left my guns up in the cabin.” One man-folk sits on his fancy-porch-extension and says “gosh you should do something!” One man drives buy and shouts: “call this number!” This number belonged to the local police. I have now called the police on myself. Wonderful.
I am frightened, confused and pissed off. Why is it up to ME to do this? I do not even live here! Do these kids not have parents?
“Oh Hello! Um, i know you can not do anything about this, um. But I have a dying and probably diseased raccoon in my front yard and there are a tone of kids poking it with sticks, and um, do you know whom I should call about this?”
RRRRuuuuuuRRRRRuuuuu rrrrruuuurrrr…The Police show up. All 90 of them. At least, in America, you now that when you call the police, they will show up, in force and within minutes.
Now I have 90 police in front of my parent’s yard. I DO NOT EVEN LIVE HERE. I am wearing sweatpants and a Detroit Lions T-shirt. I could have been a front for a robbery. I did not look like I belonged in front of that house. They never questioned the fact that a white trash girl was taking control of a high-class neighborhood.
I want you to take particular care reading these DIRECT quotes from the police;
Do you have a shovel?
(uh yeah) Yes, yes I do. I think we know where this is going. I give the policeman the shovel .
Do you have a box?
(uh…) Let me look. *much looking happens. My parents are still asleep* No, no i do not have any kind of box or pet carrier. I am so sorry.
I need to call my Sargent. He might have a K-9 carrier.
29 hundred police and one Sargent show up. I am astounded that we do not have fire trucks. yet.
The Sargent looks at the dying, diseased raccoon, lying on the lawn of a million dollar housing gated community surrounded by 20 hundred kids and says (and I quote..all of this is real) AND SAYS:
The policeman looks at me, the kids, the big houses and then slowly, back at his Sargent. Then he says, with conviction; ” NO, *you* Shoot It! ”
I have to admit that I laughed (in my ever crumpling mind) at this foolishness at this point. NO, YOU SHOOT IT! bwahhaaaaa
They managed to call a k-9 unit with a cage for the poor raccoon. They used the shovel to urge it into the cage. The poor policeman on the scene managed to step in much dog poop during this ordeal. Mr. porch extension offered his help at this point. ” I have a hose if your shoes are dirty” Yeah, they blanked him.
I managed to assure the kids that THEY WILL TAKE THE RACCOON TO A VET AND HE WILL BE FINE! RIGHT POLICEMEN? They said yes and they were awesome. They made it down to the end of the street and I swear I could hear the gunshots. So, no, then.
I then walked the half mile to a shop/store and bought some wine. I was so done with all of the foolery. The kids came with me. We braved the no-sidewalk/pavement half mile death-walk of the USA. I even bought them snax and ice creams. Believe me when I say that I was done and had laid my burdens down.
I walk in the house. I have a back-pack full of wine and bubble-gum. My lovely posh parents say:
“hey, have you seen that raccoon?”
I fell out. And when I tell you that I fell out, I am not making that up. I CACKLED people. I hit the floor, laughed the laugh where you cannot speak, and just walked (crawled) away with my wine.
I met Mr. Raccoon Policeman at the library a week later. I am thankful for their help. I am also slightly ashamed.
Next up; the one where I put a hound in someone’s house at random. kinda. At least it is policeman free.