This morning I woke up to Minerva losing her f-ing mind. She barks a lot in the mornings anyway: we have deer regularly wandering through our yard and she is always on HIGH ALERT, certain the deer are plotting an invasion.
But when her bark changed from “HEY! HEY! HEY! YOU THERE! HEY! THIS IS MY YARD! EVERYBODY KNOWS IT!” to the higher pitched “OHMYFUCKINGGODIT”SANINVASIONHELPHELPHELP!” I figured I should at least look.
And from the deck, in my robe, I saw two terrified little bandit boogers hiding (unsuccessfully) behind some sticks outside the dog fence. They were cowering. Poor little dudes. I put Minerva inside so she could catch her breath (she was jumping against the fence like a mad banshee) and watched for a minute. I may not want raccoons in my yard, house, etc., but those teenage sized ones are cute as hell. They lumbered out of their hidey hole and wandered away, only to turn up INSIDE the dog fence twenty minutes later. They found discarded birdseed (our birds are picky jerks) and the dogs’ water bowl in the yard.
Butterfle, who spends most of her free time on the swings, had an excellent view. She warned us not to let the dogs out and took the picture above. Later she gave us the all-clear, because while I don’t really want raccoons hanging out around here, I also don’t want to clean up a bloodbath in the dogs’ yard. They’re just babies…I just want them to move along.
They seem to have gone back to their den to sleep now that it’s late morning. I spent an hour on the interwebs making sure daytime raccoons don’t immediately mean rabid raccoons (it does not: they’re just hungry teens who slept late, much like two teens inside this house), and now I need to find hot sauce or cayenne pepper to add to the bird seed to deter more scavenging.
Butterfle and Stone christened the bandits Fred and George. We’ll see what sort of trouble they get into this summer. The bandits, I mean, not the twins.
Or both.
No Pithy Phrase 