Wednesday, April 12, 2006, 20:01
The Screamin' Meemies. . .
I had no more than settled myself on "the rock" in our backyard Tuesday afternoon when I heard one of the raccoon babies in the barn screaming at the top of its lungs.
Since it was such a lovely day on Tuesday afternoon -- bright, sunny, warm and breezy -- just like it is today -- I had decided to take a little break and go sit out on the rock table.
I heaved a sigh, got up and walked down to the lean-to.
By the time I got there, the baby had stopped screaming.
Momma Raccoon has moved her children down closer to the floor. If I stand by the barn wall and listen closely, I can hear them moving around in there and chattering softly to themselves. This is one of those times that I wish I had x-ray vision, because the babies are only on the other side of a thin piece of metal that makes up the barn wall.
I leaned toward the wall, barely daring to breathe.
And as I listened closely, I heard "Hmmmm-mmmmmmm-mmmmm" and the quiet smacking sounds of a baby nursing its mother.
Well, all-righty then. One of the babies must have been bent out of shape because he or she got left out of the lunch line -- but now everything was okay because the youngster had squeezed in and was able to nurse.
The veterinarians at the vet clinic tell me to shoot the raccoons and kill them to get them out of the barn.
Other people have said the same thing.
I have a problem with that.
Momma Raccoon and her babies are God's creatures -- just like you and I are God's creatures. She has a right to live her life and to raise her family, just like you and I deserve to live our lives and raise our families.
It's just that I would rather not go through $50 worth of cat food a week to feed a bunch of raccoons -- even if they are cute.
And I would just as soon not have to clean up the mess they make. The raccoons tend to turn the horse water and the kitty water into a muddy mess. They also leave raccoon poop all over the hay.
But -- Momma Raccoon will have a chance to raise her babies, just as long as she behavies herself and doesn't try to attack any of the barn kitties. And when the raccoon-kids are big enough to wander around, we will try our best to coax them -- and their mother -- into the live trap.
It could be worse, I suppose. Last night when we took the dogs for a walk after supper, one of our neighbors drove by and stopped to tell us that a young male wolf had come into his yard and had attacked his dog. The dog lived to tell about it, although he was torn up some from the fight. The neighbor had called the DNR warden, who said he had been waiting to start to get such calls. It is breeding season for the wolves, and the young males are kicked out of the pack to go and fend for themselves. The neighbor also said the martens and fishers had made quick work of his ducklings. Last year he started out with 16 ducklings -- and ended up with two.
About the Rock Table -- Eight years ago, the rock that makes up our rock table was part of the bank across the road from our house. One day, it slid down the bank, and the township road crew dragged it across the road to get it out of the way. My husband took our 460 Farmall and hauled into the yard, used the bucket to lift up the corners and put rocks underneath it to form a 'rock table.' If you look closely at it, you can see that the sandstone rock is filled with tiny seashells and that it is rippled from water flowing across it. At one time, the rock was part of a vast, shallow, in-land sea. Many of the rocks around here contain seashells.
The rock table was also instrumental in saving Pixie's life the first night that we had her. (I have included the story below if you are interested.)
LeAnn R. Ralph
Tuesday, April 11, 2006, 20:27
Eerie Noises in the Night. . .
"What is that?" I said to myself.
I had gone down to let Charlie out Sunday evening and to feed Isabelle and Kajun more hay and to check their water.
As soon as I walked in the barn, I heard it.
At first, it seemed to me that the noise sounded like something gasping for breath. I could clearly hear it as soon as I walked in the barn. The sound was coming from within the hay by the north wall.
"What IS that?" I repeated.
My horse, Kajun, did not pay any attention to the eerie noise. And the barn kitties, the three that showed up, didn't pay any attention to it, either.
Since there were only three barn kitties -- Momma Kitty was not there -- I began to wonder if she was sick and had crawled down into the hay.
I went outside to listen next to the wall by the lean-to. I could hear the sound there, as well.
I gave Kajun hay and went outside to give Isabelle hay. Then I went back to the house for the big flashlight. The windup Illuminator is an awesome flashlight, but I figured I needed something more heavy duty for this particular purpose.
With the flashlight in hand, I climbed up on the hay and stood listening. If Momma Kitty was sick -- or dying -- would I be able to do anything to help her? She's a wild cat, and under the best of circumstances, does not want people to get too close to her.
But what if Momma Kitty had kittens?
The sound, however, did not seem like kittens. But if it *was* kittens, they would be at least a month premature, and I would not be able to do anything for them.
The noise, the longer I listened, did not exactly sound like something gasping for breath. And it did not sound like kittens mewing. It sounded more like. . .chattering. . .like something chattering softly.
Not one thing chattering. . .several things. . .chattering and chittering. . .chittering and chattering. . .
"What is that?" I said out loud to our Springer Spaniel, Charlie, who had climbed up on the hay with me.
As soon as I spoke out loud, the sound switched off.
I stood there for a minute, and then came the soft chattering. . .chittering. . .chattering. . .chittering. . .
I was just reaching for the bale of hay to pull it back when the thought crossed my mind--
What if it's a momma raccoon with babies?
If I pulled the bale back, I did not fancy trying to fend off a 30-pound raccoon who would be extremely determined to protect her children.
And, come to think of it, the chattering DID sound like raccoons. . .
"Come on, Charlie," I said.
Monday morning when I went down to the barn, once again I heard the soft chittering. . .chattering -- except that now it was farther down in the hay, closer to the floor.
Monday evening when Randy came home from work we went down to the barn. Or actually, we went down to the lean-to, where we both bent forward, listening intently. My dad built the lean-to onto the original barn as a place to keep his tractor. We keep the lawn mowers in there now and other assorted odds and ends.
"Do you hear it?" I whispered.
My husband nodded. "Sounds like. . .raccoons. Yes, I think it's raccoons."
Oh, great.
The raccoon that's been eating kitty food in the barn all winter, in spite of my best efforts not to leave out enough to feed a hungry raccoon, has now decided to have her babies in my stack of hay?
"I would *hate* to pull that bale back and have momma raccoon launch herself at the top of my head," Randy said.
Good point.
So, after a great deal of discussion, Randy and I decided to leave well enough alone for now
In the meantime, Randy is going to make sure the live-trap is in tip-top shape. As soon as the babies are moving around and momma takes them outside for jaunts, we will launch an all-out effort to live trap the momma and her babies. Then they will be re-located to the river or the lake -- someplace far enough away that they won't make their way back and someplace where they will be able to find food for themselves.
Also in the meantime, I am going to change the way I feed the barn kitties. They really like it when I mix dry food with canned kitty food. If I do that, they eat everything at once when I put it out for them. That way, there won't be any extra food sitting around the barn. Perhaps, if there's no food source, Momma Raccoon will get the idea that the barn isn't quite such a rosy place to live as she thought at first.
Isabelle-- The vet arrived on Monday at 12:30 p.m. to give Isabelle her shots. The appointment was, of course, for 11 a.m. I know how that goes, though. Vets get delayed at one place by 20 minutes and at another place by 30 minutes and somewhere else by 10 minutes and then the next thing you know, they're running an hour and a half late.
Unfortunately, the vet was in such a hurry that he didn't take any time to let Isabelle sniff him and get used to him. This is by way of saying that the vaccinations did not go all that great. I am quite sure no one has ever vaccinated her for anything before. And now I am worried that Isabelle has got it in her head she should be afraid of someone who smells like a veterinarian. Most horses are apprehensive around vets, anyway. Kajun is. He was so goofy I couldn't even catch him, so he didn't get any vaccinations at all. Maybe next time when Isabelle gets her booster shots. But I wouldn't hold my breath waiting.
First Spring Flowers-- I've got some flowers blooming! The first spot of color this spring in the yard! Some people think of them as weeds, but not me. The flowers are bright and cheerful. And later on in the summer, if it becomes dry and everything else has burned up, these leaves will remain green.
And speaking of flowers, I uncovered my 10-year-old rosebush this morning. The one the barn cats almost killed last year tunneling underneath the straw around it to make a cubbyhole to wait for me to come out at night to feed them. The stems of the old rosebush are green! And there are a couple of budding leaves along the stems! I think this is a good sign. My old rosebush just might have made it through the winter.
LeAnn R. Ralph
