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The kids nightly bath time with daddy means it's time for me to do my "chores". I headed in the laundry room to do the nightly load and hear a nasty chewing sounds coming from the back deck. "Awe, our poor Kiz. Our old def dog is noisily scarf'n some food." I thought to myself as I went to the back door to look out on our giant golden retriever. When I looked down on the dog food bowl I did NOT see old man Kiz...I saw a FAMILY of Raccoons!

This began happening nightly. Those fat daddy 'coons would down an entire dog feeder full in a matter of hours. We tried to start bringing in the dog food at night but would of course forget. They ate at least one big bag of dog food on their own. I'd had enough. This was getting expensive. One of the nights we'd forgotten, I flung open the door baring a broom to shoo them away from the food so I could bring it in...That Mean Booger hissed and swatted at me!!!! I screamed for Matt to come help me. THAT was the night the Raccoon Slayer was born.

My Grand Husband.
The protector.
The defender. The Raccoon Slayer!

It was annoying enough that these 'coons were eating his dogs food and were known to be mean to dogs but get'n feisty with his wife- NO! Matt had a plan. For a week he would rush down from bath to bait the 'coons with the food. Each night he would practice perfecting his killer tactics {yeah, I saw what I did there}. He went in armed with his sword which normally finds it's home under our bed...for burglars... He added gloves for a better grip on the blade {he chose to attempt to smack it with the heavy handle rather than chop it in 1/2 to save himself some clean up}. Then came better food wear as to not fall when whipping open the back door leading onto the well lit back deck were the rumble was planned to go down. Night after night we would watch a family of at least 4-5 raccoons make their trek to our porch to chow down on some SAMs Club dog food. Must be good stuff.

Finally came the night. Dog in the garage {for his own safety}. The porch light was on. Dog food in place, centered in the middle of the small square back deck. Back door unlocked and slightly cracked. Matt perched in a chair geared for battle. Waiting. They approached boldly. No caution about them. As if this were their turf. Matt waited until the first one was in place. He slung open the door and swung the handle end of the sword all in one fluid motion. SWWWwwwaaaaake! It was a near miss. Shattering the giant sword handle into several pieces. STANK!

Matt returned from battle laughing but obviously frustrated. Placing the pieces of his weapon on the counter with an air of defeat, he explained to me that he needed to find a new weapon. He marched down to the basement and dug for a proper tool for such a project. Not knowing where he'd gone, I peeked out the back door looking for the varmints. I saw him with the flashlight below. Thinking my self very cleaver, I began scratching on the door frame and making a terribly nasty chewing noise. He Scrambled! Rather than hustling up the back stairs on to the deck like I assumed he would do, he took off up the other set of stairs to the side deck and in the playroom door. I nearly fell on the floor laughing! I met him in the kitchen joining the playroom and laundry. He blew past my laughing-self to the back door. He wasn't scared of the creature seemingly on the deck, he was ready for a rumble! Finally I explained that it was me, not the evil nocturnal, making the sounds. He was not as amused as I.

In the following nights he did make contact with a couple but none of the 'coons met their demise. Enough was enough. He upped his game! He had weeks invested in this hunt and there was no way they were going to win. It was time to wip out the big guns {again, pun intended}. He'd considered poison but opted to round-up less risky ammo -1 live trap and a pellet gun- from a friend. Upon inspecting the live trap he decided these varmints were too large for the size of this small case and he wasn't quite sure where to "release" them one by one night after night. He went with the open kitchen window and pellet gun. He practiced his aim on cans from various distances before the big night. Pretty good shot for a non-hunter!

Warning: the following is 
not for the faint of heart
or for the animal rights picketers!

Sunday September 23rd, 2012

THE big night he'd been training for was finally here! Again, the porch light was on. Food in place. Door cracked. Window open. Chair and gun in place.

Matt had been pacing back and forth from the living room to his kill zone. Then. Then I heard it! Pop! Scramble. "Julie. Come here! I got one!" I dropped what I was doing and took off! When I got to the back door to look through the glass at his kill I did not find a lifeless creature to be sad over. I found an evil rabid flailing beast tossing about making a wretched racket. Even my {literally} def dog had aroused to check it out. After being clawed at, Kiz wasn't sure how to respond. He batted back and made a slight growl as he lunged forward at the 'coon as if to say, "I could take you!" That poor evil thing flopped right between the railing and plopped down onto the concrete patio below.

{insert eery silence}

 Camera in hand I ask if it was dead and creeeeked the door open. Matt gazed below at his 1st ever kill. Lil creepy.

No "awes"!!! That innocent-looking varmint has held us captive in our house for a least a month after he and his posse hissed and threatened me. Look at that lil turd holding his chest trying to insight pitty. {sniff} NO! Stay strong!

After making Matt walk {partially} down the stairs with flashlight in hand to take the picture, for fear of a sneak attack from the 'coon brothers, we heading back inside not really knowing what to do with ourselves. We {mainly He} felt great relief and accomplishment yet now a sad let down. Hmmm, I killed one...

I went back to writing and Matt paced once again from the living room chair to the back of the house. Very shortly another, heartless, must-have-just-sniffed-and-passed-his-friends-cold-dead-yet-furry-body-and-come-right-on-up-the-stairs raccoon appeared on the back deck munching away at the Member's Mart filled bowl. {apparently, I was typing like a fool}. Cat Cat! The gun went off. I waited.....Matt wandered into the living room and calmly continued into the entry way. I thought, but would NEVER utter to my husband. "Awe." Then I gently asked, "Did you miss?" "Nope." he responded. "ReeeEeeealy!?!" "Nope, it's dead."

I was baffled! And finished my interrogation of the throw-down all the way to the kitchen as I followed him and his newly found gloves back into the open window. He started to go out and remove the creature but couldn't. Yet ANOTHER heartless boozer was seemingly unaware that his sister was lifeless right next to the nearly empty bowl he was scrounging for left-overs out of. They're not opossums! She's not faking! Come on.

You see, they really ARE heartless evil rabbies-carrying fur bags who must be slain.

Matt shot at number 3 but only nicked it with such short notice and it scrambled off to lick it's wounds. So far, the count is 2 confirmed deaths, at least 4 injured and more stories to come!

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