Sewanee Nightlife

Four years ago, I was sitting on the living room couch, reading, with the windows open to a cool October evening. I kept hearing a little noise on my porch, a snuffling as if Ewoks were visiting and comparing notes. I glanced out the window and saw nothing.

I sat; I read.

I heard the Ewok burble (http://www.seaworld.org/animal-info/sound-library/audio/racoonbabies.wav) again and looked again. Still nothing but darkness. However, I started hearing the shuffle of spent birdseed. After a third set of noises, I turned off the living room lights, went to the front door, got down on all fours, gently opened the door, and peered toward the noise. Three sets of raccoon eyes stared at me. Babies! I thought and was pleased.

Boy was that a mistake. Once they find you, they and their descendants keep coming back for more. I am in a continuous battle with them for sovereignty of my bird feeders, front and back. Last night, one kept returning to the porch despite my scary noises. And this morning when I opened the deck door, I wasn't altogether surprised to find another finch feeder missing from the in-ground pole. This makes four that have gone the way of woods, having been bitten through and dragged off by the crafty creatures.

So, here's the lesson I've learned the hard way. The masked bandit I loved at the zoo as a child is a pest, as are Bambi and all of her kin. Living among wild things requires . . . patience . . . or a trap!