Those god damned coons must know how I think! They are mind readers!

Those god damned raccoons won’t leave me alone! I think they are robots, programmed by DHS or one of their cloned PsyOps programs to ruin my life.

Mind control, 101:


UPDATE: note to self-stop using the word “conundrum.” It seems that those poorly written HS blogs have learned a new wurd.

And they are passing it around as if it is part of the seekrit code.


Well, anyways-the coons are back. In force. And, they are more ready to engage than ever.

I stepped out the door tonight, and I was once again confronted that the reality of having a pond in one’s very own backyard does indeed attract scavengers.

UNlike the last weeks incursions, this time, they were out for vengeance–and, they came in force.

This is one thing that is rather predictable about coons, and other vermin: when one feeder relinquishes the right to a territory, another scavenger takes over. I know a bit about that, because I am the product of a scavenger family myself;-)

So–those coons–tonight, I step out the door, and I hear a rustling–but I do NOT hear my pond pump, splashing on the water! And, that rustling was an odd sound–a chattering, almost, like voise on a wire, but with growling, grunting static.

And then, I saw them rush away from the pond–three or four coons, running for the trees!

Quite a sight in and of itself–but then the growling began. And it was no jokje*–what looked like a mother coon was staring me down from her perch in the tree–without a flashlight to shine upon them, I was virtually powerless.

A coon will charge you if they are caught, red handed, alone, or with babies. But they will NOT charge you directly unless they are rabid–they always warn you first.

So, I backed off, and got my flashlight–and my big Chinese cleaver ( a bone slicer).

Now this coon, a mother no doubt, took action: she hopped the fence to my left, circled my garage, from the left, and then came as close as she could before I caught her in the bright light of my floating flashlight–and she stopped.

And she glared.

And she growled, without budging an inch.

And I growled back, and I whacked my cleaver on the deck boards of my porch-and she didn’t back down one inch.

Mexican standoffs are odd things: one party waits for the other party to shoot, or to run, but neither happens. So, that’s when one must become creative: I flashed my light back and forth, on and off, and then, growled so loud I thought the neighbors might call the cops.

Which, worked, despite a moment where she inched forwards as I pulled back-just to see what SHE would do.

All I wanted was to retrieve some beer out of the garage fridge–but one of her rascals was in the tree above me!

and then, the above happened.

Well, she growled and grimaced behind the garage for about ten minutes after she backed down-my growl was bigger than hers–but her resolve was greater than my own. She had pups to lead out of the yard, and me, being a gentleman, retreated inside long enough for her to save face.

But that won’t stop her and her kin from coming round–I will have to set a couple of traps, again.

How is that, for insight into my thought processes? Is that helpful? Because, you don’t even want to know what I would have done with that cleaver–but I do hope I get the chance to demonstrate it to you and yours-as you have demonstrated yours, to mine.

You child killing cowards.

*jokje-is that Swedish, or Bangladeshi for joke? I dunno–ask the clowns.


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