At 3:00 in the morning, I heard a bang outside and instantly knew what it was. That hollow boom could only come from the garbage bin tipping over. It wasn't windy out, and the bin was up against the hedge, so I suspected what I'd find. Put on the robe and padded outside barefoot, and found the green compost bin tipped over. And yep, a raccoon was sitting on the black garbage bin beside it, looking at me with an expression like "Who, me?"
I turned on the front light and the raccoon skedaddled into the hedge. But when I bent to pick up the green bin, it was heavy and made scrabbly noises... Gingerly I lifted the lid, and out shot two more raccoons. One fled to the right, the other fled to the left and realized too late that he was about to collide with my legs. We both did a little hop-jump dance to avoid crashing, and he disappeared into the hedge, where he turned and hissed at me like a snake.
The two were all quite small and compact bundles of fur, probably juveniles. Isn't that just like a teenager, going around getting into mischief and waking people up. I imagine the telling-off they'll give their mother: "You lifted the lid and told us to go in! He made it tip over, not me! What kind of mom are you, leaving your children behind while you run for cover?" Ah, the joy and squabbles of family life.
Of course all the commotion woke Brio, so I let him out in the backyard but on a leash. Glad I didn't let him just run loose, because he picked up the scent of the raccoons and started strutting around, huffing and fizzing, acting tough and scrappy, pretending he was half bloodhound instead of half poodle. "Yeah, run away, boys! Just be glad she found you and not me!"
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