When we decided to leave New York City for the green pastures of the suburbs, this is just the kind of thing I worried about…
Today our UPS guy brings a few packages to the door and says, “There’s a raccoon sleeping in your yard.”
Oh definitely. I’m sure the big guy is just doing a little sunbathing.
Or you know, he’s dead.
So between taking care of my two older girls and nursing my twins, I suddenly have to figure how to get rid of a big dead raccoon in my yard.
I call the police who send over an officer to confirm whether the animal is indeed dead. I’m pretty sure I saw a “Law and Order” with the same plot line.
The officer shows up and says, “Yup. He’s dead.”
“Well, how do I get rid of him? He’s huge. And he might have rabies. Yuck.”
“Throw him in a garbage bag.”
“I’m not getting near that thing.”
“Well, you can call a trapper who will charge you $150 to do the same thing.”
$150 bucks? No way. Apparently, it’s a slow day on the Westchester police beat because I convince the officer to help me. He instructs me to get a shovel, a garbage bag and some gloves. I make sure my kids are inside with the babysitter (I’m not up for fielding a lot of dead raccoon questions) and I gather the necessary equipment. Then the officer says,
“I’ll need you to hold the bag while I dump the raccoon in.”
Dude. I’m so not holding that bag. I’ll never sleep again if I have to get that close to a big, dead, nasty raccoon. Seriously.
And then he calls me a chicken. Now I’m being heckled by a police officer. Fabulous.
But suddenly I think of a better solution…. a box! I run to the basement. Remember how my girls almost burned down the kitchen when they lit the toaster oven on fire? Well, we just purchased a new toaster oven and the box is PERFECT RACCOON SIZE!
So the officer boxes up the animal and per his instructions, we put it on the side of the road to be picked up by sanitation…
Unless someone in need of a new toaster oven steals that box first.