So the last time I checked in with you all, I had left a toaster oven box (with a giant dead raccoon inside) on the curb to be picked up by our garbage guys. Or by anyone else. I’m not that picky.
Except there was one little hiccup with the plan.
No one took the box.
It was just sitting there the next morning. I guess it wasn’t “dead raccoon pick up day” because the sanitation guys pried open the box a bit, apparently looked inside and then left it there.
Because there’s no animal control office in our town, Rick called the police who said we should just drop it off at the dump. And Rick was conveniently at work. And I still wasn’t getting near that box.
So our dead raccoon just sat there baking in the sun. Until my dad took pity on me. He was in town helping me with my 4 million (I mean, 4) kids and he promised to take care of the raccoon situation on his way home to Cape Cod.
“So what are you going to do with it?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put the box in my car and somewhere between here and Cape Cod, I’ll unload it.”
It all sounded a little mafia-like but I was in no position to critique his raccoon disposal methods.
I like to think that he found a nice woodsy spot, maybe in the Providence, Rhode Island area, to serve as the raccoon’s final resting place.
Or maybe he just dumped it on the side of I95. Probably somewhere close to my house because how long can a man drive with a rotting animal in his car?!
But the point is… the problem is finally solved.
Rick and I celebrated that night by taking our children downtown for ice cream. Because nothing brings closure to a decomposing dead raccoon adventure like a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone with sprinkles.
By the way – this is what it looks like when we walk with two double strollers.