Several years ago, I had some raccoons making an apartment of my chimney. Fortunately for me, it is sealed off from inside the house, and non-functional as a fireplace. They had snuggled down from the roof to enjoy it because, as there was no chimney cap at the time, they had easy access.
It was summer, so my upstairs windows were open. I was in bed one night when I heard my cat start yowling. I jumped up, ran over to the window and saw a raccoon clawing at the window screen. He was ready and willing to come inside and eat my cat’s food that was sitting nearby.
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All of a sudden, this memory from long ago popped into my mind. One summer, back when I was in college, I worked on my Uncle’s farm. I earned $500 which I use to buy myself a fancy bicycle. I biked all around the area during my free time. And I often had country dogs chasing me, quite frighteningly nipping at my heels. I learned to carry a long metal pole and a loud, ferocious voice. Swinging that pole and shouting meaner and louder than those dogs let them know who was boss. They would run away. I had won.
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I assumed doing the same would work with this raccoon. Anyone who has dealt with racoons is already shaking their heads. But bear with me.
He seemed like a sweet little young guy. Surely it would bow to my gruff human superiority. I slammed the wood of the side of the open window with my bare palm and yelled “GIT!” – This is seemingly the universal yell of human hierarchy.
The sweet little racoon stared back at me, wondering when I would leave already. So I slammed the window closed and yelled “GIT, I said!” even louder. Adding the “I said” was the frosting on the brownie, or so I thought.
Nope. This made that raccoon hiss at me and flare up somewhat. Just like that, I closed and locked all my windows and spent a very hot, long summer inside hoping I wasn’t being stalked.
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As the temperatures soared and my fear started to quell, I created the “Raccoon Gang”. Membership was strictly for any of my friends who were badass and didn’t put up with trifling humans. It became a funny theme among us. One year, in my Christmas stocking, I received these odd shaped goggles (see picture) from my older sister. She labeled them the ‘Official Raccoon Gang Mask.’
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Wearing (or at least having in one’s possession) the Raccoon Gang Mask would eventually become a tradition. It would be passed around among my friends when they needed particular cheering up, or reminded of their “badassery”. The mask now sits in my office and serves as a reminder to me that with our bonds of friendship, our support systems, people we can call on and rely on no matter what, we are stronger together. That no one does it all alone. That we need each other to keep life moving in the right direction.
