Thursday, January 29, 2009


raccoons! Pictures, Images and Photos


“Was that a Kerthunk?” I asked Linda.

“That was definitely a Kerthunk.” She assured me.

“Darn.” I got up from my chair.

Seeing me move from across the room, hope swelled in Lindsay’s breast. Was it time for her nightly walk already? She leaped to her feet.

I hurried through to the kitchen and around to the side door, Lindsay tight by my heels, and clicked on the outside light.

And there they were, two raccoons at my compost bin. The fluffy little robbers looked up at me with mild interest.

Ah oui, and will monsieur be joining us for dinner this evening?

Toronto is in the midst of a major recycling program with the goal of achieving an 80% reduction in the amount of garbage going to the local land fill. We now have bins for garbage, recyclables and compost. It was the small green compost bin the raccoons had knocked over and were busy sorting through the contents for the choicest tidbits.

Those delicacies not up to their refined sensibilities, they were scattering the length and breadth of my driveway.

“Arrrugh!” I roared, bursting through the doorway.

They gave me a look of mild rebuke. Who invited this buffoon to dine with us?

But they scurried away as I thumped down the stairs roaring like a demented banshee.

I started cleaning up the mess. There is an art to their thievery. If they tip the green bin just right, so that it hits the corner of our bottom step, it causes the clamp on the lid to pop open, with a satisfying Kerthunk.

The mass of rotting vegetables, meat bones and bags of Lindsay waste, was scooped back into the container, the lid clamp was tightly locked and I went in to wash my hands.


Hands dripping wet from the faucet, I pounded to the side door again like a banshee on crack! They had missed their trajectory this time and the lid had stayed in place. Seeing me coming they scattered at the first “Arrrugh!”

I screamed after them using all of the words the late George Carlin was unable to say on TV.

Until I realized the neighbors might be listening, and then I righted the compost bin, slunk ashamedly back into the house, tripping over Lindsay in the doorway and injuring her leg, the collision setting me off balance so that I bumped into the kitchen counter knocking two of the evenings dinner plates to the floor with an almighty shattering of china.

In the living room Linda startles to the crash and the sight of Lindsay limping past on three legs and comes running.

Standing amidst the wreckage of the evening meal, I have a lot of explaining to do.

And outside I hear…


Photo courtesy of photobucket