Last night, as I was sprawled out on my couch, watching Weeds and trying to ascertain just how many balls I’d need to turn my basement into a ball pit, I heard a rustling sound coming from my garage. Well, I thought to myself, it’s probably not someone delivering delicious cuppity cakes. And it’s probably not the Tell Tale Heart.

After I got lost in thought about a heart-shaped cuppity cake, I realized I could still hear the rustling sound. Okay, it’s probably NOT the wind – that wily bastard – either.

Begrudgingly, I slunk off the couch and wobbled my way to the garage to see what, pray tell, was going on in there. Was it a nitrous party thrown by the kids next door? A Jehovah’s Witness attempting to stone my sinning ass? Had my car come to life?

(I may or may not have been feverish)(I also may or may not have stood there for several minutes giggling at the notion of the nitrous party kids being stoned by a Jehovah’s Witness)

No.

It was neither of those things.

It was an adorably large raccoon, scritchity-scratching at a bag of dog food. But, you’re saying, Aunt Becky, you do not HAVE a dog. And I would reply, languidly sipping my coffee, that I did have a dog. Once. He’s, however, died.

He had the audacity to die RIGHT AFTER I’d bought him a large bag of food. And as often as I’d tried to remember to toss the 8172 pound bag in the back of the Family Roadster and dropping it off at the pet store. I kept meaning to, Pranksters, but the idea of trying to wrangle three kids PLUS a 04780737 pounds of dog food through a busy parking lot, well, it was unappealing.

So in the garage it sat, that sad bag of food for my dead dog, until the raccoon found it and decided that it was, in fact, his food.

I couldn’t disagree.

As I approached the door, still giggling, the raccoon stared at me, eyes wide open, all, “FUCK, I got BUSTED.” I see that same look on my kids’ faces whenever I catch them playing in the toilet. We stared at each other for a moment until he decided to slowly back away, out of the garage.

It was then that I decided instead of a monkey butler named Mr. Pinchey, I instead needed a raccoon sidekick.

I shall call him Walter.

Comments

comments

40 thoughts on “I Shall Call Him Walter

  1. As long as you know there is no rule saying you cant have a monkey butler AND a raccoon sidekick. Life is short, dont block furry possibly rabid blessings.

  2. I went to leave for work one morning and opened my door to three raccoons joyfully enjoying the bag of cat food that we had mindlessly left outside…. I ran screaming to my bf to go shoo them away…. if it had been just one it would have been ok… but a pack of raccoons I wasn’t prepared to deal with before I had any coffee.

  3. Drag out that dog food on the drive way. Walter and all his buddies will pull an all-nighter and your dog food problem will be history.

    PS–I am sorry about your dog.

  4. I agree with Lizbeth, take the dog food out and dump it on the ground. Walter and all of his friends will love you long time. However, I can not guarantee they will not egg your house when they realize that said dog food is now gone and you are not buying them more. 🙂

  5. No racoons here in Faraway Scandinavia. Am envious.

    My cat got lost and died, also just when I had bought a sack of $$$diet food that she didn’t get allergies and exce…. eczem… ekxe… sores from. I still ache from that. When I get A Round Tuit, I might give it to my brother who also has an allergic cat.

  6. Our “Walter” moved into our attic. A professional had to remove “them”. They wanted us humans evicted.Electrical wiring is like Twizzlers to our racoon friends. You would think a house with 4 dogs would not be a choice for “them”. But our dogs cannot climb drainpipes.
    Good luck! Sorry about your dog

  7. Those suburbanite raccoons get big! We have one that likes to press his face against the windows… like a homeless child pleeding to be fed (a likely rabid homeless child – I believe he brings his own violins).

  8. bwahahahaha….as if your story wasn’t enough….i can’t stop laughing at these comments! my god…your pranksters are some witty peeps.

  9. Dude, if you don’t put out a raccoon bowl full of dog food and make him your own? I will lose at least 2% of my respect for you.

    I once caught a vole (field mouse?) in our backyard and kept him in a hamster cage. His name was Remie. Obviously we didn’t touch him. Because of diease and such. BUT? He was cute.

    *shrug*

  10. Hey, LOVE the blog.
    Sorry about your dog– we just lost our lab a few weeks ago. A few months ago I got a little Shih-tzu mutt, who is right now barking at me from my room.
    It’s hard to let go, but you should consider maybe just donating the leftover food to the SPCA? I think we still have a huge tub of food, which he stopped eating in the end..
    <3

  11. No, Rabies shots are not in your belly button. I know from personal experience after having a baby raccoon fall on my face this summer. Multiple shots yes, but in the arm.

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