Raccoon bites, big houses, skunks and fun

July 1, 2012 by Packing and Unpacking 1 Comment

I’d like to dedicate this post to my dear friend Zac.

It’s been a while! And I have so much to say. But I don’t know if I want to write every detail. So I’m going to list some things, and if I feel like it, I’ll elaborate.

I got five baby skunks! They’re all self feeders, meaning that I don’t have to syringe feed them.  They are super tiny and super cute.  Four of them are friendly (As friendly as a wild skunk gets, which is surprisingly friendly), but one of them is, for lack of a better word, a bitch.  When skunks are about to spray, they hold their tails up and stomp their little feet.  Now imagine Whitney (It was the bitchiest name I could think of. Sorry if you are/know/love a Whitney, I’m sure she’s lovely), a five inch long skunk acting ferocious and “intimidating” as she stomps, screams and sprays teeny poofs of stink into the air. It’s pretty funny. I want to keep them as wild as possible, so I don’t handle them much; I just give them food and water, weigh them, and occasionally sneak in a snuggle or two.

I’ve been learning a lot here.  One of my supervisors, Pia, has been teaching me about medications, injections, and overall wildlife care. One day, we rescued an adult raccoon with an injured leg and Pia enlisted my fellow intern, Ben, and myself  to help her examine him.  He was in a trap and wouldn’t stop hissing and screaming.  We put on gigantic gloves and proceeded to pry the raccoon from the trap.  Pia told me to be careful; even the heavy duty gloves wouldn’t help if the raccoon bit me. After about 15 minutes of tapping, pulling and screaming, the terrified raccoon was freed from the trap and limping around the room.  From what we could see, his entire leg was broken. Ben caught him and held him down while we examined it.  His bone was severed at the knee, meaning that we’d have to put him down.  I knew that it would be painful to watch and be a part of, but for some reason, I felt like I needed to be.  Pia told me to put my hand over it’s face as she drew up the fluids. All of a sudden, he clamped his jaw around the piece of skin between my thumb and pointer finger and I saw blood stain the surface of the thick glove. I knew that he’d gotten me pretty badly, but I held on while Pia first put him to sleep, and then euthanized him.  We watched in silence, still pressing firmly, as the massive raccoon’s breath got slower, and then stopped.  Tears were streaming down my face.  It was a combination of the pain in my hand and having to watch this incredible creature die.  I know it was for the best, he wouldn’t have been able to be released, and he was in a tremendous amount of pain. I think that the worst part was realizing that my babies could one day be in the same situation.  They’re safe now, and I devote at least ten hours a day caring for them, but how can I ensure that they’ll survive in the wild.  I’ve been doing my best not to snuggle them and to teach them how to climb and hunt, but that’s all I can do.  It’s scary how much I care about them.

On a more upbeat note, I went on a pretty funny rescue with Pia.  A man called, saying he had raccoon babies screaming in the columns of his house. Not really understanding what these columns were, we drove about half an hour through the strangest neighborhood. All of the houses were gigundous and elaborately decorated. However, in between each house, was a small, hideous patch of dead grass. It was glamourous and run down at the same time.  We pulled up to the largest house on the street and instantly understood what the man meant by columns.  We stared up at the Colosseum worthy structures holding up the ginormous house. A man wearing a turban and sporting a cartoon character mustache was doing yard work and he went inside to get the dad/master o the house/dude who called about the raccoons.  He spoke perfect english, but for some reason, he we had difficulty communicating.  Eventually, we figured out that the raccoons must have crawled into the attic from the roof and were in the top of the left column.  I wondered how the hell we would get all the way up there; we’re talking like 30 to 40 ft. I didn’t have to wonder for long. The man appeared with the tallest ladder I’ve ever seen and propped in against the three ft wide pillar. He and Pia looked at me expectantly.  “Well I guess I’ll go on up,” I said, and I began to climb as the ladder shook like crazy. When I got to the top, I started banging on the pillar like a mad woman and then pausing to listen for squeals.  Nothing. I banged for 5 minutes until they told me to come down. We asked the man if we could take a look at the attic and maybe gain access to the roof.  I didn’t know what to expect, but judging by the embellished exterior of the house, I was sure the inside would be equally as extravagant.  Extravagant it was!!! Bam! In your face! Two huge staircases, conjoined at the bottom, covered with velvet carpets and a massive picture of the father and ten ft long fish smack dab in the middle!  Each room was grander than the next.  The kitchen was flooded with women, and children ran wild around the house on their ipads and game boys.  He led us to the bedroom which had about three king-sized beds pushed together.  I searched the attic and found that there was no way we could climb up there.  The beams would barely support a fully grown raccoon. We gave up and told him to call if he heard them again. He wouldn’t let us leave without giving us some soda and offering us every kind of food imaginable.  Two days after, Ben and Pia went back and got them.  Ben removed a few eaves of the roof and caught them.  Even though I was unsuccessful, I always leave rescues feeling fulfilled.  I love meeting the people and going on mini adventures.