Why did the chicken cross the road?  To show the raccoons how.  But they still haven't learned!  If you are not a house-bound person, you are probably aware that raccoons have been splattered all over the highways again this spring.  Idiots. 
They've got free roam of practically the whole country yet physical evidence points to their spending a disproportionate amount of time on pavement.  In addition to that oddity, raccoons travel by night when most motorized vehicles have been put to bed, but the nocturnal nitwits still can't get to the other side of the road safely.
I don't feel one bit sorry for them, however.  As a matter of fact I don't like them very much at all, and I am responsible for sending one of them to Raccoon Heaven, through no accident of my own.  It happened two weeks ago.  It was a matter of justice.  When the scales are tipped, surely someone must try to right the wrong, in order to get on with life in the proper order.
Since I've already told you the ending of my raccoon story (Raccoon Heaven), I should probably also tell you the begin-ning ...
It began in mid May, 2003, during the first night after the first day that I had carefully planted and freshly fertilized several big pots of impatiens.  This year they are all violet impatiens.  Striking, they are.  I always use a monotone color scheme for larger effect by my front door, my back door, the garage doors, the walkways.
I treat each individual impatiens tenderly as they themselves are tender.  They are delicate in their crowded flat of young roots and I separate them one from another with the excitement of a new beginning, a new season.
It's the same each spring for me except this year, on the morning after the night before, I noticed that somebody had been playing in my pots!  Somebody had uprooted my pampered plants and spilled black potting soil all over the place.  I ranted and raved, then replanted all the pots, discarding the fatally damaged impatiens.
The morning after the second night, somebody had again been playing in my pots!  I was fit to be tied but remained on the loose and replanted all the pots again, salvaging most of the impatiens.
The subsequent mornings after the subsequent nights had me boiling so bad that I finally blew a cork.  A counterattack was necessary.  Since much of my spring heart and soul had been emptied into my potted array of violet impatiens, I deemed it to be self-defense -- not to mention prudence and common sense.  It would be a just war.
Now, all of you reading this already know who done the dirt on me, but a few weeks ago you didn't know and neither did I.
Initially I thought it was squirrels because we have bazillions of them and last year they ate the baby eggs that Mrs. Robin had laid in a big pot of my rose impatiens.  Last year they were all rose.  Then I thought it was chipmunks or rabbits because we have bazillions of them also and they're always acting guilty about something. 
I decided that the only creature that I never saw in my yard was probably the guilty party.  It had to be a raccoon!  Years ago "they" had played in my garbage cans when we were younger and dumber and didn't shut our garage doors before we went to bed, so I knew they were not strangers to Lilac Lane.  When I told Allan the result of my deductive reasoning, he said, "I'll get a live trap for you."
A live trap looks a lot like a holding pen for chickens before the slaughter.  How fitting and proper, I thought to my-self.  Also fair and just.
Allan took some meat from the frig and set it far inside the cage.  The next morning the meat was gone and the cage was empty.  Raccoons may not be able to cross a road safely, but they go in and out of cages without a hitch.
The following night Allan put more meat inside the cage, made some adjust-ments to the trap door, and the next morning there was a raccoon in the live trap.  Allan visited him first.  I tiptoed out later and kept my distance from the cage.  He stared at me for a while, then curled up and tucked his head under his arm. 
I don't believe for a minute that he hid his face in shame.  The ability to feel shame is one of the distinguishing differences between man and other animals.  No, the raccoon hid his face from me because the sun was shining.  He's nocturnal, remember.
Why do I believe the rascal is now in Raccoon Heaven?  That's simple.  Allan put the cage in the back of his pickup truck, hauled him out of town, and dumped him on the other side of the road.  If he didn't meet any chickens, he's dead meat.

                                                                         ~Sue