The Raccoon Saga Continues

I think they’re gone.

 

As I examine the clues of how they arrived, it seems they are gone.

The urgency I felt (fear?) and signs of their presence brought a low level panic in my psyche.

Why?

Because I love animals and even though I know their presence could be a danger to the numerous things they might chew, I don’t want them to be harmed.

Once again, the both/and of life.

 

But, I think they’re gone.

 

 

When they arrived my dog was the first to know. Indy looked like a blood hound, nose to the ground in certain locations above ground, smelling wildlife below.

As time went on and they grew (as proven by The Rover that my son engineered) Indy’s tracking got wider and wider. At times, right before my eyes, it seemed she was tracking their movements in real-time. Almost chasing them from above as they scampered below.

I put up a gate to save my sanity.

But now . . .

 

All evidence of houseguests under the house has ceased.

 

This “trouble” reminds me of trouble in general during the widowed life.

 

Just when you think you cannot bear one-more-thing

the fence falls down,

or the check is late;

or the job disappears;

or the tires on the car insist they’re done;

or illness arrives . . . on & on.

 

In the interim, the signs of PTSD pop up as my nervous system heightens.

The imagination provides made-up problems even though there.is.no.evidence.

 

Still, I am on high alert

about

what

might

happen…

 

But my instinct says they’re gone.

 

“Time to learn to climb trees.” I imagine the mama raccoon saying.

Time to forage for food while the world is sleeping.

Time to join the raccoon community in the neighborhood who are sleeping in the trees during the day and finding eats at night.

Time to learn the Raccoon Way of Life.

 

Every cell in my body says they’re gone.

 

On Thursday, The Rover will confirm.

 

More to be revealed soon . . .