We have free-roaming chickens, and coons and chickens are not a good mix, so John tied up the dog and allowed Millie to try to scare the coon out of the tree with her BB gun.
She's a good aim, but the coon seemed stubborn and didn't much care, even when she hit him, so we asked my Dad to scare him away with some birdshot, which eventually worked.
This would be nothing more than a slim blog post if the coon hadn't returned the following day in bright sunlight and perched right next to our screen door, almost exactly where Ezekiel is standing here. Piper saw him through the crack and told the girls, and after realizing she wasn't teasing, they looked through the screen and saw him sitting there without a care in the world. I ran to get the have-a-heart trap while John shooed him away from the door, and then the bad ending approached. What kind of raccoon comes out in broad daylight, sits on the steps, saunters within a foot of easy-pickin' chickens without touching them or even smacking his lips in interest, and then rushes at a dog who's tied to a line? Poor John Wayne defended himself, and even poorer Husband John had to kill the creature in a most unpleasant manner. I am glad he was home because I wouldn't have wanted to do it. Now the coon's corpse has been mailed off for testing, John Wayne had a rabies shot, and we've told the girls to watch out for coons sunning themselves on our back steps.
The End.
A few summers ago, the Husband dispatched a whole family of them because they kept coming around during the day, and even stole a chicken from our neighbors yard while he was standing a mere 15 feet away. Yep, when there are bold 'coons and curious children, you just do what ya gotta.
ReplyDeleteThis is actually one of the reasons I'm trying to learn how to be a half-way decent shot with a 22. There is nothing like suddenly realizing that you would really, really like to be a very good shot RIGHT NOW and simultaneously realizing that it is currently to late to do anything about skill levels. Vivid memories of a rabid-racoon from when I was a kid--and Dad's hasty dispatching of said coon--impress upon me the fact sometimes one doesn't have a lot of time in which to make choices.
ReplyDeleteTiti,
ReplyDeleteThis is one reason why we'll likely be buying our first gun, too. John's a good shot, but he's not your typical "I wanna shoot everything in sight and see it explode!" dude. We could also eat venison again!
Bonnie,
Cheeky rascals! We've had J.W. tree a coon in our daylit yard before, too, which is why the first night we weren't concerned. This coon, though, was acting strangely docile (i.e. when John tried to shoo him away with his walking stick, he'd just reach out a paw to stroke at it) and he slowly walked in between our flock of chickens, literally within a foot or two, and didn't even turn his head before he walked to the back of the yard and rushed John Wayne. The only problem with a positive diagnosis is that they test for rabies by examining the brain tissue and, er, there's a bit of damage to the poor beast's brain.
I still feel badly about it, just because I do, but it's part of our place here.
Nothing like killing something with a blunt object to give you an appreciation for firearms.
ReplyDeleteugh, again.
ReplyDeleteBut I love the photo of Millie taking aim with Papa looking on.
Hail, Chieftain!
ReplyDeleteYou bet. John had almost bought one before the rigid state laws were handed down recently, but the expense threw him off. Now, I think it's bound to happen sooner rather than later.
Heidi-bird,
Me, too!