I became Sterling’s hero tonight.
After hearing a raccoon in the shed growling at the dog and kids several times today, I finally caught sight of it. Since I had thoughts of children’s safety and the chickens we’ve been raising and the others than lay eggs… Sterling’s comment as we walked back down the hill, .22 rifle in hand, threw me for a minute.
“It’s a good thing you killed him, Momma. You just bought marshmallows!
Sterling had heard the story of our camping trip in the summer of 2009. Blaine and the kids were asleep in the tent and I was reading by the fire. A raccoon came over and climbed up on our picnic table, where our bags of food still sat. I shooed it away, and it came back. I grabbed two of the three bags and headed for the van, turned back to the picnic table to see a raccoon on the table, headed off with a bag of marshmallows. I grabbed the food (less the marshmallows) and turned back to the van to see a raccoon in the van, dumping the groceries out onto the ground.
I got it all under control, got the food wrapped up, and walked away feeling like I’d waged war with a bunch of savages – and lost. Sterling just knows of the lost bag of marshmallows he’d been counting on roasting.
So today, when all was calm again, he was thankful that the bag of marshmallows was safe. I was thankful that nothing happened; all was safe and I’d remembered how to aim properly. You know, three shots later. The first two were just practice rounds. Blaine, however, seems less than thrilled at the prospect of having a raccoon to dig out of the shed and bury.
I draw the line at digging the hole. I have to maintain some sense of femininity.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.