"Dream on, dreamer," I often tell myself as I recall the stories of my mother's raccoon companions and the adventures they shared. It all began with a raccoon named Bandit, a mischievous furball rescued as a kit. My grandfather's nurturing spirit extended beyond our family, embracing Bandit into his heart and bringing him into a home with six children. Bandit quickly became a member of the family, a symbol of resilience and untamed curiosity.
Bandit's escapades became the stuff of legends, weaving their way into our family lore. From sneaky midnight raids on the pantry to acrobatic displays that left us in awe, Bandit was a master of intrigue and wonder.
As a young girl, I would listen to the stories, spellbound by my mother's tales of Bandit's antics, my mind ignited by the notion of a world where humans and raccoons danced in harmonious companionship.
Yet, being wild is where they truly belong.
Once, my mother and I were driving home and saw two kits circling a tree, crying, and then we saw the mom had been run over.
We quickly sprung into action. We had long sleeves, a towel, and a bucket, but the strangest thing happened. The boy and girl climbed into my sweatshirt pouch. We kept them overnight and delivered them to a local rehab center. These guys had their eyes open and were in danger of being dehydrated, among other things.
As the years passed, another raccoon entered our lives, a rescued soul named Sydney. Sydney brought a new layer of enchantment into our world. His gentle nature and inquisitive eyes revealed the depths of raccoon intelligence. My brother and I had many adventures with him, and it was difficult to say goodbye.
Sydney used to feel our legs with his little hands and chitter at us as if he were asking before he would climb up to our shoulders. He would only climb our legs when we were wearing jeans.
Through Sydney, I discovered the profound bond that could exist between humans and these enigmatic creatures.
But it was with Chet and Buck that our raccoon odyssey truly took flight. These two young males, orphaned and vulnerable, became our devoted wards. We bottle-fed them with love and care, nurturing their spirits while carefully cultivating an understanding of their wild instincts. It was a delicate balance, a dance between domesticity and the untamed essence that coursed through their veins.
When Jamie and I lived in the schoolhouse, our neighbor came down and said he had trapped a mother raccoon in a tree, and I know all too well the outcome for this poor mother. They killed her and thought it would be "fun" to raise the young ones. They had the babies in a bucket with a heat lamp, which was not good for them.
The two we were able to take ended up both being males, fed with a dropper until they were old enough to be bottle-fed. We fed them every couple of hours because we were sure they were dehydrated and
because raccoons will overeat, which is just as detrimental to a kit. Raccoons are ALWAYS better off with their mamas. They have sensitive tummies.
Having been down this road before, I immediately called my momma to help. I cleaned out an entire walk-in closet in our house for the babies. My husband was not happy his clothing was displaced, but at least I had one "baby" area for the raccoons ready to go. Once they were big enough, I knew they would start exploring, and raccoons are curious, nocturnal, playful, and MESSY.
Anytime we have had a wild animal, including baby bunnies and a mouse, I have not let my boys get too involved in the day-to-day activities. The reason is that if they were ever bitten or scratched and had to go to the doctor, the animal would be destroyed immediately. I wanted them to understand how delicate the little ones are and that they are, in fact, "wild." I also know that having raccoons in that state is illegal, and the babies faced certain death if it were reported.
There hasn't been a case of rabies in a raccoon in our county for several years. Still, everyone believes that "raccoons have rabies, especially if you see them during the day." This is not true. Our family has helped with many raccoons, taking them to the rescue when she had room.
Momma and I were up every few hours caring for the babies, praying they would not meet the same fate as the others. We called them Chester (Chet) and Buck. They grew quickly and were so funny. I have to admit, I did get attached, even while knowing each day they were around was one day closer to when they would "move out."
As they grew, we had a screen door that we left cracked open so that they would come and go. That wasn't necessary though, because they were so smart they could have easily opened the door themselves.
We took them to the creek across the street to fish, and they loved climbing trees and exploring. Since I was "mom" to them they followed me everywhere.
Koda, our dog, loved playing with the raccoons, and Binx, our cat, also made friends with them. The raccoons would hide coins all over the house, and even though they didn't need Koda or Binx's help being mischievous, the animals had a great time together. When Chet and Buck finally left, Koda was depressed, so we ended up with a new puppy - for Koda.
Chet and Buck loved food! When they were outside, I could usually get them to come to say "goodnight" by shaking a box of Goldfish crackers. They loved them and would always come running. And they loved grapes! I got the grapes out one night, thinking the boys were not in the house. A little while later, I found Chet sitting on my dresser with his bag of grapes, happy as he could be.
Ultimately, we released Chet and Buck, their eyes glinting with newfound knowledge and respect for the world that awaited them. It was a bittersweet farewell, a reminder that our bonds with these creatures were brief yet profoundly meaningful.
Chet, whom we eventually started calling Pip, used to visit me on my skylight window occasionally. I had been feeding a feral cat, raccoons, an opossum, and a skunk, who all ate together on my porch. Still, one evening, I missed the raccoons, who had been gone for about two months. I heard a tap on my skylight, looked up, and there he was, looking down at me.
I went outside, and he climbed onto my shoulders and was lovey; he would gently feel my face with his paws and "talk" to me as if he were telling me what he had been up to. I could have spent all night with him, but I knew he had to go. He came to visit a few more times.
They were born in the Spring and gone by November. With them went a tiny piece of my heart. I never saw them again until a few years later, right before Christmas, when a raccoon slowly wandered up my driveway and into the garage. I could tell something was wrong, so I called the rehab center to come and pick the raccoon up. I was sure it was Chet who had come home to say goodbye. He died of distemper, which is common for raccoons and other animals - even dogs and cats.
Raccoon's intelligence is often underestimated and misunderstood, but how they explore, adapt, and conquer challenges mirrors the essence of the human spirit. I've always been fascinated with the raccoon's relentless curiosity; this trait resonates deeply with my own sense of wonder. It hurts my soul how uneducated people are about raccoons and their intelligence.
Raccoon Ridge Rehab
Judy Ellinger, of Raccoon Ridge Rehab in Illinois, loves to educate people. She took her babies to the Fairbury fair earlier this year but said this would be the last. The Department of Natural Resources "changed rules as of August 1, saying we can no longer share our rehabs with the public or do tours unless we have a USDA permit for education."
Rehabbing raccoons is already expensive, and the new ruling adds to the burden. "Honestly, I think in-home rehabbers will not exist in years to come," Judy says. "You literally give up your life, at least your spring and summer. Most young people aren't willing to do this."
It's also difficult for rehabbers to find vets willing to work with them, as well as finding release sites. "These are 'state' animals, but we're not allowed to release them on state property."
So, I dream on, a dreamer enamored by raccoons and captivated by their tales, and hopeful that one day others will see what I do and try to protect these little creatures. In their eyes, I see reflections of both the wild and the domesticated, a mirror into the human soul's unending quest for connection and meaning. And as I write, I invite others to join me in the dance, to look beyond the mask of misconceptions, and embrace the truth that dwells in the heart of every creature, every story, and every dream.
Support Raccoon Ridge Rehab
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