11,559. RUDIMENTS, pt. 602

RUDIMENTS, pt. 602

('the iou's are out there')

One time, in Pennsylvania, one

of the local kids who'd taken

to hanging around came by one

night with a baby raccoon. As

I recall it was late March, still

chilly out at night but getting

better daily. They'd been out

'coon hunting' (raccoon) and

had evidently gotten (killed)

the mother here, in a tree and

this baby raccoon was left 

behind. Would I please take 

it. Of course we said yes, and

immediately put it in our bathtub

(dry, empty) figuring it wouldn't

have a way of climbing up the

sides to get out. We were right,

and it stayed there a week or two

as we fed it, etc. (my wife was

bottle-feeding it for a while until

it started eating food) and it soon 

grew into a household pet, much like

a nice dog  -  it would step outside

with us, do its 'raccoon duties' 

and then come back inside. Slept

in various places indoors, liked

closets mostly, under chairs, etc.

We fed it some sort of dog food

and my wife made it food of 

whatever sort it liked  -  I can't

recall what. Soon it was a full-sized,

quite pleasant, arched-backed,

house raccoon. We had a pond 

area and it spent time there too,

often washing food to eat or

gathering things  -  those little

paws were quite adept as hands.

In that respect not doglike at all.
If you've ever watched a raccoon,
they use their little hands (paws)
to gently caress and/or wash their
food, piece by piece. Whereas a dog
puts its head down into the food
and eats, a raccoon, using its 'hands,'
brings the food up, piece by piece,
to its face and mouth, to eat. As
if, almost, quite thoughtful. This

one remained with us, took walks

all over with us, no leash; it just

walked alongside or a few paces 

back. They have this odd, rambling,

round-back gait, as if they were

hunchbacks on four legs. It was

a trip. People would sometimes

see us and stop, just to watch.

Back on Inman Avenue I once

had a duck, 'Peter' that did much

the same thing. Following,

and walking along, to school, 

etc. Weird. This isn't to say that,

as it grew and aged, this raccoon

did not cause some problems.

Hiding was one of them. In

closets, mostly, it was at times

impossible to locate. It would 

huddle under things, and 

sometimes chew as well  -  

shoes, etc. Those were the 

only real problems. And

then, by that late Fall, I 

guess the raccoon call-of-

the-wild got to it. It was the

saddest thing, and still makes

me sad  -  it just ambled away,

last seen entering the deep 

woods to the far rear of our

acreage; never looking as much

as back a glance. See ya' later, 

alligator, and all that.

-

It can be funny sometimes 

how things can affect a person. 

That was one of those memorable 

and formative moments that have 

never left me. In spite of months 

of shared space and companionship, 

the gulf that separates human and 

not was always there, latent, just 

waiting to spring out. Only me, 

humanistically and in joy and 

awe of what was going on, 

thought it could, or would, last 

forever. Naive, I suppose. I

guess somewhere deep within

that raccoon-being-spirit thing,

the animal instinct and sense 

of isolation from humans was 

always there, just slowly 

growing. I never had that, I

thought this was forever. Maybe

that's the difference, engrained

in genetic make-up, that makes

dogs life-long pets and other

animals not so much. I'm facing

off that stuff again  -  as my own

dog ages I suddenly realize I'd

forgotten about all that; how they

slow down, lose out, and die so

early. I'm already sad on that

count, and have no idea what 

I'll do when.....I always swear,

'Never again!'  -  and then I'm

right back to it. Drat.

-

Those kids became real pests

after a while too. The one kid I

mentioned, his father was in

Texas, and his mother lived

up here in Columbia Crossroads

by herself and with 4 or 5 kids.

A couple of different last names

involved there too  -  I never

asked. Anyway. He in turn later

moved to Texas, and became a

State Trooper, or Highway Patrol,

or Ranger, or whatever they have

there. I guess he's long retired now,

probably about 63 or 64 in age.

He used to drive a Mercury Comet,

and he and his couple of friends

would often come around and 

stay, heck, overstay. Smoking.

Drinking. One time I finally had

to just tell him to leave, and he

got all upset, went out to his car,

and floored it good upon leaving.

Except he lost traction on my

dirt road, and ran sideways and

the front end went right into one

of the two ponds we had along the

roadway. He came begging back

up to the front door, 'Please, Mr.

Introne (all of a sudden that, not

Gary), please help me out, I'm

stuck in at the pond, front wheels

sunk. I won't bother you; I'm sorry,

just help me get out...' He was 

miserable. I was real nice, 

and said sure, there wasn't an 

issue, of course I'd help. So we

got the tractor, some rope and

just hauled it out, not much

worse for wear  -  in fact the

next morning the pond-edge 

and shrubbery looked like they

got the worst of it. Mike drifted

off, graduated and was gone.

His two other buddies stayed 

around  -  I don't know what ever

really became of them. The one

kid, Denny, he was living along,

with his little brother and a real

drunk dad, all the time, in a small

house along the road. I don't know

how they managed, but they did.

That house is for sale now, up 

there, Columbia Crossroads

real estate, for like $79,000

and it looks like a bomb hit 

it. It never was much but a

small cinder-block house at

the edge of the roadway, but

it's so decrepit now it's sad. 

Even at the price they want.

A bag full of memories, but

with the bottom blown out.

-

Heck, I look back at things now

and half the time I can't imagine

the way I was living through it

all at that moment. I was in so

many respects just making it up

as I went along and each day's

events and adventure went into 

that night's ledger book of what

to learn from or forget. I was never,

therefore the same, some days not

even from morning to night. I

realized there was one way to

act among the older country folk

out there  -  they were unforgiving,

noticed every little thing, were

clannish and old-line and didn't 

much like interlopers. Then

there was another way to act,

or be, among the farmers and

farm hands and kin and family  - 

they cared little about weeds

or mud or problems or the world

in general. Everyone always

seemed pretty ready to drop 

what they were doing and roll

around in the hay. Sometimes 

the farmers would start 

complaining or griping about 

this or that  -  bills to pay, costs 

and expenses, animals and

sickness, maintenance and 

health, or the milk truck and 

the inspectors. But I figured it

was just because it was all on

them; they had to carry around

all those worries and doubts all

the time as they went about their

'chores.' Anyway, for these guys,

when they got made or surly they

just grabbed a rifle and went out

to find something to shoot at.

They were always picking off

errant deer, woodchucks or

groundhogs, whatever the

difference, rabbits  -  they'd

shoot at anything. The claim

was a farmer had no season to

hunt, they could hunt whenever

they wanted by just saying it

was eating their corn or crops,

whatever they'd be shooting at.

I was always glad there weren't

any homeless encampments or

wandering travelers. They be

gone before they could reach

for the corn or taters.

-

The British word was 'randy.'

I'd never heard it used like that

before  -  these were most  often

Scots-Irish people and they were

always ruttin' or horny or, as

they put it, 'randy.' I guess wives

were kept real busy. And everybody

did have kids, often enough. I think

'ruttin' meant, like animals, 'rutting.'

Leaving marks on the ground or

tearing the bark off trees. Rubbing;

horns, antlers, or backsides against

trees and all. My father, whenever

he came up, was always warning me

about taking some farm-daughter of

ripe-teen years up into the hayloft,

for fear I'd get found out and shot.

There were a few girls like that 

around, yeah, but evidently they 

excited him more than they ever 

did me. I never did anything. Then

again, I may be dumb but I was

never stupid. Maybe that was

the reason I stayed put.

-

Sometimes I have daydreams and

I get sad and sorrowful about my

animals  -  I had a lot up there. Six

or seven dogs, geese, ducks, the

raccoon, about 20 cats, sometimes.

Something was always happening.

Country life ain't pretty, let me

tell you that  -  cars run things 

over. My dogs ran free, and two 

times it was I was told one or the

other was dead at the side of the 

road down there close by. It was

always the saddest, dark part of

my life whenever something like

that happened. One time a few 

dogs, one being mine, got shot 

for chasing deer, about a mile or

so off. The jackass farmer all of

a sudden cared  -  any other time

he'd just go shooting the deer for

fun anyway. This day he must 

have chose dogs. I wanted to kill 

that bastard myself. I have late

night horrors sometimes, trying

to get off to sleep, of the animal

karma that I screwed up on, and

figure, God help me, I have a lot

of payback due me. Not good.