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It came about like all unexpected benefits, like winning the lottery, or finding money. John called to tell my wife that he had had enough of sharing his deck with a Raccoon Momma and her kits, since his wife was frightened, and his toddler in danger. He was going to trap the buggers and hand them over to Animal Control, jack-booted thugs with a little Kevorkian gift for anything that moved in not quite the right way: they would put them to sleep. He'd heard we loved raccoons, and so did we want one? In the trap, after the first night, number one son (as it turned out) was already waiting his turn on the platform to Dachau.

Needless to say, there was only one thing to do. We hastily purchased a "Pet Taxi", a plastic carrier with a handle and a gala adhesive label proclaiming "LIVE ANIMALS" on the side. A tin of Kitten Milk Replacer (KMR) powder, a little brush, some baby bottles and a pair of "Rose Picker" leather gloves completed the outfit -- we'd been there before. And off we went, imaginary sirens blaring in the hot Weekend sun, Raccoon Rescue!

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