So last week, we were sitting in the living room after dark, all the doors were open to let in the (then) cool breezes, and I kept hearing these clanging noises. I went and looked outside and didn’t see anything. The next morning, I discovered a mad trail of greasy raccoon footprints all over our deck…apparently a coon had gotten into a pot of grease that Jason had fried something in that he had left on the back porch.
So, the next night. Jason sets out the 12 gauge (??!!??) for the coon in the kitchen. I’m sound asleep. At 4:24am, I wake up to hear Jason saying, “Is that just wind or rain?”. I mumble something, and he jumps out of bed, crying, “It’s rain, it’s rain! I have tools in the back of my truck that CANNOT get wet!” As he is running into the kitchen, I’m trying to find my glasses and the floor, and he comes running back into our room, whispering loudly, “It’s the coon! I’m gonna make some noise.” So I tell him NO, don’t shoot the coon, because it’ll be back and we’re in a Godawful rush as it is.
We get the truck moved into the shed after a 5 minute, 3 car frantic game of Musical Cars, and we manage to get everything put away. Then, our youngest comes into our room, so I go and fall asleep with her. About 30 minutes later, Jason comes up the stairs (now 5:30am) and whispers loudly, “The coon’s back! Do you wanna see it?” “NO”, I say,”I just wanna sleep.” The next morning, he makes a huge circle with his arms. “That coon was THIS big!”, he says. So, I name the coon “Cartman”, after the little Butterball, Eric Cartman, on South Park. Cartman had managed to completely rip the plastic door off of the dog food container and throw it to the ground, as well as eat about 1/4 of our dog food. The NEXT night. Saturday night…..
We now have a .22. No more 12 gauge cannons for Cartman. We set up the gun, a little dog food on the deck, and we wait. As expected, here comes a coon, but not Cartman. No, now we have yet ANOTHER coon to contend with. I fling open the back door, and POP POP POP POP, 4 shots……………………………………………uh, no hits. Coon #2 runs off to the safety of the UNDERSIDE OF OUR HOUSE. Sigh. Now we know there are at least 2 coons living right underneath us. Great.
We set up again. We leave all of the lights off and I decide to crack our kitchen window, overlooking the deck, and stick the barrel of the gun out the window. I get a snack and I am munching away, when suddenly something dawns on me: It’s a Saturday night, I have a Moon Pie in my hand, and I’m shooting wildlife from the comfort of my own kitchen.
Yes, we have officially arrived to Redneckia.
One thought on “Saturday Night Redneckerie”
Well I have a little coon story of my own. Although that I am a city person. Yes, always have, always will be a city boy, Amy and I had noticed that something was eating all of our cats food that we leave in the garage. We leave the garage door cracked so that the cat can come and go as he pleases and a place for him to get out of the rain. I was in the kitchen the other night when I noticed that the garage light had been left on. I opened the door to turn the light off when I saw the biggest coon I had ever seen. I mean the sucker looked liked an oversized bulldog!! I don’t know who scared who the most. I screamed cooooooon and took off running in the opposite direction and the coon did the same. Let me also say that I left the door open to the inside of my house allowing free access for the coon to come in and eat off my leg. Thank god that the coon decieded to head back off in the other direction and back in to the free world awaiting to strike again. So when you finish off all of your racoons come on in to the big city a get rid of my bulldog. For heavens sake…. THATS WHY I LIVE IN THE CITY!!!