Protecting the Flock

Disclaimer: This post may contain affiliate links, which means I may receive a commission for purchases made through the links. I only recommend products I have personally used or recently purchased but not yet used.

I nearly shat myself.

The first time I met the raccoon I would eventually have to kill was on a night I forgot to close the chicken run door before sunset. I hurried outside to prevent any night animals from eating the chicken feed left in the run, and as I peered inside the run, the entire structure shook like something heavy had fallen onto it.

I don’t know if you’ve tended chickens, but when checking on them, you spend a lot of time looking down and not much time looking up. Our run sits underneath a black walnut tree, and it was still a bit early for the walnuts to be dropping, so I went about my ground-level inspection.

On a whim, I looked up the backside of the run, and that’s when I nearly crapped my pants. My flashlight shone back two large eyes and the body of the biggest raccoon I’d ever seen. He (as I found out later) had climbed the wire mess of the run’s halfpipe skeleton and looked at me with an equal measure of surprise and fear.

Rabies in raccoons is not as much of a danger as most people think. My worry wasn’t so much that — especially since this fella was out at night and didn’t immediately come at me — my concern was how I was going to get this 15lbs, semi-opposable thumb having, very clever, chicken serial killer out of this run?

Raccoons throw hands, and they have an excellent set of teeth. This raccoon was cornered, and I’ve been around enough wild animal relatives to know this one had few options left before deciding the best defense is a potent offense.

I had no desire to try and corral a scared raccoon in an enclosed space with only one opening. I’m not about that life. The chickens were safe and shut in their coop, so the immediate danger to them was zero. But what should I do?

In the end, I simply left. I made sure the door was propped open, and I removed the chicken feed. My hope was that this raccoon, having been discovered by a human who then removed the only other source of food they could have been after, would leave shortly after I did.

I came in and told our son about my encounter, who, of course, wanted to come out and see, and 15 minutes later, we went out to check.

No raccoon.

Cooler heads prevailed that evening, and we both got to live to fight another day.

But he kept coming back, which was the beginning of the end.

We’ve got a serious problem

I find raccoons adorable and their intelligence and problem-solving abilities fascinating. Bradley Cooper has probably done more to endear raccoons to an entire generation than any other USian in history.

Raccoons are also incredibly efficient and ruthless chicken killers. Talk to anyone who keeps yard chickens, there’s no debate about who the Boogey Man of pet egg layers

Trash pandas. 100%

At the time, looking at the empty feeder, the knocked over water dish, and the freshly dug out hole underneath the run, I didn’t know if the raccoon that had obviously gorged on our chickens’ breakfast was the same raccoon I had encountered weeks earlier, but it didn’t really matter.

I knew only a raccoon possessed the anatomy and intelligence to set the scene I was observing, and that it was only a matter of time before they figured out that waiting until just before dawn would deliver them a buffet of fresh poultry.

Our chicken coop door opens automatically at dawn to let the chickens out into the run before we release them into the yard to free range. All a raccoon would have to do is wait silently inside the run and feast on the chickens eager to start their day. Undoubtedly, the morning stragglers would remain inside the coop once the slaughter began, but the coop door is large enough for a raccoon to fit through.

Eventually, it was going to be a massacre, and the work and care we had put into raising our birds, along with the eggs they were now laying regularly—a dozen per week —would be lost.

I had to get that raccoon before he got us.

Time to kill again.

“Hey Jon…you working again?”

I really hate this part.

Over the years of living this hunting life, I’ve gotten better at ending the lives of mammal relatives, but I always feel deeply sad about it. And by better at killing, I mean doing so quickly and with minimal suffering.

The only thing John Wick and I have in common is that people call us by the same name. But if you follow my boogey man metaphor from earlier, I’m Baba Yaga in this story; the man you send to kill the boogie man.

Trapping the raccoon was easy; a can of wet cat food in a live trap. It took two nights, and I only needed the second night because I set the trap improperly the first night.

“We got the raccoon dad!”

Shit! I thought. Now comes the hard part.

It’s illegal to move and release live trapped animals in Michigan for the obvious reason that citizens shouldn’t move wild animals to any place they deem more personally convenient. The raccoon had come into our territory and was now our problem.

To further distance myself from any resemblance to John Wick, it took me three shots to end this raccoon’s life. And yes, it was the same raccoon I encountered weeks before. I don’t know that with 100% certainty, but the way he looked at me as I lined up my point-blank .22 air rifle shot was the same look he gave me as he clung to the side of the run the previous week.

Small mammals have incredibly hard skulls for their size, so if you have to kill a trapped raccoon or groundhog, I suggest you shoot them on either side of, or through the ear, rather than in the forehead.

This raccoon suffered unnecessarily because of my inexperience, and I will forever be indebted to raccoons because of this. This week’s article is part of that atonement.

The Wild Kitchen and the responsibility of being a killer.

I wish I could communicate on equal terms with most of my animal relatives. Had I been able to, I would have gladly welcomed the raccoon to our yard and provided it with food in exchange for leaving our chickens alone. That was not possible, however, and so my only other option, besides killing, was breaking the law.

Many laws in this country continue to be highly suspect, but moving live animals to places without consultation of the inhabitants (human and non-human) already present is some colonizer bullshit I’m just not willing to perpetuate. I wasn’t moving this raccoon to some park or field.

So, in the wake of ending a life, I’ve tried to take responsibility for this act and honor raccoon to my fullest capability.

No, that’s not a typo. Saying “raccoon” instead of “the raccoon”, for me, emphasizes the personhood of the relative I killed. He was more than a thing or an “it”. I knew him, and he knew me. We had a relationship and I’m attempting to facilitate a relationship with him and you now that he’s gone.

Thirty minutes after raccoon breathed his last breath, students in my animal physiology class were examining his body as part of their second “wet lab” of the semester. Many had never seen a raccoon up close before, an experience that was unanimously appreciated.

Raccoon’s hide is in my freezer, awaiting a day when I have the time and knowledge to process it into something I can use. I’m not sure I’ll make a coon skin cap, but a pair of fur hunting gloves would be most welcome.

Tomorrow, I’ll take the limbs of the raccoon from the brine I made this weekend, throw them on the grill for some charcoal flavor, and slow-cook the meat for pulled-raccoon sliders that I plan to share with my family and students.

I took Raccoon’s life because I couldn’t see a way to solve our conflict otherwise. What I did was, in a human sense, unfair. I accept that and am trying to make the best out of a bad situation. You, dear reader, are now a part of the debt I owe Raccoon and raccoons in general. Please share this story, honor the life I felt I had to take, and be a good relative.

CONSIDER THIS

Wool Sweat Pants

I’ve owned this pair of sweatpants from Wool & Prince for a week, and they’re already the best pair of sweatpants I’ve ever owned.

To be clear, I wear sweatpants to lounge in, not to work out, so this isn’t an active wear recommendation, it’s a dad, dad boding his way through winter in the house with slippers watching football recommendation.

I. Love. Sweatpants!

But the ones I’ve traditionally owned don’t hold up well after a weekend of wear. I don’t mind doing laundry, but I’d much rather not if I don’t have to.

Yes, these sweat pants are expensive, but I’ve worn them almost every day since they came in the mail, and they still look, and, more importantly, smell like new. Plus, they match my favorite hoodie.

I may be traveling overseas again, and there’s nothing I love more when traveling than reaching for a cozy set of clothes while away from home. This set is lightweight and will likely be the only thing I wear on the plane there and back.

Buy once, smile forever! Totally worth the cost!

Thanks for reading!

-Jonathan