I’d just finished breakfast. I left the kitchen to walk over to my studio and write. An ordinary day . . . at first.
Just to the left of the studio door, next to the steps, I saw the broom that usually rests against the wall. The broom had been knocked over and lay halfway across the walk. I hesitated. Then I saw the raccoon. He must have knocked the broom down. The raccoon was lying in a small garden area looking as if he were in a bed and asleep. The sight of the raccoon frightened me. I began to back off slowly, fearing that if he were alive and rabid he could be dangerous. Still no movement. I feared he might be dead. I was also afraid he could be alive. A raccoon in daylight can be an ominous sign as they are nocturnal and avoid day time traveling. Rabid raccoons may become disoriented and wander during the day. I knew nothing for sure.
I’ve seen raccoons occasionally around our house, although it’s not usual. However, I’ve seen more this year. A couple of them had found a way to take the lid off the garbage pail and dine sumptuously on bags of ripe garbage, leaving leftovers scattered unceremoniously around my yard.
We took defensive measures with the trash can, securing a bungee cord over the lid tied to the garbage can’s handles, and we had no other incidents.
Not long thereafter, taking the tarp off the outdoor grill to cook, sure enough, I saw muddy animal tracks all over its shiny metal lid. How they ever were able to get up that far onto the grill under the tarp even with a tight cord secured at the base, I will never know. Raccoons are resourceful.
One day I looked out of the living room window. Close by is an old black cherry tree with a significant hole in its trunk. I saw something moving, and two raccoons, side by side poked their noses out, looking expectantly at me as I looked curiously at them. I must say they were adorable, projecting their heads out, like a couple of young kids, full of mischief, but looking wide-eyed and innocent.
I watched them for a while and smiling to myself went about my business.
But what to do about this raccoon?
I called the DNR. They said they’d get back to me. Not wanting to wait and still unsure whether the raccoon was dead or alive, I called the State Police to ask them how best to handle it. The desk officer asked me a few questions and told me that he would dispatch an officer straightaway and not to go near the animal.
The trooper, Officer Todd soon arrived. I showed him the raccoon. He approached it confidently, shone a light on it and stood for a minute. I could see where the beam of light struck the raccoon’s head and that his eyes gleamed but didn’t blink. The trooper came over to my wife, Jo, and me and said that indeed the raccoon was dead and that he would call Animal Control. Should they not be available, he said that he’d help get rid of it. I was relieved.
As the trooper went to his car to make a call, my wife, Jo, commented that since the raccoon was sick and was ready to die, that she felt oddly comforted that he might have come here because it seemed a safe space to spend his final hours. He had, after all, become a frequent diner at our house. In fact, the raccoon looked as if he had snuggled down into the small patch of garden neatly edged by two by fours. He looked asleep on his side as if in bed. Jo’s tender thought shamed me. I had been only aware of my fear, afraid of how dangerous the animal might be and really did not consider his life as any part of my universe except as a potential threat.
To have the capacity in oneself to be kindly disposed to the ‘other,’ even as that ‘other’ may present a threat, whether man or beast, does have a way of mitigating fear and keeping fear from being the sole determinant in how we might act when uncertain. To say it differently, a generously caring attitude creates an aura of kindness that makes potential threats feel less menacing and keeps our actions from being fear-driven. I did think, in an earthy kind of way, of St. Paul’s statement about how perfect love casts out fear.
I’ve often thought about the vulnerable people from foreign countries who are coming to our shores in order to be safe. The government has systematically created a climate of fear and danger that has only made us, as a nation, behave less humanely and more fearfully, as the immigration policy of separating parents from children has made painfully apparent.
I must comment on the kindness of the Trooper, Officer Todd, who responded to my call. When it was clear that Animal Control couldn’t do anything, he offered to stay and volunteered to help remove the raccoon’s body and bury it in the woods. Far beyond the call of duty, in my book.
He remained, friendly, professional and remarkably good-natured offering to perform a task for which you can be certain he had not undergone rigorous police training to learn; like burying a dead animal for an old couple. A strapping young man like that I’m sure wanted to be out catching bad guys and protecting the public. I supplied the shovel and with it he removed the body. He dug a hole deep enough to make sure other animals could not get at the raccoon as this raccoon may have had rabies. We’ll never know.
We could not give Officer Todd even a cup of coffee for his trouble. He’d have none of it. “Just doing my job.” We did arrange for a hose with which he could wash the mud from his shoes.
As this seemed such a piddling gesture to offer him for his trouble, I comforted myself with the thought that in human history, washing a stranger’s feet is one of the most revered expressions of hospitality.
For me, the whole episode served as a reassurance in these troubled times that there are kind and generous people in the world, people vested with power and authority, who are also people of genuine character and we will find them, not in some spectacular headline event, but in the most ordinary and oddest circumstances, like over a raccoon’s dead body.
Columnist George Merrill is an Episcopal Church priest and pastoral psychotherapist. A writer and photographer, he’s authored two books on spirituality: Reflections: Psychological and Spiritual Images of the Heart and The Bay of the Mother of God: A Yankee Discovers the Chesapeake Bay. He is a native New Yorker, previously directing counseling services in Hartford, Connecticut, and in Baltimore. George’s essays, some award winning, have appeared in regional magazines and are broadcast twice monthly on Delmarva Public Radio.
Kathleen Carroll says
I would hope that Mr. Merrill would also write a letter to Officer Todd’s commanding officer. We did that once after we were pulled over for a traffic violation by a very polite trooper. We got a letter back from the commanding officer saying that our letter would be put in the trooper’s file. It can never hurt of have a letter of appreciation for doing a good job.
George Merrill says
Not to worry, Ms Carroll. We sent one on the same day.
Laurie Powers says
Mr. Merrill is an excellent story teller and I always enjoy reading his articles; they often evoke emotion with their beauty and subject of nature and wildlife. This story is beautiful and I appreciate the emotion it evoked and that he shared these acts of kindness and how they relate to the larger question of how we treat “the strangers” among us in our country. I am glad this raccoon chose to take his last nap in the safety and love of their garden; his wisdom was well rewarded by the gentleness and care he received. Blessings to everyone who cared for him and for one another, and thanks for sharing how love cast out fear; it’s a beautiful example and reassuring to see such kindness and generosity of spirit from all involved.
Kristen Greenaway says
George, quite wonderful–thank you. And thank you to Ms. Merrill.