raccoon face

We have a house guest by the name of Rascal the Relentless Raccoon, Triple R for short. Actually, he is no longer a guest, but a nuisance, a BIG nuisance. He has overstayed his welcome and has been ordered evicted, but he is a stubborn sort and refuses to cooperate.

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Why couldn’t Triple R be a mouse, a bat, a rat, a porcupine or a skunk? Traps take care of mice and rats, Glenn is a pro at catching bats, we can shoo the porcupines away and as far as I know, skunks have not yet migrated to West Head.



But to this point, Triple R has eluded all attempts to capture him and has caused no end of havoc. His late night visits began when I put out the bird feeders. Under the cover of darkness, Triple R raided them…all of them. Come morning, the birdseed was scattered from one end of deck to the other and the next morning and the next, next morning.

Fed up, Glenn retrieved our trusty LIVE trap and baited it with hot dogs. Triple R took the bait but he was NOT in the trap the next morning. A friend insisted that sardines would get him for sure. Triple R ate the sardines but was not in the trap.


What did that mean?

  • Is he the patriarch of all West Head raccoons? Maybe.
  • Would he like his sardines on a silver platter? Maybe.
  • Could he be the ghost of Eugene Roache? Maybe.

Recently, I hung out a new feeder that can be closed off by twisting the insert. Triple R went out of his raccoon mind when he could not get at the food. We heard a ruckus outside and went to investigate. Glenn opened the door and caught Triple R red-handed on his back on the deck with all four paws up in the air attacking the feeder. As soon as he spotted Glenn, Triple R tossed the feeder, scurried off the deck as fast as lightning, and tore around the east side of the house. The nasty varmint came back before morning and left a large, stinky deposit on the deck. I believe that was his way of giving us the finger.



Later in the week, we went off to New Minas for the day and Triple R took advantage of our absence. The trap had gone off previously and although we had not reset it, there was a little bit of bait left inside. However, we had lashed the trap to the deck to prevent Triple R from rolling it over or dragging it away. We had, unknowingly, pushed all his buttons and he went bonkers, bananas, berserk, ballistic. Triple R could not rest as long as a scrap food remained in the trap. He had to have it no matter the cost. He must have spent hours tunnelling half way to China under two sides of the trap. Victorious, Triple R positioned himself under the trap and downed every last crumb.


We set, reset, re-re-set, re-re-re-set the trap ad nauseum. Sitting in the living room watching TV with the window open, we heard the trap go off. Once again, Glenn ran outside expecting to see he had finally captured Triple R. Nope. Instead, he saw him ripping around the east side of the house.



This scenario was repeated numerous times until we folded. Triple R won. We took the bird feeders inside and stopped baiting the trap, but Triple R continued to visit. He was greatly displeased to discover no food waiting for him, so he climbed on the deck and left a second large, stinky gift for us.

Just a few nights ago, we opened the door as guests were leaving and who was sitting there? Triple R with an evil smirk on his face. We are thinking about borrowing a trap from the Department of Lands and Forests and delivering him to Gunning Cove.

If, by some stroke of luck, we catch Triple R in our trap, we will promptly dispatch him on a long journey, a spiritual journey, a journey of self-discovery to that big yoga class in the sky.


That seems much more humane than the alternative….dragging his starvegutted corpse out to the middle of the road and letting cars drive over him until he is as flat as Wile E. Coyote, Genius, whose calling card read “Have Brain……..Will Travel.” Triple R may still have a brain, but it is highly unlikely that he will be doing any travelling.