Wild Life

Saw a racoon the other night.  Right in the neighborhood, sauntering the side streets like a boulevardier.  We shouted, "Run, run, it's rabid for sure!"  Leaving Mrs. UF (who had Rudi, we had Maddie) in the dust.  The whole thing is an outrage because we live in the city expressly to avoid wild life, like those giant rodents known as cows.  But they somehow manage to penetrate the cordon sanitaire erected to prevent their entry into what we think of as the "protected zone." 

We don't know how they do it.  We suspect they bribe the guards at the city gates, whose pay isn't exactly the highest.  Plus they have to stand around in those funny helmets, getting laughed at by the urchins who throw stones at them all day long.  In any event, the occasional wild creature shows up in our neighborhood, and we shake our fist at the heavens and shout, "Where do our tax dollars go?"

We wouldn't mind so much, if we didn't already have to deal with the rats.  DC's rats are a protected species, and as such have every right to walk up to you and take a bite out of your sandwich.  Some of them are as big as Clydesdales, and even walk with the same distinguished gait.  They clop by at night, and you draw the curtains and hope they don't pound on your door, demanding your foie gras. 

We're a small town boy originally but we've adapted to big city life.  We're accustomed to the home bums who hit us up for change, the buses that come within inches of running us down, and the city government whose idea of essential services is sending tiny plows out to the back alleys during snowstorms, to make the morning commute easier for the rats.  The rest of us have to fight our way through drifts that seem to have emigrated from Russia. 

We complain, but at least we haven't seen any coyotes.  Packs of wild dogs, sure.  We personally own a pack of wild dogs, who make life miserable for anyone who has to pass them on the sidewalk.  Rudi charges them head on, barking, while Maddie circles around to the back, hoping to snatch onto a nice achilles tendon.  You can ask how they managed to penetrate the cordon sanitaire.  Easy.  Like we said earlier, the guards are easily bribed.  And even easier to cow. 

Comments

[Martijn]

Racoons make great hats.

[Jan Martin Löhndorf]

As long as you are Davy Crockett, that is.

[ishootblanks]

Back when I lived with my ex-mother-in-law (she runs a junkyard) I watched a big rat crawl up into my van. That rat must have been on steroids, or been a gymnast or something because he "one-armed " it right up the under carriage and into the cab.

[UF Mike]

They make great hats until they claw your eyes out. Oh, you mean DEAD racoons.

Ishootblanks, that must have been some rat. Me, I'd have abandoned the van forthwith. Just handed over the keys and let him drive it away.

[ishootblanks]

Thats funny Mike.
I think I'll steal it and use it in my memoirs.