Diaper Raccoon (Part 2)

Noisetopia

Diaper Raccoon (Part 2)

Where did we leave off? Oh, right. I was set up in the entryway to the storage shed. I had positioned myself just above the depression that led underneath the shed. I suspected it had been created by a raccoon.

When you go fishing, you want to try to match your bait to what the local fish are accustomed to eating. I suspected the same was true for trying to lure small, furry animals. So, before taking position in what I considered to be the perfect vantage point, I retrieved some food scraps from the garbage. Don’t judge me. I was trying to catch a raccoon.

I also made sure to bring along an assortment of different-sized diapers. I’ve never personally measured a raccoon’s hiney parts. I suspected the average raccoon was a 4T-5T, but I was prepared with sizes ranging from newborn to 6x. Let me clarify for some of the parents out there that the assortment I brought included diapers (smaller sizes ) AND pull-ups (larger). You can never be too prepared.

I figured the best time to arrive at my stalking position was just before dark, as I’m well aware of the fact that raccoons are simply nocturnal trash pandas. My plan was to arrive before dark while the furry garbage bandits were still asleep and to catch them when they ventured out for their first meal. The opening to the shed is oriented just slightly enough towards the west so that the light from the setting sun turned my perch into something that looked like an inspirational-as-shit ninja movie. I stood in the shed, mentally preparing myself for what lie ahead, repeating my internal mantra to myself… “I’m about to try to put a diaper on a raccoon…. I’m about…to put a diaper…on a freaking raccoon…. LET’S DO THIS!!!!!”……….

All motivation gone. Freaking mosquitoes. I’ve lived in Texas long enough to know that if enough mosquitoes group together, they can and will carry you away and offer you up as a sacrifice to The Texas Mosquito King. At first, it was a risk I was willing to take. But, as the mosquitoes became more aggressive, I was certain I would have to abandon my quest and settle for the pureed baby fart reviews. Just as I was preparing to abandon my post, I heard it. The Rotten Refuse Robber sounded as if he (or she?) was following what I assumed was its customary route towards the entrance/exit of its Bandit Cave. This was it. The moment I had mildly prepared for. I readied my Raccoon Acquisition Device (a tinkerbell pillowcase we were going to throw away) and stood in the shed doorway directly over the hole underneath, my cat-like reflexes primed for action.

Time slowed. The first thing that came out of the hole was a cluster of whiskers, then a nose. I pounced. I can’t begin to express how fast my cat-like reflexes are. Dare I say, they are almost mongoose-like. Before even I realized it, I was diving head-first, Tinkerbell pillowcase open, falling towards the fast-approaching ground and my future diaper-wearing raccoon. Then, whilst mid-air, my brain began to catch up with the adrenaline-fueled dumbass that it was supposed to be controlling and started broadcasting alert messages on all frequencies. Raccoons are supposed to have black and gray faces right? Hmmm. The creature I was plummeting towards most definitely did not. Its face was more reminiscent of old-man ass– bald, ashy, angry. I thought I read somewhere that raccoons had furry tails as well. Interesting. This creature seemed to have no hair on its tail. Welp. Too late. I’m committed. Then, from the furthest recesses of my brain I heard “POSSUM!! THAT’S A POSSUM, DUMBASS!! POSSUMS ARE VICIOUS!! YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE VERY, VERY HURT!!”

The acquisition of my aforementioned cat/mongoose reflexes came with a diminished level of hand-eye coordination. I overshot what I now realized was a Possum by about 4 feet. At first I thought this was a lucky mistake and that the slick-tailed anger weasel would freak out and retreat to its dungeon. I had faceplanted in the grass just beyond the possum and, due to my graceful faceplanting abilities, ended up on my stomach in a semi-pushup position face to face with a pissed off mutant rodent.

Anger Weasel Supreme did not retreat. It let out a quick grunting noise and freaking charged. I let out a noise of my own. It was very high-pitched and resembled a scream.

Did you know that possums are fast? If there was a pissed-off rodent olympics, possums would gold-medal the shit out of sprinting. At this point my cat/mongoose reflexes had packed their shit and skipped town. I did the only thing I could do from the semi-pushup position I was in– I rolled away. Talk about awkward. Oh, what’s that you ask? My self-defense mechanism? I prefer the Tuck and Roll Technique. Gets em every time.

Everybody knows about Stop, Drop, and Roll. But, for some of you who may not remember, you’re also supposed cover your face with your hands while you’re stopping and dropping and rolling in order to protect your face and/or airway. I figured maybe this tactic would be effective against Enraged Violence Vermin so that’s what I did. I covered my face with my hands and rolled to safety. You know what would make this tactic even MORE effective? More high-pitched girly screams. I rolled across the yard towards the girls’ swingset, a small citrus tree finally stopping my forward progress. Realizing that I was out of rolling real estate, I sprung to my feet and took off in a full wind-sprint across my back yard. Direction and destination didn’t matter at that point, only survival. I soon realized that the white blur I had just passed was the back door to the house. Finally! Safe harbor!

Then I decided to do that thing that teenage girls in horror movies do (not screaming, I was still doing that). As I reached for the door knob, I looked back to see just how close my pursuer was. I looked at the ground directly behind me, fully expecting to see a rapidly approaching Vengeance Weasel but, to my surprise, it was gone. Still in horror movie mode, I looked up. I actually checked the roofline above me to see if Danger Rodent had magically grown wings and was perched above me, ready to make a meal out of its newfound girlish man-prey. I told you I was in survival mode. Fight or Flight means all logic goes out the window. And, let’s be honest, logic had left a while ago.

Finding no Perching Possum Gargoyles, I turned the knob and went inside. I walked into the living room where my wife was sitting in a recliner, reading something on her phone. She glanced up just long enough to survey the dirty, sweaty mess of a husband before her, let out a subdued giggle, then turned back to her phone. Without glancing up again, she informed me that I was bleeding. At some point during The Great Rolling Thunder Escape of 2017, I had either bumped or rolled into something sharp and cut my leg. I reached in my pocked and retrieved a Pampers 3T that had survived the trip. I ripped the sides open and applied it to my wound.

My review of Pamper’s Dora the Explorer Pull Up Size 3T is as follows–

Very effective for dressing possum-related wounds.

I let the possum keep the Tinkerbell pillowcase.

 

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