Can we hear about the pet raccoon?
Ok, when my dad was a kid, they had a pet raccoon. He said it was the coolest thing ever and when his roommate at the time, Jeff, brought home a baby raccoon in a dog crate, I fell in love. Dad let us keep her because he wanted us to have the same experience he did. Anywho, Angel and I were inseparable. I would carry her around all day long and she'd just lay in my arms and purr. When she was loose in the shed, I was the only one who could go dig her out of wherever she was hiding. She was barely off the nipple, so she'd suckle on my finger or my arm or wherever she could get a grip and I'd go to school with all these hickies on my arms lol. Try explaining that one to your teachers. hahaha. The lower window on the outside garage door was broken, so she'd crawl up and look in the window of the inner door and growl at us to come play with her. It was so cute to see her little face and paws plastered against the glass.
There was one rule, Angel doesn't come in the house. Well....We're kids. I'm the oldest at like 12. She came in the house when dad wasn't home, not often, but enough. Well, one day, dad came home and he was in a bad mood. No one did any dishes, no one did any laundry. Again, I'm 12 and mom moved out so all the domestic duties fall on me. Well screw you, you know?
Dad right away starts screamin F this and F that...whatever... He opens the door to go chill out in the shed and Angel is in her spot in the window. As soon as that door opened, she bolted in the door. Dad took off after her "You son of a -, You son of a -", chased her downstairs, ripped apart my room, ripped apart my brother's room and then there was this sound like a 2x4 hitting an animal. We were upstairs, rooted in fear, just listening. Through the floor, that's what it sounded like. Well a couple seconds later, he comes upstairs with her in his hands, dead. I don't know why or how I got there, but the next thing I remember is dad dropping her in the garbage, saying to me, "Look what you did, look what you did." And then turning and walking away.
I tried to bury her. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Pick up this animal that I had grown so close to and bury her alone. Actually now that I think about it, I think its because of my childhood that I can more easily trust animals than people. There is no malice in a dog or cat or fish. There is no capacity to hurt. There is only love.
Ok, I'm off my soapbox now. Sorry for carrying on.
Ok, I lied, I had to add that I hid at my mom's for awhile and when I went back, my dad found me in the laundry room (imagine that) and with tears running down his face, hugged me and apologized. He says that he cornered her and when he went to step forward to grab her, she bolted and he landed on her back, snapping in. I don't know, I wasn't there. I want to trust what he says is the truth, but its always been hard for me to believe that. I don't even know why. But that's his side of the story. I just thought it fair to put that in there. It was the first time I had ever seen my dad cry. One of three. That time, when his dad died, and when my dog was hit by a car.
