I used to live next to a nice young couple. He was as an avid fisherman as I was and we would go on fishing trips often. She loved gardening and every spring, she would till and plant an acre worth of carrots, tomatoes, greens, peas, etc. Despite living in a very suburban area, wild animals would raid her garden almost every night.
Now, they were both pacifists, in the sense that whatever solution was needed to remedy the situation, no animal could be killed in the process. No use of poison, no shooting with a bb gun. Relocation of the guilty party was going the order of the day. So every spring, I would help them relocate squirrels, rabbits, opossums, etc. that we would catch in “live traps”. This worked fairly well as long as we relocated these animals a dozen or so miles away.
This worked fine until we came across this one raccoon with half an ear. He was so bold, he would sit upright on his butt and eat a tomato while the wife would be clanging pots and pans together with the greatest of abandon. Her desperate actions seem to entertain him. You could almost see him smirk. While he wasn’t the smartest creature living in the shrubs, he was definitely stubborn. His rotundness alone should have stopped him from getting caught into the trap. Yet somehow, he managed to get caught and relocated at least four times.
It just so happen that “Notorious B.I.G” (after having caught him so many times, they named him) was caught hours before I was going to on a fishing trip with the husband. The wife came out of the house with the brilliant idea of taking B.I.G with us and release him in “the real nature”. I reluctantly agreed.
B.I.G, still in the cage, seemed undisturbed by getting loaded in back seat of the old 182. Maybe he was getting accustom to being caught and relocated. Or maybe, he was looking forward to being reunited with Bambi and Thumper just like the wife had promised him. I told my friend to put a blanket over the cage to keep the raccoon calm. And up we went.
About an hour into the flight, we hit some mild turbulence. As a precaution, my friend put his hand on the blanketed trap. About 10 minutes later, I hear “He is out”. Mind you, he didn’t scream it or anything like that. It was said in a matter-of-fact and detached way, as if you were to say “ It’s raining”. While my brain was trying to decide if I had heard what I thought I had heard, I turned around. The unmistakable moving bulge under the blanket confirmed my worst fear. Damn coon was out of the cage. My gaze returned to the instrument panel. I heard all kinds of commotions on my right. I turned my head again, and the raccoon was stuck between the door and back of the passenger seat. In no uncertain terms, I screamed at my friend to open the door and kick the damn coon out. Door latch undone, I see my friend struggling to get the door open. I looked back once again. The door was ajar, opened maybe 10” wide. Meanwhile, BIG was hanging for dear life, the two front paws firmly planted in the door’s panel. I looked back at the instrument, my brain screaming “fly the plane, fly the plane !”. The door closed, but BIG was still in the plane. Fortunately, BIG ran towards the back of the plane. I told my friend to grab the blanket and raise like a curtain to separate the two front seats from the rest of the cabin. In the meantime, I hit NRST on my GPS. We descended and landed quickly at this little airport. As soon as we were off the active, we both jumped out. It took some work to dislodge BIG . But eventually his rotundness de-boarded. As we watched him waddle into the sunset, I swear he turned back and gave us a parting smirk.
We took off again. Within 15 minutes, the unmistakable musty scent of urine penetrated the cabin. My friend, to this day, claims it came from BIG… I am still not convinced.
unregistered to protect the guilty...
