Rocky Raccoon

Yep, that's a young raccoon climbing on the bed where our 2 year old is relaxing with a bed time book. This would have been in November of 1974. We were young and foolish and decided that a raccoon would be a nice addition to our household.

Rocky Raccoon (we were/are big Bob Dylan fans) was purchased from a place that dealt in exotic pets. He had been born in captivity, had all his shots, and was perfectly adorable. He had a big cage that he lived in when we were at school (John and I were both teachers and Ethan went to school with us.) But when we were at home, Rocky had the run of the house.

Raccoons are amazingly curious, incredibly dexterous, and infinitely energetic. Our house was pretty Spartan and already child-proofed for our two year old but Rocky tested the limits. He climbed on the bookshelves and tossed down the books; he opened kitchen drawers that the toddler couldn't manage ( there were latches on the cabinets) and threw silverware on the floor; and he sought water wherever he could find it.

Raccoons are enchanting creatures and a delight to watch-- but though Rocky was friendly enough, he was never what you could call domesticated. He was a wild animal living with us and we adapted to him rather than the other way round. (He was toilet-trained, believe it or not, though we did have to flush for him.)

Rocky was just under a year old when, in June of '75, we packed up our household goods for the big move to the farm in NC. Friends were accompanying us and the animals had been allocated among the various vehicles. I would be driving one car with Ethan and one dog; John would be driving a truck; Betty would have another of our dogs and her son had agreed to take Rocky in his VW Beetle.

On the morning of the big move, we went out early to Rocky's spacious outdoor pen to put him into his traveling crate -- only to find the raccoon-proof latch opened, the door standing wide, and Rocky Raccoon gone forever, disappeared into the cypress swamps around our house.

We have never yet determined what happened. But the fact is that we were all a little relieved not to have to deal with Rocky in a new environment, as he moved into his probably hormonally-driven years.

John has suggested that I might have slipped out in the night and opened that door; I have pointed the finger at him. And we both have wondered if it might have been Mark, who wasn't looking forward to the two-day drive with a raccoon in the back seat.

No one's talking.