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A Very Raccoon Vacation
A visit. A warning.
We went on vacation. For six days and five nights we were two adults and a dog staring at the Pacific, marvelling at its white froth and general power, occasionally making decisions about sandwiches. Two events stand out.
On nights one and two we camped on a friends’ lawn. This was deluxe camping; they made us meals, we slept on one of those pleated fold outs with our blankets from home, there was no weather to speak of either night.
Our dog, Ruthie, is part Heeler, part Corgi, and maybe part butterscotch candy. She’s a generally cowering creature who trusts only the two of us. We figured she’d be happy to stay curled up with us in the bed, but I slept with her leash wrapped around my ankle, to be safe.
We all three slept soundly for a while. But at 4 a.m. I woke to a violent jerk. I was half off the bed and Ruthie was dragging me onto the wet grass, barking at an unknown assailant.
I screamed and tried to leap up, but I couldn’t get to my feet because she was tugging on my leg, so I stumbled around the bed on my knees. T turned the flashlight on to reveal a chunky beast staring at us from the edge of…
