Beyond rat-baggery

The rat-baggery post brought back these two emailed stories. First, from Mark Thorne about his brother, Jon and Jon's wife, Kris, both technically my nephews but close to my age and more like close cousins. Quoting Mark, with Kris' permission:

The story of rat baggery reminds me of the time that Jon and Kris were defrosting their freezer. After discarding dozens of remnants of meals long past they came upon a bag which neither recognized. Closer examination revealed a beloved family pet, a parakeet. Having expired some years back on a cold February day, it had been awaiting a proper spring burial. I don't know if they followed through with the ceremony but I can see Jon, after the thing croaked, dangling the mite infested corpse over the plastic bag drawer. Truly a "guy thing" to do.

Second, from Ree and Al Pruehs, in rural Michigan, with her permission:

I don't remember if I told y'all this one on us or not, but Joe's latest post put me in mind of it... Pulled into the driveway, noticed that Al had obviously been home, the mailbox was empty... opened the front door... ...and discovered I wasn't alone in the house. A five-gallon green bucket, apparently half filled with worn-out socks and shop towels, sat in the middle of the foyer. The cloth and paper towels were moving feebly up and down and a singular noise -- not unlike the screech of fingernails on a blackboard -- was emitting from the bucket.... I worked up my courage to pluck enough of the cloth out of the bucket to get some idea what was in it...

"Oh ****...he's left me with a bunch of BABY RACCOONS"... [By then] I had found the note on the computer keyboard. Summarized: =Darling, I found someone to take the baby raccoons. We need to take them to the rehabilitator's home. I'll be back in a little while, wait for me.= Screech screech screech in the background.)

I had been home listening to baby raccoons for nearly an hour. Karen [rehabilitator] and I agreed that if Al wasn't home by 7:00 I would load my "guests"... and head on out... Fortunately, Al drove up five minutes later. Joyous spousal reunion. ("YOU LEFT ME ALONE WITH THESE THINGS! ...thank God you're back.") Al exited the house, with raccoons.

I got outside a few minutes later. "Where are the babies?"
Shrug. "In the trunk."

(Visualization of fast stop, overturned bucket, baby raccoons loose in the car -- followed immediately by visualization of baby raccoons overcome by exhaust fumes and desperate explanations to Karen the rehabber. Neither pleased.) "YOU PUT THE BABIES IN THE TRUNK?"
"Look. They are PERFECTLY all right, wedged in just fine --"
"GET THEM OUT OF THERE!"
"What, you're going to carry them in your lap?"

So. Half an hour drive... bucket of baby raccoons on floor of passenger front seat wedged solidly between my knees and the dashboard. Much complaining from the bucket... Al regaled me with the story of how he found the raccoons in the garage and how many calls he had to make before finding the ONLY rehabber in Livingston County who takes in raccoons...

Finally arrived at the rehabber's, bucket and both sets of human eardrums intact... She took the bucket, shoved the cloth aside -- "Oh yeah, these little guys are cold" -- and casually plopped them one by one into a covered box half-full of heating pad. "They'll start getting active after they warm up." We looked at each other. ACTIVE? Oy...

Talked to Karen for a few minutes afterward... Her current guests include ducklings, goslings, baby squirrels and over 25 =more= baby raccoons. (She figures the fawns to start arriving any day now.) When she mentioned she's already gone through a fifty-pound sack of baby-animal formula this year we coughed up a contribution to the cause... Funny. It seemed awfully quiet in the car on the way home.