Raccoons are all id. We have about a hundred of them now,
and most of them are being bottle fed. This gives me plenty of time to observe their personalities. The tiny ones are like newborn puppies. They quickly grow into juveniles, and trouble. Feeding juvies remind me of frat boys, doing keg stands with the formula bottles, chugging with complete focus. They wrap their small furry bodies and highly tactile appendages around the bottles, drinking for all
they're worth, all eagerness, frustration, and bliss.
I think humans find these masked fuzzballs so frustrating because raccoons are are much like us, young and old. Clever and handsy, mischievous and curious, they like to open things and touch everything. They prefer to shit in water, and can't resist sweets. They hate nothing so much as a closed door, but when left to their own devices will chose to be perfectly comfortable and lazy.
One morning, we arrived at the hospital, before dawn as usual. Opening the door to a raccoon room, two cages were discovered open. An all-hands search gave quick result as the sun rose, peeking through the windows; the tiny escaped bandits were comfortably sacked out, having turned the window blinds into a hammock.
Some, the older, wilder animals brought in with illness or injury, are ferocious. I'd sooner handle the cowardly coyotes any day than a feisty raccoon. Terrified, they act with furious reckless abandon. Without proper handling, they are a danger to us and themselves.
They are playful and social, prone to bullying and easily bored. They are inventive with toys but prefer to make trouble.
No comments:
Post a Comment