THE RACOON ATE MY HOMEWORK

Further evidence that my life seems to be one big cosmic joke...

Aunt Chrissy came over for moral support during the cleaning of the Happy Chair yesterday. (It came out PERFECTLY! by the way, and now looks like a brand-new seventeen-year old piece of furniture.) As payment for her services, I asked her to stay for dinner and some stitching.

Just as we were settling in, my little puppy tot nephew Bosco started going nutso over something in the back yard, so I kind of half-assed looked outside and said "Oh, he's just barking at the deer in the field".

So Aunt Chrissy let him outside on his lead (he doesn't stay in the yard the way Stewey does), and after a few minutes she yells "RACCOON!" "BIG RACCOON!" and dashes outside to pull the now fully-alert Bosco out of the yard and onto the patio. He had been standing at full-on fight mode and was in a staring contest with a raccoon.

Considering it was still broad daylight out there, something in the back of my brain said "Hmmm. That's strange. I think those are only supposed to come out at night" and I quickly realized that the poor thing was sick. Or caught in the fence that runs along the back of the property. Either way...NOT a good situation for Nature Girl here and her little sister.

I called the Animal Control Department, who told me to call the Mishawaka Police Department, who told me to call the Humane Society. Within minutes, a lovely man (in a uniform and with a badge and everything, hubba hubba) showed up with a stick and a cage. He had to climb the fence into the field, but he managed to find the little critter, use the stick thingie, and put him in the cage without incident.

Apparently, the raccoon was suffering from distemper, which meant that it was completely disoriented and neurologically impaired. When I asked the officer if he was going to take the little guy to a farm in Upstate New York (because that's where all sick animals go), he looked at me like I was completely nuts and then proceeded to explain to Aunt Chrissy (clearly the rational adult) that because it was suffering and could injure itself, another animal, or a human it would likely be put down.

I thought about that poor raccoon all night long and felt like a schmuck for hitting my proverbial panic button. As I was wringing my hands raw, Stewey jumped up into my lap, looked deeply into my eyes and told me that if I didn't snap out of it, he was going to send me to a farm in Upstate New York.

Here's the lousy progress on "Needlework Shop":