Growing up in the country was wonderful. We could see stars every night, name the constellations, watch bats come out and swoop to catch insects, catch fireflies and listen to the owls hooting all night. There were corn fields as far as you could see, was always fun to run thru them to get to the other side of the field where this row of trees stood. The fields were always broken up by lines of trees - kind of the way farmers knew where their own fields ended and their neighbor's fields began.
There was this huge oak tree with large roots bending up out of the ground. It had grown around the rusted fence that had been there forever and the way the branches had sprouted out during it's long life, it looked like little rooms. During the summer with the leaves fully spread out shading these little rooms, we could enter thru hanging branches and be totally hidden from the road. To farm kids, this was heaven. Over one summer, we had dragged some old chairs we'd discovered in one of the farm buildings out there and we would pretend to cook on a big rock we'd rolled over. It was our tree hideout.
As one summer wore on, we'd hear little squeaks coming from the upper branches. I asked my Dad one night before we ran out there to play what those noises were. My brother and I learned that animals would make their homes inside old trees and sometimes babies would be scared of the dark - not really saying they were squeaking for their mother to come feed them. Being scared of the dark was something sweeter to say to young kids. My brother and I never climbed too high, in fear of scaring those babies even more.
After one really bad thunderstorm, we weren't allowed to go out past the field because of the mud and huge puddles of rain that would surely ruin our shoes. We didn't listen and decided to walk up the road to the tree hideout instead. The farmers had put a fence up to keep people out but that never could stop us - up and over the barbed wire we went. As we played with making mud pies - mainly to keep my little brother happy, we heard more squeaks... bad squeaks, not the cute ones we were used to hearing.
Being the responsible older sister I was, scared of nothing in front of him, I sent my little brother home. I climbed our hideout and found a huge chunk of a large branch missing. The storm had done some damage. Thinking this could make a new addition to our hideout, I kept climbing. I found a hole inside the trunk, exposed by the broken branch. Now when I say branch, I mean one of those big thick ones that grow closer to the ground, the bottom ones.
Looking inside the hole, I found three pairs of eyes looking at me. Three tiny raccoons, squealing for their momma. Knowing an animal mother is quite mean when he babies are threatened, I was looking around for her and spotted her, a little further up the road, on the road, dead. I felt bad for the babies, and reached in to bring them out and down to the farm so we could help them. Baby 1, 2 and 3 all came down the tree with me and down the road to the farm. Worried the dogs would hurt them, I hid them inside one of the old buildings behind the barnyard.
I snuck extra milk into a dish every morning when I fed the farm cats and table scraps every night out to the building to feed to the babies. I don't know how old they were but they were drinking milk and would snarl at each other for the scraps of meat I'd bring. One morning, I went out there to check on them to find 2 gone. I assumed they'd grown up and left to find other raccoons to be friends with and I felt so bad for the 3rd baby. I would be careful with them so they wouldn't get used to me and not become big raccoons like they were supposed to be.
I wasn't careful that morning. Baby #3 wasn't too pleased with me trying to pet him to make him feel better and he bit me. Not just baby nibbles like with a kitten... he bit me, HARD. As I whipped my hand back, I scolded him for being mean and went to have my Mom pour iodine on the bite (as usual) and wait for the smack that would accompany it. Unfortunately, my Dad was inside and home from work early.
Difference between my parents, my Mom hit quickly without mercy while my Dad was quiet and thoughtful. My Mom didn't know a bite from a splinter while my Dad most definitely knew I'd gotten bit, by a raccoon. I don't know how it works now but back then, if you'd got bit by a wild animal, it would be killed and studied to see if it had rabies. Having fed these baby raccoons for a whole few weeks, I didn't want that to happen to baby #3, especially since he was all alone now.
Not telling my Dad where that raccoon was would probably be the most defiant I'd ever been to him, even to now. I got the iodine poured over the bite and was hauled to the dr's office. Being a country kid, getting nails stuck in my feet, barbed wire cuts, hurting myself on sharp rusty objects was the norm so getting a tetnis shot every year or two was my life. This time, I got 36 rabies shots.... 6 a week for 6 weeks. Lesson learned.
