The Campground Committee this year was especially vigorous in making their policies known.

For Hardi's birthday, I planned a decadent, romantic supper. It was originally supposed to occur in the kingsize bed of our camper, but my knees protested that they were too old and gimpy to fold up to sit Indian style, and my back protested any other attempted position, so we moved the food part of the event out to our two recliners outside the camper.

On top of a small tray table, I opened up the pate and crackers. I sliced up focaccia, brie, smoked cheddar, fruit, and..... had a glass of wine as I "worked" to prepare the feast for eyes and palates. Hardi busied himself in the camper-- I think so he could feign surprise.

He got a surprise all right-- me, hollering like a fishwife! "Git outta there!" No, not him-- the adolescent raccoon that had snuck up beside me to make a grab for the unsliced half of the focaccia I'd tossed into the empty campty chair we use as a catch-all (until a guest arrives to sit in it). This was within about 3 inches of my knee!!!

As I hollered, the little bugger re-attached his teeth for a more secure getaway and dragged the whole HUGE bag of bread under the camper. He was not at all intimidated when I tried to grab it back, and he made off with it. It was much bigger than he was, but he was motivated.

In seconds he'd cached it, and brought back reinforcements... about nine cousins.

For the next hour we did battle while enjoying our feast. (They were the floor show.) We were surrounded the whole time; they'd send one or two out to distract us while others sneak-attacked from under the camper. At one point I played cat, and snarled/sang at them to hold them off. This worked for awhile, but eventually wore off.

Hardi grabbed a spare tent stake and bopped one. "I think I killed it!" he mourned, over a small young one passed out cold. I told him to pour cold water on it; this revived it enough to careen around drunkenly. The racoon then got his head stuck in a large funnel used for, ah, unmentionable night-time activity, set under the camper to dry. He eventually got out of the funnel and toddled off into the bushes. (He was fine; he returned the next evening.)

After this Hardi only had to step forward with tent pole raised, and they skedaddled. When they hesitated, I spat streams of icewater at their faces. (I often do this to cool my legs on a hot day, so my aim is pretty good.)

The next day we bought vinegar and a spray bottle. The stick no longer frightened them, but they were very surprised when they got a faceful not of water, but stinky white vinegar, straight. They shook this off and continued to advance. I think they thought they were on equal footing with a skunk, but eventually they got the picture and headed off for better opportunities elsewhere. Each evening as suppertime approached I laid down a perimeter of preventive vinegar fire at the bush line. Each night we heard them scurrying off in the underbrush in response, but they no longer came after our food.


We're used to camping in grizzly country and we know all about food handling to avoid tempting critters into unwanted contact. I got sloppy-- the pate was just too much for them and there had been a drought in the area keeping them hungry; the event began in midweek when the campground was at its emptiest and there were no novice campers to prey upon, nor even fresh trash to cull at the camp dump.


We also had many baby skunks troll through our campsite each evening right after dark. These bothered us not at all, and we were not at all concerned. The novice campers at the next site (over the weekend) made sure to warn us, "There's a skunk right under your camper!" We just reassured them not to worry. The little skunks were very pretty and shy-- just making nightly rounds for any crumbs left at the campsites' edges. There were none under the camper-- that had just been a shortcut.

The only night we worried about skunks was the night a small wandering stray dog came along. It gave every sign of being about to give chase, so I caught it and leashed it. She visited with us quite sweetly uintil her worried owners cruised through shortly after dark.

It was very sweet to see how Hardi took to her. From a stern, "What are we going to do with her when we get stuck keeping her?!?" he soon went to, softly: "I guess she can sleep in the camper if no one claims her tonight.... maybe we'll end up taking her home... she sure is cool with being a camp dog...."

No, I assured him, her people would be along shortly. "How will you know if a car goes by that's looking for a dog, and not just people looking over the campsites?" "It will be obvious," I replied.

And it was-- there is no mistaking a worried pet owner when one comes along. When they didn't turn up before dark we knew it was not a missing campsite dog that had slipped its tether, but a plucky neighborhood stray from nearby farmland or houses-- campgrounds go quiet promptly at 10PM, Or Else.

Sure enough, about 10:30 along came her people. They were very grateful we'd leashed her and fed her. "She usually finds her way home, but she has come home skunked several times and that's NEVER fun!" She'd been missing all day-- slept like a baby after downing about a quart of water. She'd dined with us on the soft dog treats I carry in the van at all times to lure strays off the road. She was so little I had to break them into tidbits for her-- and old. No teeth left to chew them up, as it turned out.

How had I known she'd be picked up, soon, by good owners? Newish collar fitted right, with an Invisible Fence setup on it, and she was clean and fed properly. Just tired from her long ramble. Mother and adult daughter had been worrying about an aging dog going off, maybe, to die. Naw! Just raccoons and skunks caller her to chase! :~)

We called her Sissy while she was with us, and she answered to it. Name turned out to be Lacey-- close enough!

~S~