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Raccoon rescue in Daniel Boone Forest dumpster By Steve Kickert 1 would like to preface this piece with a word of advice. If someone ever says to you "Hey Ranger there's a raccoon with a broken leg in the dumpster", keep walking. Better yet, run. Ignore any altruistic urges that might argue for attempting a rescue. Trust me, no good will come of it. I speak from experience. It was a hot, muggy day in July. I was walking through Laurel Lake Campground where I was working as a Forest Service naturalist on the Daniel Boone National Forest. As was my custom, I was inviting campers to a program I would be presenting later that evening. I was dressed in my clean Forest Service uniform. 1 believe in looking my professional best when interacting with the public. A camper with a concerned look on his face approached me and said, "HEY RANGER, THERE'S A RACCOON WITH A BROKEN LEG IN THE DUMPSTER." It's been many years since that day and I don't recall what the camper looked like, but in retrospect I am sure he was hiding a pitch fork, pointed ears and a tail for only the devil would have set me up for what was about to unfold. I told the camper I would look into the situation immediately and headed to the dumpster. There, inside was a pitiful looking raccoon lying on its stomach with its hind legs splayed out behind it. I said "Hey there little fella I'm here to help you out". This what all rangers say when they come upon injured animals in strange predicaments. I know this because I watched it on Lassie. They say "little fella" for two reasons. 1) No female would get themselves into such a situation and 2) Rangers aren't about to grab a wild animal and look between its legs to verify their conclusion. After a quick assessment I made a mental list of what would be needed to conduct a successful rescue. I went back to the office and returned with rope, leather gloves and my seasonal intern. This would be a good experience for him and besides, he didn't have to stay clean in order to present a program. Before going into the details of the rescue, there are a few things you need to know about dumpsters in Laurel Lake Campground in July. First of all these are BIG Dumpsters - the kind where you can heave your garbage in over the partially covered top like real men, or deposit it through a side opening which only a wuss would do. Second, these dumpsters hold garbage not trash. They are nasty, fetid, depositories reeking of rotting fish entrails, spaghetti sauce, half-eaten smores, and the remains of canned camping cuisine that was barely edible even before it was thrown out. Hence the intern. We fashioned a noose with the rope and gently lowered it over the head and chest of the injured animal. It looked up with doleful, pleading eyes as if to say, "Thank You" and then with its agile raccoon fingers, honed by years of washing cray fish in creeks, lifted it off and threw it to the side. Not to be dissuaded we again placed the noose over the injured creature. Again he removed it faster than Houdini. By now a small crowd was beginning to gather, most likely in hopes of seeing a rogue bear. Never mind that no live bear had been seen in Kentucky in over 75 years. These were urban, Winnebego driving, taxpaying campers and by God they wanted to see mega fauna. Pressure was beginning to build. It was then that I made a fateful decision which to this day I am trying to understand. Perhaps is was the stiffling heat, or it could have been the effect of methane gas coming from the decomposing refuse in the dumpster. We may never know the answer. Whatever the reason, I decided that one of us had to enter the dumpster in order to extract the raccoon. This decision was bad enough, but the pinnacle of stupidity was achieved when I failed to comprehend that this was a task for the intern, NOT ME. My intern, giving a sigh of relief, helped hoist me over the edge of the dumpster and watched me slip into the putrid abyss. It was when my feet reached the bottom and began sliding around on the Crisco caked paper plates that I realized I had made a terrible mistake. It was also at that moment when a drastic change occurred in the raccoon's demeanor. In a matter of seconds it transformed from a helpless victim into a hissing, snapping predator with forty gleaming teeth - ten more than a bengal tiger. My plan had been to enter the dumpster and keep the noose in place as my assistant lifted the "helpless animal" to freedom. With my role having now changed from rescuer to potential prey I began to consider survival techniques. I admit, I had never heard of a person being killed by a raccoon, but then how many people had ever found themselves in a dumpster with one. One thing I did know, I could not show fear. I represented the entire Federal Government. Laying aside all concern for my personal safety and self-esteem. I made my way though a pile of discarded spam toward the "little fella" who now appeared to be 6 ft tall and weigh 250 pounds. The noose was dropped. I reached toward it and the raccoon lunged at me. Startled I leapt back. This reaction had an unfortunate consequence. With my attention focused on the raccoon, I had failed to noticed the black plastic garbage bag hanging from the top of the dumpster, which some idiot had tried to man-throw in and failed. Even if I had seen it, there would have been no way for me to know what it was filled with. Of course none this mattered because I didn't see it and when I jumped back, I hit the bag which broke and unleashed a torrent of pink watermelon juice and green rinds onto my head. At the same time, the raccoon, having decided it had been harassed enough, rolled over and with its miraculously healed broken leg scrambled up and out of the dumpster and ran into the woods. This left me wearing my uniform, standing in a half-full dumpster, covered in watermelon juice with no apparent explanation when more campers arrived and asked. "Why is the ranger in the dumpster?" The evening program was canceled. Epilogue Several days after the rescue fiasco, Ronnie Dykes, our law enforcement officer on the Forest, approached me and asked if it was true that I had actually gone into the campground dumpster to rescue a raccoon. When I told him it was, he began to laugh and through tears that were rolling down his cheeks said, "Kickert, did you not see the board that was leaned up against that dumpster? That raccoon has been going into the dumpster all summer. He likes to lay in there and eat. All you have to do is put the board in and he climbs out. Tell me again did you REALLY climb into the dumpster?" I did. Writer Steve Kickert presented this tale last spring at the Adair Art Council's first Writer's Day. He would like to see a local group of writers meet regularly, take an idea and write on it for a few minutes, then share - it's his challenge to the Arts Council. For more on his idea he can be reached through Columbia Magazine by clicking 'contact' below, or you can find him with his wife Rita Sundays at 10 at Columbia United Methodist Church, 202 Burkesville Street, Columbia. This story was posted on 2024-11-12 23:18:00
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