Last night there was a near-perfect moon. Moonlight smiled across our back yard, serenaded by the security light, causing deep pockets of shadow near the trees and fence to appear as darkened caverns. From these caverns pranced an assortment of wild creatures to forage for midnight snacks.
Each night for the last week, an animated, feisty, and robust boar raccoon appeared in my back yard to stake out the area for his personal turf. He spends a couple of hours each night investigating, digging for critters, and robbing my bird feeders.
The coon saunters from the shadows, comfortable in or out of the light. His appearance has become such a concerted event that we have become friends. Since friends should call one another by name, I’ve decided to name him Clarence, and keep the name Durhl for myself.
Photo: envato elements
Clarence mounts the fence that supports my bird feeders. From that vantage point, he hurls himself midair onto the top of the feeder. Then he sits there, helping himself to the corn and other grains in the feeder. I watch him swinging free, mouth overflowing with cracked corn, commanding a look of complete indifference to fear on his little bandit face.
When he gets full or the feeder becomes empty, he drops to the ground and proceeds to groom himself by washing his face, hands, and feet from the damp grass.
For after dinner entertainment, he waddles onto the patio toward the glass door. Reaching the door, he rises up on his haunches, places his hands (paws) on the glass, and peers inward between his hands.
Photo: envato elements
Clarence watches me do laundry and clean the kitchen. The smell of popcorn causes him to become quite excited and entertaining, as he presses his little black-button nose on the glass.
He makes little cooing, purring sounds. Sometimes I have expected him to tell me to add softener to the wash or clean up the sink full of dishes, or maybe add more butter to the popcorn. In fact, I cannot eat with him watching me.
I realize that wild animals should not be fed, so I’ve moved my bird feeders to a higher location, and away from anything he can launch off of. And I tightly secured the gate where he is making his entrance.
Clarence, if you are a Texas Hill Country reader and read this article, understand that there will be no more food for you. However, if you would like to meet me at Taco Bell for some frijoles, please come. But you will have to pick up the tab. Also, no washing your face from your drink cup or eating off the floor.
Durhl Caussey writes exclusively for Texas Hill Country. He may be reached at this media outlet or [email protected].
