Long, Long Day

30 Oct

Yesterday morning I woke up with an odd black lump on my neck. I had The Squire take a look at it, and he announced I had a deer tick “hanging out near the penthouse”, as he put it. Lovely. Since deer ticks carry Lyme disease we decided a trip to the Doc in a Box was in order. The doctor I saw said scientists have learned that it takes 36 hours for these ticks to actual transmit Lyme to a person, but he still said it was a wise thing to have it removed, “with all of the inward parts”, as he put it.

This 36 hour thing bewilders me. Maybe it’s because the tick was on my neck, but it hurt, and I can’t imagine anybody ignoring it for that long. These critters are incredibly small, which is why I didn’t notice it last night when I washed my face – I probably thought it was another mole popping up – but by morning it was quite obvious.

Anyway, while I was out, I went ahead and did my Thursday evening shopping, and came home to get things sorted out and start a batch of Onion-Dill bread. While that was “doing its thing” I walked out to the road to bring back the recycling bin. As I turned around I saw a man get out of his car and slip on the rain-slicked road. I immediately left the wheelie bin and trotted up to see if he needed help. Turned out he and his wife had seen an injured raccoon in the street and had gotten the critter out of traffic by getting it to chomp down on a snow scraper and dragging it into the ditch. Primitive, but safer than trying to lift several pounds of “armed and dangerous”  Procyon lotor. They had been calling around to various veterinarians and animal shelters, trying to find somebody to help. And of course, “Little Miss Fixit” had to lend a hand.

I went out to the barn to get my parents’ cat carrier, and grabbed an old bathmat on the way back to the road. I figured the rug was considerably heavier than a towel, and arguing with an irate raccoon needed all the protection available. After a fair amount of trouble, the gentleman – Kevin, by name – and I took the crate apart and threw the rug over the ‘coon, which immediately turned around and began to wrestle with it, which was exactly what we hoped it would do. We managed to slide the animal and rug into the bottom of the crate, and then put it back together so we could lug it up to the house.

Not our raccoon

Kevin knew of a no-kill shelter up in Freeland, so he and his wife took crate and all up the road. They came back today to return the carrier and told us they had just about as much trouble getting Mr. R from one cage to the other as we had had getting him into ours in the first place. The lady who runs the shelter finally sprinkled some cat chow into the new living quarters and the raccoon scuttled over with no hesitation. It looked as if it had a broken leg, and one eye was red, but the vet at the shelter said she didn’t think it was anything that couldn’t be repaired.

I still had to run down to White Marsh to collect the bread for the Dough-nation at 9:00, so it was pretty late when I finally tumbled into bed. My trusty pedometer had slightly over 6,000 steps on it, and it does undercount, to it’s no wonder I’m a bit draggy today.

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