Back at the start of NaBlo I spoke  of a coon tale with a happy ending. I also foretold of a second story minus such an ending. Today I give you that story.

I was young, probably 6 or 7 when this happened.

Back in New York we had a place we called “The Farm”.  It was my dad’s hunting lodge,  acres of trees and a small plot of land with a two story run-down old farm house.

Often my dad and uncle would take us kids out and we’d climb trees, play in the woods, ignore the scurrying of mice when we slept in the attic.

My dad and uncle would make repairs as they went. The stairs one year, the roof another. We had a fancy outhouse (not designed for girls, modifications were necessary for me).  No electricity, a wood stove. We played outdoors 95% of the time we were there.  There was a beehive in the walls that buzzed, and everything was old and drafty and I loved every visit.

The year the roof was redone my dad was up working hard peeling off tiles and taking off rotting decking.

He peeled back a panel of decking and happened upon a coon’s nest.  A momma and her five babies.

Keeping in mind at this time Rabid Racoons were a major issue at the time – and the momma was PISSED, my dad did what was necessary to defend himself.

He grabbed the nearest weapon, his hammer, and took care of momma.  He would have moved the babies, but they were way too young to fend for themselves, and so he also took care of them.

For years we tormented my poor dad with this tale of bopping the baby coons on the head…

But it was necessary (unlike in the earlier story I told).

A sad tale, true…but also a fitting descriptor of survival of the fittest.

Because if dad hadn’t taken action…that momma coon sure would have.