Shoulda' Known Better

Steam rolls off their wet backs as they trail single file through the deep snow from the windbreak that sheltered them from the storm.  Older calves that typically run helter-skelter, bouncing off their mommas and each other, are constrained by the snowfall and follow along in the quickly developed cow path.  An occasional cow stretches her neck to beller as a vapor cloud forms in front of her face.

I hustle to shovel snow out the concrete feed bunks because when the herd arrives, hungry heads became obstacles to shovel around.  As lead cows arrive, everyone spreads out along the feed bunk making a ruckus, demanding I hurry.  Fencing, with neck rails over the feed bunks, keep them in the pasture while I walk back down the outside of the bunks to the feed truck.

My young pup, Badger, a cattle dog mix, plays his newfound game of jack-in-the-box.  Stealthily, he creeps along the feedbunk's front wall, occasionally disappearing in the deep snow like a weasel on the hunt.  Suddenly, he fires up out of the snow with an open mouth, reaching over the wall for a nose to grab, startling the hungry cows.  Heads jerk and the neck railing clangs while Badger can nearly be heard snickering in amusement.

We climb into the feed truck and I yank levers and twist knobs.  The chute drops and the auger turns as I creep forward.  Corn silage steadily falls into the bunk with steam pillowing up into the chilled morning air.  With the bunk filled and everyone accounted for, I head to the next pasture to repeat the process.  While driving down the hill, something fluttering high in the old cottonwood tree, like a fuzzy windsock, catches my eye.

I slow to take a better look and determine a raccoon tail is dangling from a hole where a large hollow branch had broke off years ago.  The tail twitches around and a hind foot periodically dangles with it. Hmmm.  It almost looks like he's stuck, I say to myself, but coons don't get stuck in trees.  I keep the feed truck rolling and each time I pass the tree, the tail/foot combo is still there. Finally, with everyone getting a full belly, it was time to investigate.

I grabbed a coworker who, just like me, commented, "Coons don't get stuck in trees." 

"I know, but come look at this thing." I countered.

Together, we stand at the base of the tree and witness the squirming tail and feet and agree that the raccoon is stuck.  Unable to allow anything to suffer, I begin to climb.  Just like any climb up a tree, I'm suddenly higher than I anticipated and ask for a rope.  My coworker tosses me a rope that is used to help me inch worm up the ancient cottonwood until I am within reach of the tail.

My heart races and my inner thighs burn due to the death grip they have on the tree.  Cautiously, I reach up and tug on the tail.  Nothing.  I grab a hind foot and it pulls against me which results in a raccoon backing out of the hole.

It just keeps backing out, much like a NBA star getting out of a tiny sports car.  My rapid breaths are shallow as the head pops out of the hole and turns to look directly at me.  We are arm's length apart and I have flashbacks of coons fighting my dog(s) in the past so I know that they are mean, wicked and TOUGH. 

Do I jump?  Can't, damn rope has me fastened to the tree.  Realizing my face is about to be shredded by tooth and claw, I prepare my best attack by knocking him out of the tree.  With my right arm cocked in the ready position, we continue our stare down. 

Seconds click by as I assume he is letting his eyes adjust from the dark hole to the bright winter day.  Upon full adjustment, I expect an attack for disturbing him in his domain. 

He blinks, I blink. 

The showdown is near.

He sticks his head back in the hole, leaving his back feet and tail dangling...

Coons don't get stuck in trees.