Ish,
Long ago, high school times, family and self did a summer in a lakeside cottage up in Ontario. One of my jobs was trying to arrange the garbage cans in some way that would prevent the coons from dumping them, then picking up the garbage when they dumped it anyway. One night I heard the cans go over and ran outside with the .22, planning to put a hollow point where it counted, and to hell with what mom would say. The offending animal turned out to be a bear. Not a very big bear, and he probably bolted for the trees faster than I bolted for the house, but that was the last time I ran out at night. Bloody parents wouldn't let me bring the 12ga.
Had a baby coon for a pet once. Fun as long as it was a baby, got crazy when it got big and returned to the semi-wild, where it became a regular raider of garbage.
I had an uncle who used to grow a lot of the best sweet corn I ever ate. He had a few hundred acres of feed corn behind his garden; the coons ignored the feed corn and went straight for the good stuff. He asked the local extension agent for advice; the guy told him to plant enough for the coons. He had neighbors, and didn't want to open fire at night. Much too courteous, IMO.
Steve |
