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September 9, 2013 / Andee Frizzell

Changing History

baconWe have a raccoon problem. We, I’m referring to my apartment complex and by problem I am referring to the fact the brazen, little furry buggers are becoming increasingly aggressive. Sitting out on the back deck now is like being the only girl left in the bar at last call. Scary; truly scary.

The apartment building owner has set out traps (catch and release kinda thing) which causes me as much anxiety as coming face to face with the little masked, food scrap bandits. The idea of  a wild animal being trapped, scared and unable to understand the relocation incentive, can make me lose sleep.

To date, we have caught nineteen of them!

I was explaining my predicament to my Mom the other night over the phone.

“Well, I’m not surprised that you have so many animals living in your backyard,” she said citing the squirrel infestation, the stray cat issue and the unruly mob of raccoons, “You always had a way with animals. I remember when you were a kid, all the neighbourhood dogs would wait outside our backdoor for you to come out and play. I’d see them chasing you up and down the street for hours.”

“Yeah, about that Mom….” I said as I was about to crush her perception of my ‘animal kindred heart’ childhood memory.

I grew 11inches in one year; the year between grade three and grade four. Because of this sudden growth spurt, my Mom had to resort to outfitting me with the neighbourhood hand me downs of  a  Ukrainian lady who had five kids, her two eldest, boys, fourteen and fifteen were growing at the same rate I was so I inherited their old pants.

My growing spurt seemed to only affect my height and not my weight, so within a month my pants still fit around my waist and hips but had become visibly too short.

To combat this problem, my Mom would roll up the leg cuffs and sew up the sides creating a denim like tote attached to each leg. After a month, she would just unroll the cuff and presto longer pants!

I had a ferocious appetite at this time. I would eat anything within arms’ reach, driving my mother to allot me my own shelf in the fridge,(a result of me eating an entire egg salad that she had prepared to feed 50 people with  at a company picnic)

But the one thing I wouldn’t eat was meat. Never liked meat, I was born a vegetarian.

My Mom thinking I needed all the protein my body could consume started preparing gigantic meat breakfasts for me, consisting of three or more eggs, a plate of hash browns, sausage links, bacon and a slab of ham.

I protested but as it was the 80’s, children who complained weren’t above getting an ass paddling which I hated even more than meat.

Desperation, usually the catalyst for innovation, I concocted a way to slide the offensive meat products into my pant leg pockets without Mom seeing and then I would race outside to play, burying the evidence in the backyard.

The problem was that the neighbourhood dogs had caught on to my little plan. They would wait outside the back door for me, howling, to come out and play enacting a scene from the Wild Kingdom, the dogs being the predator, my pants, the prey.

When I told my Mom the real reason the dogs waited for me she said,” I used to wonder how your pants got so covered in bacon fat.”

Mystery solved…



Leave a Comment
  1. Slam / Sep 9 2013 10:06 pm

    No wonder I like to follow you… I love bacon, yum!

  2. arcticgoddess / Sep 10 2013 12:13 am

    Maybe lay a trail for the raccoons to follow away from your apartment complex. Maybe they will get lost in someone else’s apartment complex. This could be an awesome idea, as long as the neighbouring complex residents don’t get the same idea, then you might just end up swapping raccoons.

    • slamaina / Sep 10 2013 12:49 am


  3. Louise Sorensen / Sep 13 2013 2:39 pm

    No words of wisdom here. Simply blown away. : )

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