Raccoon Summer

By Betty Vanderwielen

Climbing the tree to rescue the orphaned baby raccoons was just the beginning.

From eye dropper to bottle feedings, from wiggling worms to pinching crayfish, from cage building to camping trips to final release-Lance's summer has never been so busy, or so bodaciously awesome. He could almost call it a perfect summer.

Except for the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chicken Scratch Books
• Release date: Apr 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781953743138

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Raccoon

Dad, know what Mom and I did this weekend?" Lance’s glance slid from the passing trees to his father’s face.

What? his dad asked without taking his eyes off the road.

First, we went to Blockbuster Video and rented all three Star Wars tapes and a VCR to play them on.

But you’ve already seen those movies at the theater.

Yeah, but we needed to watch them again so we could make scratch art paintings of Darth Vader.

Lance’s dad tilted his head and rolled his eyes upward.

No seriously, Dad, every time Darth Vader appeared we did quick pencil sketches of him. Then afterward we each made a painting by scratching the black off this special paper that was silver underneath. They turned out really cool. Here, I’ll show you.

Lance unzipped his backpack and shifted the books around. Oh no! I stuck it in my math book so I could show Hunter and my book’s not here.

His dad frowned. You left it at home?

No. Lance squinched his eyes closed in anticipation of a lecture. I left it at Mom’s.

Lance! How many times have I told you to always take a second look around to make sure you have everything? You won’t see your mom again until next weekend.

Maybe I could call her and she could bring it?

His dad looked down at him, lips curved in disgust. You expect her to drive four hours round trip to bring you a book? You’re almost thirteen, Lance. When are you going to start taking responsibility for your things? And when are you going to start thinking about other people instead of acting like everything revolves around you?

Lance turned his head and stared out the window. That’s when he saw it.

Dad! A raccoon!

He felt a bump as his dad slammed on the brakes. Lance kept his eyes on the grayish-brown raccoon as it catapulted to the side of the road. Something spiraled from it into the underbrush.

The raccoon lay still. Then it pushed itself upright, staggered, fell. Forced itself up again. Stumbled into the woods.

Are you okay? his dad’s voice broke through.

It’s hurt. Lance pulled his seat belt release and reached for the door handle.

His dad grabbed his arm. Where do you think you’re going?

Dad, we have to help it!

You never approach a wounded wild animal, Lance. That coon would claw your eyes out if you tried to touch it.

It had something in its mouth. A baby, I think. It got thrown over there, in that brush. Lance pointed, but his dad was looking in the opposite direction scanning for oncoming traffic. Let me check, Dad. Please.

Why would a raccoon walk down the road with a baby in its mouth? It was something to eat—a ground squirrel or a mouse. Now buckle up. The car edged onto the pavement.

But Dad. . . .

Enough! Buckle your seat belt.

Lance wanted to shout, Mom would let me!

He had been five years old when his parents divorced, but one of the more painful things he’d learned was never to use the phrase Mom would let me. . . .

But she would have. He knew that for sure. And if it turned out to be a baby raccoon, she would have taken it home or to a vet or something.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

His dad pulled up to the curb next to the Ridgeville Middle School sign. If you get detention in Math class, ask permission to use the office phone and let Nikki know you’re going to be late so she won’t be worried about you. You have your bike helmet, right?

Lance nodded and retrieved it from the back seat. His bike was still locked to the school railing where he had left it when his mom picked him up on Friday.

Chapter 2

Hunter

Lance took his lunch tray over to where his best friend Hunter was sitting with Brian and Mike and some of the other sixth-grade boys.

Hey Hunter, he said as he swung his leg over the table’s attached bench. Dad hit a raccoon this morning on the way to school.

Brian laughed. It get flattened? He clapped his hands together producing a loud splat.

Lance gave him a disgusted look. No. It ran off into the woods. And I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Hunter.

Brian shrugged and snitched a potato chip from Mike.

Cut it out! Mike grabbed the bag away.

Lance leaned across the table to Hunter and lowered his voice. I think it was a mother raccoon. With a baby. The baby might still be there.

Hunter raised his eyebrows but shoveled a spoonful of applesauce into his mouth before asking, Where?

Deer Creek Road. By our fishing hole. I’ve never seen a raccoon up close, have you? Wanna bike over after school?

Wow. Wish I could, Hunter replied. But I have to babysit when I get home. He cornered the last bit of applesauce against the side of the plastic divider.

Shoot! Ever since Hunter’s mom had started her Mary Kay job, it seemed like he always had to babysit his two-year-old sister.

Lance opened the spout of his milk carton. How long do you think a baby raccoon can survive without its mother?

Kit. Baby raccoons are called kits, Hunter said. Depends. Maybe a day. Not much more. It’s only May. Too early for kits to be outside the den.

Kit! Brian interrupted with a snicker. Listen to the great animal expert, Hunter-Not.

Stop calling me that! Hunter said, looking like he wanted to slug Brian. Instead, he picked up his tray and said to Lance, See you on the playground.

Lance turned on Brian. "You should back off. He wants to go hunting as much as the rest of us. Probably even more. It’s not his fault his stepdad doesn’t hunt.

Why’s his name Hunter then?

Don’t be a jerk! His real dad named him. He was an outfitter—the kind that takes people into the wilderness to hunt and fish and stuff.

Lance shook his head. He and Hunter were the only ones who understood how tough it was to be a divorced kid. Hunter had been six when his father took off without even saying goodbye. But Hunter insisted when he got older his dad would come get him and they’d pack into the wilderness together and spend their days hunting and fishing.

At age seven Hunter had appointed Lance his Solemn Witness and led him to a special place in the woods. Hunter had pricked his finger, forced two red drops onto the Sacred Stone, and swore a Blood Oath that he would learn all about animals and hunting and tracking so he’d be ready when his dad came back for him.

Lance had wanted to prick his finger too, but Hunter said he didn’t need to because his mother was still around. Even if she didn’t live at home, Lance still got to see her a lot.

What a couple of dorky kids we were, Lance thought.

But dorky or not, Hunter stuck to his oath—he read books about animals and watched every animal program on TV. If Hunter said a raccoon kit couldn’t last more than a day without its mother, Lance knew he had to find that baby.

If it was a baby.

Chapter 3

Dead Baby

Lance called his stepmom from the school office to say he would be late getting home. He didn’t have detention but he did have to stay after to do his math homework. It didn’t take long since he had already done it before at his mom’s. He still had to figure out how to manage the rest of the week without his math book, but he’d think about that later.

He put on his bike helmet and started pedaling. Nikki hadn’t asked when he’d get home so he figured he had time to go to Deer Creek Road and look for the maybe raccoon baby. Besides, she’d said she had a client coming for a perm. He unconsciously wrinkled his nose at the thought of the smell.

Lance got off his bike when he came to the tire skid marks. Holding his hand above his eyebrows to block the sun, he scrutinized the area.

There, that must be it! He was almost certain he could see a small animal lying in the shadow of a clump of bushes.

Remembering his dad’s warning about injured animals, Lance approached cautiously.

The creature remained motionless.

Lance bent on one knee and poked it.

It felt stiff and cold. Lance didn’t see any blood, but he knew it was dead.

With one finger he rolled the creature over. A darkened area stretched across its face like a robber’s mask. He’d been right. It was a baby raccoon. But he was too late to save it.

Lance sat cross-legged on the ground and picked up the dead body. It looked nothing like the cute, furry Animal Planet kits scampering to stay close to their mother on their first days out of the den. The hair on this creature was so short it could hardly be called fur. Small pointy black ears lay plastered against its head. No hair on them at all. The band of dark skin across its face had two small bulges in the middle, a hint that eyes would someday peer through and the face eventually would show the characteristic raccoon robber’s mask.

When Lance was seven, his mom had taken him to see newborn kittens at her friend Sharon’s house. Why don’t they have eyes? he had asked—one of his ‘cute sayings’ endlessly retold. His mom had explained that newborn kittens could neither see nor hear. But by the next weekend visitation, when she took him to see the kittens again, two of them had opened their eyes. By the following weekend, the eyes and ears of all five were completely open.

Lance focused on the still form in his hand. If raccoon kits were anything like kittens, this one was less than two weeks old.

Turning it over, Lance inspected the creature carefully. Cream-colored belly. Faint rings around the short, pointed tail, alternating light and dark. Legs with hardly any hair on them.

The tiny paws especially fascinated him. The black pads felt like stiff leather. The round front paws had five distinct fingers tipped with tiny claws, but the back paws were long and narrow with short toes. Kind of like a human hand and foot.

With his finger, Lance traced around the pads, fixing their outline in his mind. He was going to sketch them in his drawing book when he got home.

Lance smiled as he thought back on the tons of pictures he had drawn of Sharon’s kittens. He had cried because he couldn’t keep one of the kittens for his own, so his mom had taken him to buy a pad of sketching paper and a box of colored pencils. She said he should draw pictures to keep the memory of the kittens. The walls of her apartment and his room at home had been wallpapered with pictures of the growing babies. His mom still kept a bunch of the drawings in her ‘treasure’ box.

Lance looked at the dead raccoon, puzzled. Dad and Hunter were right. It was too early for this kit to be out of its den. And no mother animal would move a baby before it could see or hear.

That triggered another memory of the kittens. On his second visit, he had taken one out of its box, even though his mother told him they were too young to be played with. He had tried to teach it to walk, but the kitten let out a pitiful mew and the mother cat sprang out of the box right at Lance. Frightened, he had dropped the baby and backed against the wall. The mother cat ignored him and clamped her teeth around the kitten’s neck. Terrified she was going to kill it, Lance hollered for his mom. She came running.

His mother assured him the mother cat wasn’t hurting the baby, she simply had no other way to carry it. But his mom warned if Lance took one of the kittens away again the momma cat might decide the box was unsafe. Then she would pick up each of the babies in her mouth and move them, one by one, to a hiding place.

I’ll bet that’s why, Lance said to the baby raccoon. I’ll bet some predator—like an owl—found your hole. I’ll bet your mom was trying to move you to a safer place. But our car came along and ruined everything.

Suddenly Lance remembered Sharon’s cat had five babies. The mother raccoon on TV had four.

Maybe more babies, as young and helpless as this one, were hidden in a den hole somewhere. Waiting for their mother to come back. But she would never come.

The kits couldn’t survive without their mother.

Lance had to rescue them.

Chapter 4

Babes In A Tree

Lance gently set the dead baby on a flat rock. He scanned the trees. None showed a nesting hole. Raccoons denned in trees, didn’t they?

He closed his eyes and listened.

Dee-dee-dee—that was a chickadee.

Far off ratta-tat-tat-tat-tat—some kind of woodpecker.

Caw-caw—crows arguing about something.

That loud, rapid chitter was a squirrel, probably warning another squirrel to stay out of its territory.

No sounds of baby raccoons in distress.

What if the kits were already dead?

Lance opened his eyes. He walked over to the place where he thought the mother raccoon had landed. Was that blood—that dark spot on the ground? He bent down and rubbed it, held his fingers to his nose like they did on detective shows, but he still couldn’t tell. What did blood smell like anyway?

From this position, all he saw was a clutter of grass, pine needles, shrubs, and ground cover plants. No bloodstains. No tracks. No clues.

He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. There was a deer trail leading into the woods. Maybe raccoons used the same trails as deer.

He walked slowly, looking closely at the ground, shifting his focus occasionally to check the trees. He saw deer droppings and a couple of clear hoof prints but no raccoon tracks. He thought about the raccoon’s leathery paws and the deer’s hard, double-pointed hooves. Raccoons probably wouldn’t leave any prints at all in the hard ground.

Maybe he should forget it. The shrieking of the crows grew louder as if mocking his indecision. Shut up! Lance yelled at them.

A large black shape flew over his head and landed on a tree limb.

Caw! Caw! A riot of answering caws sounded from below. The newcomer glided down out of sight.

Wait! Crows ate dead animals. Maybe the crows had found the mother.

Lance started running.

When he pulled back the brush, he saw three crows picking at the carcass of a dead raccoon. He waved his arms and ran at the birds, Get away! Leave her alone.

The startled birds flew to nearby branches and rained caws down on him.

Lance picked up a small rock and threw it at the nearest bird. The rock missed, but the crow flew to a farther branch.

Lance got more pebbles and bombarded the birds until they gave up and flew away.

The crows had already pecked at the mother raccoon’s face and legs and stomach. Lance didn’t want to look at her. He studied the trees instead.

A quarter of the way up an old misshapen ponderosa pine was a cavity. Probably that’s where her babies were.

He didn’t hear any sounds. Maybe they were already dead.

He surveyed the trunk. Ponderosa pines were tough to climb. No branches near the ground like the old cherry tree in his back yard. The lowest limb on this ponderosa towered a good arm’s length higher than he could reach.

He spotted a downed branch a few feet away. Rolling and shoving, pulling and lifting, he managed to drag the thing over and lean it against the ponderosa’s trunk. Backing off, he took a deep breath, raced toward the tree, and sprinted up the make-shift ramp. Arms raised high, he leaped for the overhead branch. His hands touched and grabbed the limb and he pulled himself up until he could swing his leg over.

After resting a minute in that straddled position, Lance inched himself closer to the trunk and stood up. Working his way across the next two higher limbs was not a problem, but he would have to jump to get to the one after that.

Don’t look down, he told himself. It will be fine, just don’t look down.

He pumped his arms back and forth, sprang for the branch—and caught it. From there he worked himself over to the U of the trunk.

Grasping a pine bough to help stabilize himself, he stretched until he could brace one foot against the knotty growth beneath the hole. Balancing precariously, he peered into the den.

Three small, brownish-gray bodies lay curled in a tight bundle.

Cool beans! I found them! he said out loud.

Lance reached to touch the nearest body. It felt cold, but not stiff like the dead baby.

It was still alive!

He dragged the baby closer to the opening. Neither it nor the others reacted.

Maybe they were dead after all, but not stiff yet. Maybe he was too late.

Lifting the raccoon over the lip of the tree hole threw him off balance. He pulled the baby to his chest and shifted his weight back into the U. There, braced between the two trunks, he examined his find.

The baby raccoon remained curled, nose to tail, a skimpily furred ball in Lance’s hand. He stroked its back gently. It felt soft and yielding.

Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead, he said.

He placed his finger under the baby’s head and lifted gently. The tiny mouth opened as if to cry but no sound came out.

Oh, you’re alive! Lance said. That’s great! That’s fantabulous!

I bet you’re hungry. He lifted the tiny body and snuggled it against his neck, stroking its sparse fur. Everything’s going to be okay now. I’m going to feed you and take care of you. Let’s get the others and I’ll take you all home.

But where to put the baby? Too late he realized

Reviews for Raccoon Summer

[Sydney · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I’m on a mission to read as many books as possible from Chicken Scratch Books. This was my third and, I’m sorry to say, the first non-5-star. I might update this review when I get my notes organized.