Not long ago, Pat and I were taking a walk on Cicero Road when we were surprised to see this raccoon picking its way across someone’s lawn. It seemed to barely notice us as it made its way slowly to the drainpipe on the roadside.
Something was wrong. The raccoon wobbled down to the water where it appeared to take a drink. Then it returned to the lawn and started across the road. It staggered, fell sideways, and then wobbled in a confused circle in the middle of the pavement.
Sick? Dying of old age? Rabid?
We kept our distance until it moved away.
When we got home, I called the DEC. The man I spoke to said there was an officer nearby who could check on the situation.
I’m left with an undercurrent of sadness from meeting up with this failing wild animal. Maybe because I’ve reached the age when my peers and I are struggling with illness, solitude, and mortality. Bodies get sick, need repair, and ultimately quit.
What comes next? Raccoon heaven?