Husband Insisted on Poisoning the Raccoons Who Raided Our Backyard, but What They Dug Out of Our Trash Left Me Stunned
The raccoons that broke into our backyard were lured into poison traps by my husband, but I couldn’t bring myself to accept. I was curious when they took something out of the trash one evening. I was struck speechless and in tears by what I witnessed under the moon.
“No, Kyle, please don’t hurt the poor thing!” As I saw my husband throw a stone at a pregnant raccoon that was waddling across our lawn, the words fell out of my throat. Thank God, the rock missed. The animal fled, her movements awkward from carrying so many unborn children.
With his jaw clenched and his knuckles white over yet another rock, Kyle faced me. “Josie, they’re a nuisance. It’s best if you realize that as soon as possible.”
I embraced myself, attempting to halt my trembling. You would think that after fifteen years of marriage, I would be accustomed to his tantrums by now. However, it always seemed like a gut punch.
“Kyle, these are live beings. All they’re doing is trying to get by.”
Casting the second rock between his hands, he scoffed. Yes, they can live somewhere else, I suppose. I’m tired of returning home each day to a conflict zone.”
It’s scarcely a battlefield. It’s just a few random pieces of rubbish.
He narrowed his eyes. “Josie, don’t start with me. Not right now.”
Kyle referred to it as the “raccoon problem,” which had begun in the spring. When we would wake up, the contents of our garbage cans would be all over the grass and knocked over.
They even once scaled our deck to steal from the leftover barbeque from my birthday celebration. It didn’t bother me too much. After all, they were only hungry.
However, Kyle took it personally, believing the animals were intentionally provoking him.
“We really need better locks on the cans,” I said one morning while Kyle was furiously watching me pick up the trash that had gotten everywhere. “The garden would also benefit from some chicken wire. Jane, my sister, claims that it was effective for them.
“What your sister says doesn’t matter to me. We must remove them from our lives. Forever.”
I recalled how his spontaneity had struck me as endearing when we first met. Now that I was forty, that impatience had turned into a tight-lipped need to control everything, including myself.
“Kyle, please. Why not attempt the nonviolent approach first?
He poked me with a finger. “Josie, you always do this. Always attempting to complicate things when there is an obvious answer in front of us.”
“Simple doesn’t always mean right.”
He forcefully struck the broom against the house’s side. “What was that?”
I winced. “Not a thing. Today, I’ll research more advanced trash cans.”
During the weekend, I discovered Kyle working on a metallic assembly in the garage.
“What’s that?” Even though I knew already, I asked. traps for animals.
He didn’t raise his gaze. “Protection. Anything that approaches our rubbish will be caught by our clever traps.”
“Kyle, please. They might be harmed by them.”
He slapped the screwdriver down. “That’s the main idea! I’m so tired of you standing up for these sick rodents. You behave as though they were pets.”
“They don’t deserve to suffer, even though they aren’t pets. Perhaps if we simply—”
“Josie, what if we did precisely that? Allow them to assume control? While we’re at it, construct them a guest house? Your bleeding heart routine has become tiresome to me.”
Tears were starting to rise up, but I fought them back. “Why must violence be used to solve every problem? Kyle, they’re just animals that are hungry.
With a flushed face, he got up. “Are you curious about my opinion? I feel that these pests are more important to you than our house. Compared to me.”
“That’s not fair.”
Is it not? You oppose me every time I try to find a solution. The group of teenagers that hang out outside our fence, the raccoons, and the dog of our neighbor who never stops barking at night.”
“Kyle, those are all live things. Not issues that need to be “solved.”
I jumped when he cried, “This is my house!” “I work every day to pay for it, to keep it nice, and I’m not going to let some animals destroy it while my stupid wife takes their side!”
This spring, when the raccoons returned, Kyle went utterly crazy.
He barged in one evening when I was folding laundry, flashing a piece of paper and beaming like he had won the lotto.
You’re not going to believe what I discovered at the hardware shop. pest management of an industrial caliber. Promised to address our minor issue.”
I accepted the article. It was an invoice for some sort of poison and animal traps. My hands began to shake.
“You can’t be serious, Kyle. That material has the potential to kill people.”
He grabbed the receipt back quickly. “Josie, that’s the point. God, sometimes I feel like you’re intentionally being naive.”
But what if the cats in the neighborhood get into it? or the dog of someone? We might run into problems.”
Kyle got serious. “I’ve decided on something. In one way or another, the raccoons disappear by the end of the week.”
That night, I tossed and turned, my thoughts racing. When did the man I married grow up to be able to discuss the killing of defenseless animals with such ease?
I considered giving Jane a call, but I knew what she would say. She’d always claimed there was something strange about Kyle and had never liked him. I might have listened better, maybe.
Two days later, on a calm Tuesday night, something snapped. I heard rustling outside while I was curled up in bed reading. Looking through the window, I noticed that one of the garbage cans had fallen over once more.
Putting on my robe, I reached for a flashlight. Something attracted my attention as I got closer to the mess. Something was moving inside a partially opened black rubbish bag.
When I reached for it, my hands shook. “Oh no. No, no, no.
Three small raccoon cubs, hardly old enough to open their eyes, were within. They were wriggling helplessly.
“Kyle!” I shrieked, clutching the bag tightly. “Kyle, get out here right now!”
He emerged on the porch, his expression irritated. “Regarding what are you shouting? You insane woman, it’s the middle of the night!”
“Did you do this?” I raised the bag. “Did you throw away baby animals like they were garbage?”
He gave a shrug. “They are a nuisance. I’m in charge of it.”
Taking care of it? They’re going to die!”
“Josie, that’s the point. Why are you so gullible, Jesus? All they are are raccoons.”
Merely raccoons? Kyle, they’re babies! Living, breathing beings with a sense of dread and suffering. If someone abandoned you to perish, how would that make you feel?”
I shuddered at the sound of his frigid laugh. “You’re likening me to a raccoon now? Josie, how dare you?”
“I’m comparing you to someone with empathy, and you’re coming up short.”
With a snarl in his voice that chilled my blood, Kyle moved closer. “You are aware of your issue? You’re not tough. Has been for all time. The world is not a utopian place where everyone gets along. You have to be tough sometimes.”
“Hard? It’s not difficult to injure someone who is less strong than you. That is merely inhumane.”
Gazing at him, I pondered how I had failed to notice the malice that had always been present.
I called every animal rescue in the area the following morning in hopes of finding one that could assist. I learned how to feed the raccoon kits using a little bottle from a very kind woman named Marla.
She told me, “You’re doing great,” as she observed me holding the youngest. “They’re lucky you found them when you did.”
I shed a few tears as I watched the kit happily suckle. “I just don’t understand how someone could be so cruel.”
Marla gave me a shoulder squeeze. “Sometimes the animals we save end up saving us too.”
I discovered Kyle’s journal that night, along with a thorough strategy for handling the “raccoon infestation.” It had trap spots, poison locations, and even a schedule. I felt nauseated at its deliberate cruelty.
Jane noticed the journal in my hands when she got here.
“Still think I’m overreacting?” I showed her the pages as I asked.
She gave a headshake. “Josie, the topic of raccoons has changed. Perhaps it never happened.”
“I understand,” I muttered. “I think I’ve always known.”
A week later, the divorce papers were served. Kyle seemed enraged rather than shocked. As usual.
“You’re really throwing me out over some pests?” As he packed his belongings into boxes, he spat.
Alone in the entryway of my now-home, I held my ground. “Kyle, no. This is ending because of who you’ve turned into. Perhaps that’s who you’ve always been; I simply didn’t want to see it.”
Weeks stretched into days. The raccoon kits became more powerful.
The shyest child would constantly hide behind his brothers. The one in the middle was interested in everything. The largest was the most watchful, constantly keeping an eye out for the others.
When they were ready, Marla assisted me in releasing them back into the wild. I noticed something moving in the bushes as we watched them toddle toward the treeline. Their mother was standing there, observing us.
Marla said, “Look,” in a whisper. “She came back for them.”
The raccoon mother chirped softly, and her young approached her. She gazed directly at me before vanishing into the forest. I experienced a sense of being a part of something greater than myself at that moment. Kindness.
Marla mentioned, “You know, if you’re interested, there’s an opening at the rescue center.” Someone with your generosity is much needed.”
Feeling lighter than I have in years, I grinned. “I’d like that.”
“You know, Josie, a person’s treatment of animals can reveal a lot about them. They serve as a mirror for who we really are.”
In retrospect, I saw that Kyle had not just mistreated the raccoons. They had served as my alarm. Sometimes you have to witness another person’s vulnerability in order to acknowledge your own.
I let out a long breath and felt refreshed as the raccoons vanished into the trees. I knew that someday I would find the proper person, someone who shared my concern for the world, and that I deserved more.
