So there I was…
Slicing up an avocado to add to my already-starting-to-melt quesadilla, when I hear a soft cooing/purring noise that seems closer than just nearby. I look up and there are two raccoons on their way down the companionway. I let out a loud, but not entirely dignified, noise alerting Daniel that something may need attention beyond his mexi-tots and the Internet (a quick side note: new, harder Monday night ballet class is kicking my ass; too tired to cook). The little Normans just look at me sweetly and sit down (I think one even asked if we were going to eat our tots).
Deep in my middle, I feel the elemental churn of my frontierswoman forbears and reach over the stove for defense weapons. Grabbing a copper saucepan and a big spoon, I start banging away yelling for the little buggers to Get Out! I chase them out onto the dock and…. Into the planter boxes.
By now, Daniel has armed himself with a slingshot and pile of cherry pits. He comes up into the cockpit and lets one fly toward the dock. Two little faces peak out from behind the lettuce and he turns to me and says, “aw, they’re babies.” “Who need to learn that people are a bad scene. Also, they are in the tomatoes,” I reply. I find him the pellet gun we use to keep the geese out if the lettuce and he sets up his blind in the cockpit.
After a few minutes (can you hand me the last taco? Oh, and my wine?) it becomes clear that we have defended our boat and our vegetables. We solemnly close all the portlights on the dock side of AV and Daniel opens the gate on the dock so the raccoons can get out.
Folks often say that closeness to nature is one of the big draws to living on boats. And it is true that seeing whales while drinking your morning coffee is indescribably sublime. But I would like the wildlife to stay outside unless they knock first and bring salsa.
