For twenty-some years, we've had a feeding station for
neighborhood
raccoons. Around the mid-1980s one late evening, a very small, young
female
showed up by herself at our station. I was horrified to see she was
terribly
hurt. Her right hind leg was a bloody stump. I couldn't tell if she had
been
hit by a car, caught in a trap, or what, but she was an awful sight. She
was
limping on her remaining hind leg and was quite disheveled. The food was
already gone. I put more out as she hobbled to hide under a bush. As I
came
inside, she came to the plate and was immediately ferociously attacked by
the
other raccoons. She retreated, and this became the pattern.
Each night she would show up later and later to avoid the other
raccoons. I began waiting up for her to make sure she got food and water.
She came, faithfully, each night, around 1 to 3, after all the others had
gone. Her stump began to heal, and she learned to adjust her other hind
leg
to center her body and balance herself. I hadn't named the others, but I
felt a very warm attachment to this horribly injured raccoon. She had
become
my special charge. I named her Chloe.
My desk is next to the patio doors at the back of the house, and
sometimes late at night I'd hear a tap on the glass, and there would be
Chloe, looking in at me. She became my buddy.
One evening she didn't show up, and I began to worry about her. Then,
very late, I saw her struggling to get to the station. She was using her
two
front legs to drag her body down the slope to the patio. Something had
happened to her only good hind leg. When I saw her, I began sobbing
hysterically. The sight of such pain and suffering broke my heart. Here
was
this sweet little raccoon who already had one missing leg to deal with,
and
now this. It was so cruel and unfair, I just couldn't bear it. I thought
maybe if I could find a way to catch her, perhaps my vet could do
something
for her.
I stared at her through my tears as she ate her food and sat there on
the patio for a long, long while. Then, to my never-ending surprise, she
slowly put her two front legs forward and hoisted her back end into the
air
and started walking on her front legs! She walked for several feet,
rested,
and did it again. I started bawling all over again, partly because of her
plight, and partly because I was so touched by her ingenuity and strength.
This wonderful little creature was trying desperately to overcome her
misfortune, and she was doing it.
She got through that first winter just fine. Her injured hind leg
healed
again. In the spring, I panicked once again when she didn't show up for
two
weeks - and then she showed up at my patio door with three fuzzy babies in
tow! I went nuts: Chloe was a first-time mother.
That was eight years ago. I'm happy to report that Chloe is still here.
Several generations of her kits are now my "regulars." Still, I'll never
forget that fantastic sight of her doing handstands and walking all over
my
patio. I never would have believed such a feat was possible if I hadn't
seen
it with my own eyes. When I am feeling sorry for myself, all I have to do
is
think of dear little Chloe and I snap out of it immediately. Chloe is a
lesson in perseverance I'll cherish forever.
From animals as teachers and healers - Jackie Geyer |
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