What could a raccoon and an Incentive Spirtometer possibly have in common??

So, the two things are a Raccoon, which is how this story gets started, and the other is an Incentive Spirometer which is where the story is now.  This blog will tell of my 6 month journey between the two as well as some next steps I will be taking that will finalize that very same journey.   

 

So about six months ago I got home from work one day to find my trash scattered all over my driveway, all over the grass and later I found all through the woods on my property.  I have  kept our trash cans on the side our garage for the 7 years we have lived at Smithlandia.  I spent a couple of hours with trash bags cleaning up a scattered mess that included everything from a pizza box to plastic wrapper a pork roast came in.

 

As far as mitigation strategies, I set about scrubbing out my trash cans, the Rubber Maid 50 gallon commercial model.  I used Dawn Dishwashing liquid and for reference they were pretty damn grungy.  I then bleached the hell out of them, inside and out.  I cleaned thoroughly the area where my cans sat and put out mountain lion piss I picked up at the local feed store.  That last bit was recommended to chase off Raccoons, predator scent thing I guess.

 

I also decided I would keep the garbage in bags in the corner of the garage for a month as well, hoping the little raccoon bastards would forget and find new places to find and enjoy a dinner.  I spread mountain lion piss around my cans and along every path and all the places I found my garbage scattered about.  That was at the recommendation of Bill at the local feed store to chase Raccoons completely away, the thought being they know which predatory animal leaves that particular piss smell, and vacate the premises.

 

I reapplied the cougar piss once a week in all those areas and all the while slowly increased the perimeter.  After a bit longer than a month I felt I was safe to put my cans back along the side of the garage.  Because we recycle it takes about 3-4 weeks to fill up three of those 50 gallon cans.  It was a Wednesday afternoon when I put the first bag in the first can, optimistic the raccoons were gone.

 

WRONG, WRONG, and WRONG.  I came out in the morning and it looked like the first time they got into them, only there was not as much stuff since I had only one 13 gallon tall kitchen trash bag in there, even though the lids were removed from all three cans.  DAMN IT, I remember thinking.  I also began to realize the power of opposable thumbs.

 

It was the first time I considered maybe they were not raccoons and maybe it was a larger hybrid, a bearcoon perhaps.   That is what Bride calls them after seeing two rather large ones some time back.  What other explanation could there be?  The only critter out here, as I see it,  not afraid of a mountain lion has got to be a bearcoon, or just a plain bear.  Since I had seen no evidence of anything other than a coon, I am pretty sure that is what is was, a persistent one but one all the same was my thinking on it.

 

One more trip to the feed store and another conversation with Bill, who was not so sure as he was the last time we spoke.  He recommended a few other things to put out, which I bought and put out.  Again with the routine washing and bleaching the cans as well as keeping the trash in the garage for another month. 

 

I was not as sure this time and I was right to be apprehensive because the next morning after putting one bag in there, you guessed it my shit was scattered all over the place.  I really did not want to keep my trash in the garage, and neither did Bride which was an even more important point.  Damnit!

 

I have a small wood shed across from the house and I really did not want to tote the trash out there each time I had some.  Regardless of what I wanted, I had little choice, unless I wanted to continue to pick up my trash after the little bastard, or bastards, scattered it around.  I was not happy but rearranged the wood shed in a way that provided me a place to put my cans and easy access when I had to toss stuff in them.

 

Keep in mind there are a number of steps to the wood shed, that’s a clue on how we got to the Incentive Spirometer.  So over the next few months I grew accustomed walking over there to throw out the trash.  BTW, I take the trash up to the Waste Management transfer station to save money over pick up at the end of my driveway.  That saves me over $100 a month so while unrelated to this story it is still a thing cause a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks.

 

I had nary an incident since that day, no more trails down to my cans, no more scattered garbage and no sign of anything or anyone even trying to get to my trash.  Life was good at Smithlandia and I was happy, at least until last Tuesday night.  There is one other relevant fact that I want to introduce into evidence to insure y’all understand the rest of the story.

 

That fact is that I have never, not one single time, taken the trash out when it was dark out.  Yeah, the damn time changes are wrapped in this story as well and I think by this time you all have an understanding about feelings on that topic.   So yeah, that is just one more contributing factor, time changes for DST is BULLSHIT.

 

So early Tuesday evening, early or not it was dark out due to the dumbassedness of DST changes, I took the trash out.  You will notice going up the doors the concrete and wooden steps.  After turning my porch light on I wandered over and up into the shed, opened the door and tossed the bag into the can. 

 

I will mention that the porch light did nothing to illuminate my path or the inside the shed.  I remember as I closed the door thinking I will turn on the mercury vapor lights on the corners of the 2 story part of my house if I come out here again in the dark.  That was still on my mind as I started to descend the wooden steps. 

 

I will also note that I had slipped my black tenny runners on because there was still snow, slush and an overall wetness to everything and I did not want my feet to get soaked and cold. I was looking up at the house wondering how much light those lights would throw out here for the next time I run trash over here as we descended onto the concrete steps. 

 

Well my next step shifted my attention for lighting to footing.  My foot missed the landing and went down one step, that juts out.  that sudden feeling of weightlessness was quickly replaced by the sudden stop when my foot hit that next step down.  

 

Well, at that point my body was already in motion and Newtons laws of motion ran through my mind.  In the first law, an object will not change its motion unless a force acts on it. In the second law, the force on an object is equal to its mass times its acceleration. In the third law, when two objects interact, they apply forces to each other of equal magnitude and opposite direction.

 

Well I was pretty sure the second law was at play, as well as the first, my mass was in motion towards the ground and it was accelerating with nothing to stop it.  Well the next thing that came to mind was figuring out how to land in way that would not kill me.  I recall thinking I need to loosen up a bit and get my left arm ready to use as the start of a roll as not to just go splat on my face as I got close to the blacktop of my driveway.

 

I hit with a thud and while I am still not sure if the landing knocked the wind out of me or the pain of the landed was so great it took every bit of air out of my lungs.  It really was a difference without a distinction I realized as I lay in the cold slushy mess that was on the driveway, it was 33 degrees at the moment.  Basically the force of the fall was concentrated on my hand or about the surface area of a sledge hammer, which is what it felt like I was hit with.

 

So there I am, just laying there, not able to breath and already feeling the chill of laying in the slush looking at the house wondering if this is how it ends for me.  while I am unsure how long it took to get my breath back but, I only knew I recognized I could not breath, started getting a bit freaked out by that and realizing I needed to go to my happy places in order to help me stay calm while it did come back.  I suspect all that was like 10 or maybe 15 seconds on the outside.

 

It did come back and I just laid there looking at the front door and gasping a bit to catch up on the missing air.  I stayed laying there for at least a minute, maybe more, as I took stock.  Slowly working my way around my body looking for things that were or were not working.  

 

My shoulder was sore, and later I learned bleeding.  My left hand was scuffed and bleeding as well as being really sore, road rash.  My leg close to my knee was also bleeding, I was in shorts so there’s that too.  My ribs on the left side were screaming, it was very acute pain.  My left leg also felt tender.  After wiggling all my toes and fingers I tried to get up.  First attempting to roll off my back. 

 

That was when my body said, dude you are old so not so fast.  My side felt like it was on fire and the attempt nearly took my breath away again, but I made it over to my right side still laying in the slush.  I rested in that position for a couple of minutes, and was starting to feel the cold as pain.

 

I eventually got to my feet and shuffled towards the front door, most on my mind at that point was getting out of the freezing ass wet clothes I had on.  As I was doing that I realized I was unable to take a regular breath without stabbing pain on my left side on my ribs.  I recall thinking this is what it feels like to get hit with a sledge hammer. 

 

I also realized I was starting to hurt all over, the realization of how fortunate I was not falling any further than I did.  I got changed and situated in the living room in my chair.  It was hell getting up and down, the pain in my ribs brought tears to my just standing up. 

 

Bride of course wanted to take me to the ER right away.  We did decide that I had only been to ER one time in our 30+ years together.   Probably countless trips to various doc in the box or minute clinics but only once to the ER.

 

Having banged my self up in many ways over the years I have gotten pretty good at reading what the body is writing.  Everything moved, no bones sticking out, only discomfort when I moved around.  After much dialog on it I convinced her that if the morning it was the same, we would go.  No sense in spending ER dollars unless necessary has been my standing policy.

 

I did not sleep worth a shit, could not find a position that was even remotely comfortable. Ended up getting out of bed around 4am and had some coffee.   The pain was stabbing in my side so I wondered if maybe I broke one of those ribs, I took some Advil and waited for Bride to wake up, we were going to the ER. 

 

My thinking was if it were broke, maybe I am causing more damage so off to the ER we went.   The waiting room was, of course, filled with sick people.  Coughing and hacking and spreading ebola, covid and probably the bubonic plague, at least that was my thinking at the time.  I finally made it to the triage nurse to whom I relayed my story of woe. 

 

In the course of our conversation I learned the hospital itself was full as was the ER, the flu had brough the place to its knees.  Amy, that was her name, told me even if it were broke there is nothing they can do for that, great I remember thinking.  She took the vitals and let me know the doctor would be in soon, I was still in the triage room.

 

Doctor Johnson came in and asked more questions and finally said, lets get that x-rayed, to which I was grateful as that was really the purpose of the trip.  Someone came and got me and back to the waiting room I went, awaiting word.  After about 15 minutes I heard my name and went into a treatment room, as you will recall there were no ER beds.

 

We shared a few words, I listened to her recommendation to take Tylenol and Mortin and alternate between the two for pain.  She also suggested ice if the pain got too great.  She asked if I wanted something for the pain and I declined.  While Bride swears that is a macho thing, I have completely different reasons.

 

For most of my life any time pain medication is offered I don’t take it.  I consider moments like that as learning opportunities.  If I have to sit in pain for a few days because I did something stupid, in this case taking the trash out and up the steps in the dark I am more likely to remember the lesson life just gave me.

 

So we are six days later and I feel much better, still can finally take a deep breath and I am no longer having to use the spirometer every hour.  The progress is slow but at the end of the day, it is still progress.  I also have started thinking about how I do not put myself in that situation again. 

 

Many options came to mind and I quickly narrowed it down to two options I wanted to explore, and my mind had returned to the damn raccoon.  After a bit of research I learned in Oregon you cannot trap a raccoon and then release him someplace else, at least not legally.  I was not ready to get sideways with “The Man” just yet.

 

That said, I am contemplating the impact here and my desired outcomes – my trash cans back beside the garage, unharassed by the Bearcoons.  My current thinking is shooting one maybe two of them, which is permissible under current Oregon law.  I was also thinking about hanging them by their necks out there by the trash cans.

 

I can only imagine their friends and family will come to the conclusion that they are not to mess with my trash cans,  They will no doubt realize that I mean business on them leaving those trash cans alone.  And to be clear, the law is a little vague on hanging animals after shooting so we may be setting some precent in this. 

 

Of course, I am still exploring other options, but this one is currently and fully in the lead as a way to protect me from falling over and hurting myself again.   Getting old sucks and I now have much more appreciation of what I means when someone says they took a fall – that shit is serious!