Aug 27, 2002 4 min read

Attempting to keep a pair of raccoons as pets is much like trying to carry water in a bucket full of holes. Two weeks ago I wrote about my experiences as a teen-ager with some wild creatures we attempted to tame, a pair of masked bandits found in front of our house in the Black Forest we named Oscar and Oliver. (I planned on writing this last week but was struck with a bout of pneumonia).

I scrounged around and found enough plywood, chicken wire and 2-by-4s to build a crude cage. I also built a small box inside so the little Nimrods had a place for shelter.

All went well for about three days. I was taking food to them when I noticed the cage seemed a little empty. I thought at first they were hiding inside their box. Usually, as soon as they heard me coming (they caught on quickly when feeding time was) they would be standing by the door waiting.

I knocked on the side of the cage. No raccoons. I opened the door and stuck my head inside. No raccoons. I crawled inside the pen. Still no raccoons.

Then I heard a chatter above me.

In one of the tall oaks near the house I could see four black eyes staring down at me. Fortunately, they were mighty hungry so they scurried down the tree. I put the food dish inside their cage. They had escaped through a weak spot where the wire was tacked onto the frame. I repaired it figuring I wouldn’t have that problem again.

Well if you have ever gotten a close look at a raccoon’s feet you will notice they are very articulate. In fact, their feet are more like hands.

It didn’t take them long to learn how to reach through the wire and pop open the metal catch holding the door closed. I replaced it with a spring-loaded catch that even I had problems opening.

They once more found a weak spot in the cage and freed themselves.

It seemed like every time they escaped and I repaired a hole or opening, they found another one. After a while, they tired of coming when I would bring them their food. But they loved bananas. If they went up a tree all I had to do was stand at the base of it and start to peel a banana. Bark flew as they almost ran down the tree to get the treat.

In the meantime the pair developed opposing personalities. Oscar was a grouch. He liked to eat but that was about all the contact he wanted with people. On his next to the last break for freedom, Dad had to get an extension ladder to pull Oscar from a tree. Oscar wasn’t at all happy about it. “Don’t think I’ll do that again,’ Dad said. “If he gets out again, he’s on his own.’

Well, Oscar did finally get out and I’m sure he was much happier.

Oliver, however, was very docile. Mom would put a small collar on him and take him for walks in the surrounding forest. Oliver liked to go through your pockets, a pastime I encouraged by carrying nuts or other morsels for him.

I delighted in telling everyone about our pets. Except for the time I related we had a pair of raccoons to my great-grandmother, a woman who grew up in the country and was used to living on a farm.

“Fatten ’em up and we’ll have ’em for Christmas,’ she said.

I thought she was joking. She wanted to eat Oscar and Oliver?

“Well, they ate a lot of game when she was young,’ Dad said.

No, we didn’t have them for Christmas.

Eventually, Oliver also found his way out of the cage and disappeared.

I suppose the object lesson I learned was that while it might be all right to help a wild creature in trouble, it’s not a good idea to attempt to change its nature. Or maybe the lure of the forest was just too much for them.

Have a good day.