For better or worse I seem to have ‘coon karma. I can’t explain it but raccoons appear to have less fear of me than other people. Living on a creek we see ‘coons all the time.

Inevitably, every so often a particular raccoon and I warm up to each other more than we should.

One of note was Darlin’, a petite little female that stopped by every night for a dog biscuit treat. She eventually became self-appointed supervisor of late night grilling and would crawl onto my lap and search my pockets in hopes of finding a stashed biscuit. Of course, taming a ‘coon is asking for all sorts of trouble. They are notorious for carrying serious diseases that can be transmitted to humans and pets. They often turn mean, especially the males. At the very least they can turn a place into shambles searching for food. It’s also likely you’re signing its death warrant for they’ll probably trust all people which soon proves fatal.

After Darlin’ came Cooner. I think it was four years ago that the assumed she began showing up. She was only a little skinchy when I opened the patio door, talked to her a bit and threw her a couple of dog biscuits. Within just a couple of visits she was coming up to the patio door and before long she was coming inside to pick her nightly ration of four biscuits from the telephone stand. I never hand fed her, though, as once Darlin’ accidentally bit me as she grabbed a biscuit from my hand. It was an anxious few days as I waited to see if I was going to come down with rabies or something (a good reason I shouldn’t be doing what I was). It was a bit surprising Cooner was so trusting as a neat, round bullet hole punched through her right ear was evidence she’d had people encounters of a different kind.

Cooner was full of surprises. I always assumed Cooner was a she as she was small even for a female. Also, whenever she’d hear a noise up or down the creek she would run off, apparently fearful of other ‘coons. But one night I noticed Cooner was not a she, but a he, but certainly no alpha male, which are bad hombres all the way around. One spring Cooner showed up with a partner which was almost equally trusting of me. However, Cooner’s partner was not a girlfriend, but another small male. I’ll leave speculation about gay ‘coons to you. Partner only came around for a couple of weeks then disappeared for whatever reason.

Every so often Cooner would also disappear for a while.  Usually it would be for several weeks but once it was nearly three months. I figured he’d bit the dust in some fashion and felt bad as I’d really become attached to him.  But then one night there he was, peering through the patio door like he’d never skipped a beat.

A year and half ago Cooner again went missing. As the Coonerless nights stretched from weeks to months to a year I resigned myself that Cooner was indeed dead this time. I sure missed the little bugger. He was a rare one, associating with me for four years without the least hint of trouble. He was the consummate gentleman in every regard. He must have also been incredibly savvy. All that time he had avoided cars, people with ill intentions, other boar ‘coons, dogs, coyotes and a host of diseases. Hardly a week went by that I didn’t think of him and wonder about his fate.  The life span of a ‘coon in the wild is around four or five years so he may have just died a natural death.

But, lo and behold, several nights ago we were watching TV and a ‘coon boldly strolled across the patio, came up the steps and peered through the door with that cheery face and unmistakable quizzical expression unique to Cooner alone. And sure enough, there was that trademark bullet hole in his ear. Cooner has returned from the dead.

Carpe diem.

Larry Lyons writes a weekly outdoor column for Leader Publications. He can be reached at larrylyons@verizon.net