BlueOvalRage,

Good job! I did the same thing with a squirel when we lived in the city. I hate to destroy anything God created, except when it destroys something I created.

As for the fishing net idea someone else posted, you've never seen a pissed off coon have you? Those things are down right evil! We saw one crossing the street (in the city) with it's pups. We stopped the car to look at it and it attacked the car. It came runnin' from 15 feet away and jumped at the window. Pretty scarey!

I alos saw a guy try to kill one in the attic with a 10ga. goose gun. It made a mess of the coon, but only after creating 4 new skylights. LOL

K.

 

A word of caution about racoons !

A ny state statistic is 5 out of 10 raccoons carry rabies!
If you see raccoons in the daylight or dusk there is something wrong with it! STAY WAY FROM IT!

I was working in my shop on a forty frame a few yrs ago!
in the middle of the day,My son says dad look at the raccoon its coming towards the shop up the driveway! I said get in here and close the door!
We did ! I live in a residential area,so there was a concern for other kids outside.Needless to say I couldn't discharge a gun in this area.
We called the sheriffs dept,They said to me, will come out but you have to get rid of the carcass,which means all laws involving disposal of possible rabbies have to be taken.It cost me about $75.00 disposal fee
because it has to be cremated!

What ever! don't touch any bodily fluids from these carcases

Rich







Ford Trucks Built Tough!
not with rocks
Watch out "X" Mayor of Truckville

 

Way back when I was a lad of about 16, I was out with my dad training a pair of full blooded Redbone puppies...coon dawgs they was. At one point during the night they finally tree a young coon...only 15 pounds or so. They treed him on the edge of a field in a fairly small maple tree...with lots of low hanging limbs. Now this was in the early part of spring when you could run coons but could not carry a rifle to dispatch them. So, my dad has this bright idea...I could climb up this maple tree will all the low hanging limbs, take about a 4 foot stick and knock said coon out of the tree so the puppies could run it again. Me being young and full of **** and vinegar said "Sure." For whatever reason, this coon watches me climb the tree and doesn't make any attempt to go higher himself...he just climbs out a little further on a fairly sturdy limb and turns to watch me struggle up the tree armed with my stick. I finally reach even plain with Mr. coon, and after getting a good foot-holt with at least one foot, and a bear-hug around the trunk with my right arm, I commence to start poking the coon with my stick in and effort to knock him out. The coon was just barely within my reach, even with the stick, so at full extension only the last 2-3 inches of the stick had any hope of contacting the little critter. Now for about a full 2 minutes, the coon just does his best to dodge my swings and pokes, occasionally giving me a spit-filled hiss. Growing tired of this near-miss game, I readjust my footing, loosen up my bear hug on the trunk and get myself another 6 inches of reach. With my new positioning, I reach back for a mighty swing, confident I was gonna send him out of the park with this one. Well, that little critter must have realized that this swing had his name all over it, so instead of sitting there like a ....well, a coon and taken it, he makes a wide-open counter attack. He covered that 5 or so feet between him and me in the blink of an eye...using all four paws to firmly attach himself to my forearm, putting my left hand right in front of that mouthful of needle like teeth...and he commenced to chewing and biting my wrist and hand...the hand still trying to hang on to that stick. Now some of you folks out there are surely familiar with the southern gentlemen, Jerry Clower, and are starting to realize this story is quickly going in the direction of his "Knock'him out, John" story. Yep, it surely is. Cause on that chilly spring night, with a half-moon peeking through the clouds, me and that coon were at war. Not being one to just hold still and take a butt whoppen (hand gnawing in this case) I was doing my best to get that coon off my arm by beating it up against the trunk of that tree...which only seemed to make him madder...all the while trying to keep my butt from falling out the tree. I'm here to tell you, coon fur and red flannel was flying. It truly was a "shoot up here amongst us...one of us got to have some relief" situation. After what seemed like a good hour of mortal combat, I finally must have got in a good lick and the coon turned loose of my arm, and jumped into the inky black darkness below. The dawgs took off after it, full bore, and so did the two gentlemen me and my dad was hunting with. The mayhem that was below me quickly faded off into the distance, and as the chaos subsided at the bottom of my tree, I was soon able to hear my dad, royally laughing his *** off...laughing so hard he was not even able to stand up. It was all he could do to steady himself enough to hold the lantern so I could see to climb down. Once on the ground, we took at look at the damage the coon had inflicted on my poor left hand. My hand looked like I had stuck it in a bucket full of broken glass and twisted it around a couple hundred times. In particular, 3 knuckles were ripped open enough that you could see the bone, and the meaty part between my thumb and trigger finger had a about a couple 1 inch rips that were bleeding like all get out. Now even back then we were more than aware that coons are good carriers of rabies, so the next morning dad himself took me to the doctor. First visit was bad enough...20 plus stitches to hold everything together. But...two days later when we got the "serum" in...then began hell. No remember this is the middle seventies...the way the serum had to be administered was directly into the stomach by syringe...once a day for 5 days. If I remember correctly, reason it had to go directly into the stomach was that it had to bypass certain digest ional functions, otherwise it was largely ineffective. I'm here to tell you...that little operation HURT. It hurt a lot worse than when that coon was gnawing on me!
So there's my coon story. What did I learn? The only stick I want to fight a coon with had better be able to fire a large caliber bullet, and if that fails, be sure to be wearing one of those full-body armor knight suits.
Now if ya'll want, I can tell you about the time my granddaddy stuck his hand into the corn barrel, only to surprise the living crap out of a mamma opossum that had taken up residence in there. I didn't know granddaddy knew such words.....
REX

 

Your choice, but you really didn't have to kill her. I've relocated a bunch of these pesky buggers, and if you carry them 10-15 miles away (especially if there are a few nice big neighborhoods between where you catch them and where you take them, they don't return.

When you release them, just point the trap towards the woods and stand behind it when you open it. They, like any other wild animal, will take advantage of the opportunity for flight rather than stay and fight. What you do not want to do is mess with one that's cornered with no way out (the tight confines of an attic). Gun or no gun, I wouldn't go into the attic with a pi$$ed off coon that is protecting a litter of pups - there just aint enough room for both of us in there.

To reiterate the warnings stated above, DO NOT MESS WITH A COON YOU SEE DURING DAYLIGHT!!!!! They are probably rabid!


Gary M.

2002 F250 SD, SC, SB, 4x4, 6.8L v10, 3.73LS, 4spd Auto, Reverse Aid Sensor, Class IV Hitch, Offroad Package, Manual Hubs, 40/20/40 Bench Seat, Camper Package, Lariat, White, Putco Locker Side Rails, Mud Flaps, K&N Filter, Vent Visors....

 

But, I didn't MEAN (snicker) to kill her! It was an accident! I swear! (Hee hee!) I really didn't relish the thought of doing the deed, but my area is waaaay overrun by these fleabags. There are carcasses every 1/8th mile or so on the highway. 10 years ago or so, they were worth $35 for their pelt and the hunters kept the population in check, but now they're essentially worthless and the population is skyrocketing. I'm assuming that's why they are starting to show up regularly here in town. I kind of felt like relocating her was just pawning my problem off on someone else. And like the others said, the rabies threat is very real. If my little buddy had tangled with her and got rabies, he would have had to be put down and I'd have had to spend the next six months in the woods exterminating every last one of them. But gee whiz, after some of your stories, I must either have really big cajones or be really stupid for going up there after her! I hate to think what would have happened if I'd have gotten any closer to that litter of pups.

 

>Way back when I was a lad of about 16, I was out with my dad
>training a pair of full blooded Redbone puppies...coon dawgs
>they was. <snip> Now
>some of you folks out there are surely familiar with the
>southern gentlemen, Jerry Clower, and are starting to
>realize this story is quickly going in the direction of his
>"Knock'him out, John" story. Yep, it surely is. <snip> I'm here to tell you, coon
>fur and red flannel was flying. It truly was a "shoot up
>here amongst us...one of us got to have some relief"
>situation.

<snip>

Oh man that's funny. Brings back memories of listening to Jerry's stuff on a station out of New Orleans at 2:00 am on my dad's paper route. The trucker's radio show. I actually have that story on a collection of Jerry Clower. I recommend it to anyone. Funny funny stuff. I wish I could find the one about the planting bugle and the talking outhouse!!!

 

76supercab
Yep, Jerry Clower is a classic...a real American icon. I'm from down in the "sticks" myself so I had no problem relating to his stories. Shoot, obviously I kind-of lived out a few. Most of the characters Jerry describes in his stories could just as easily be some of my kin-folk. He had Uncle Versy...I had Uncle Zeke. Uncle Zeke bought himself a portable generator so he wouldn't miss his favorite TV show, Hee-Haw, when lightning storms knocked the power out. Take me home, country roads.....
REX