ps. Sheryl is his wife.
Coon Hunting in Rose Park Part 2: Attack of Coonzilla
Tom here! Sheryl told me I need to write more blogs but I haven’t really had anything worth talking about until now. You are probably all familiar with the previous raccoon incursion into our little flock. After I dispatched that coon I thought we would be safe at least for a couple of months, but alas, it was not to be. An evil was lurking, a devil coon that would make the last one look like a pathetic mouse. Coonzilla.
Before I continue I should warn you, this post is graphic, if you have any children I recommend you read first before letting them read this brutal and bloody battle for our very lives!
I woke up about 430 to the sound of Ms Chickchick clucking concernedly (yes I can tell the difference between my chickens voices) It was not the shrieking sound of the previous attack, but still, chickens should not be awake at this time of night. I grabbed the gun, my trusty flashlight and ventured outside. As I opened the back door and entered my yard, the crisp cool autumn air held the faint hint of danger, mixed with the garbage that I forgot to take out from last week, but that is another story. I turned the corner to my coop, the shadows of my flashlight spilling ghostly shadows and images in front of me. Then I saw it. My light pierced through the gray mist of darkness that seemed like it would swallow up everything if I was unlucky enough to run out of AAA duracell batteries. and there it was. The demon coon. Coonzilla, in my coop, with his head fully inside the door trying, desperately, to push his large girth far enough into the chicken sized opening to satiate his massive hunger on the soft warm bodies of my egg laying pets.
Hearing my steps he stopped, backed his head out of the doorway and looked at me. Surprised to have been discovered, he ran up the tree next my bedroom window, not a hurried scared run, but simply a non chalant, slow jog to make sure he was in a more superior position. He didn’t go far. At 7 feet up he stopped, he turned and looked at me with derision, as if to say "ya you found me, so what" I was only 2 feet from the tree, I could almost reach out and touch him, yet he showed no fear. In his mind, he had nothing to fear, he was Coonzilla. I stared in awe of his massive girth. “my gosh" I thought "he is the size of a dog!" quickly I regained my composure, I lifted my rifle, pointed only feet from his enormous heaving chest, sure of his imminent death, and pulled the trigger.
In shock and horror I watched, not as he fell dead like I knew he must, but as he ran farther up the tree! Higher and higher he climbed, his movements more frantic now. He now knew I could hurt him. As he reached the apex of the trunk 30 feet up where it splits into 3 main branches, he stopped, and stared down at me. He was in the same spot as the last coon foolhardy enough to take on me and my chickens. With a strange feeling of de-ja-vu, I lifted the flashlight and my rifle up to position. I aimed at one of his demonic glowing eyes, now brightly burning into me with anger, and fired. With a terrible snarl, he fell from his perch. Through the thick blackness he fell, bounced off my neighbors shed roof, and into the corner between my house and the fence.
I moved in to make sure my foe was dead. He has to be dead now, he has to be! He was on his back, his chest still heaving but looking like he was in the last stages of life. Yet, as I got close his head jerked up, he stared as if into my very soul, and let out a snarl that would scare the most hardened murderous criminal. Shocked, yet prepared, I placed the nose of my rifle right up to his chest were a year of AP bio told me his heart should be. For the third time, I placed a Remington hollow point .22 rimfire lead slug into his body. In strange and bizarre fascination I watched him roll over back to his feet, and he began to walk towards me. With the barrel of my gun between Coonzilla and me I backed up and he slowly walked toward me. His once clean white teeth were stained with blood, he was wheezing like some sickening asthma attack, but now I had the beast head directly in front of me! I placed the gun between his eyes, he spat up blood but didn’t stop his inexorable march towards me. I pulled the trigger. Nothing! My gun had jammed!
With visions of Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone running through my head, I gained a new sense of determination, intent to crush his skull, I grabbed and barrel of my gun and swung it like a club with all my might into the bloody face of the demon zombie creature sent from hell! But it wasn’t enough! Although I changed his course away from me now, he was still alive. He turned to the right, he began to climb the fence. The puny reed fence I put up wasn’t enough to hold his great body and it began to fall back towards me. Just when I thought all was lost, a pickaxe swung from my peripheral vision and smote the great beast! The cavalry had arrived just in time! Sheryl swung with all the determination of a frontier wife defending her very children from ravenous wolves! She turned the coon around and he walked off about 10feet, and then collapsed.
We watched him for another 5 minutes until his barrel chest stopped moving...the beast was dead. I dragged his body to the porch and placed him in a large garbage bag. I debated whether or not I should behead the beast, burn the body and spread the ashes to make sure he didn’t come back, but instead I think will make a coonskin hat out of him, maybe two.
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