02/23/02 - 23:30:16
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In a previous life, I lived in the country in an old farmhouse. A raccoon moved in to the basement, ate some bad canned tomatoes and got sick right underneath my bedroom. I called him Boo Boo the Basement Beast. Silly patron saint of wayward animals that I am, I thought we could live in relative harmony. Fk that! He tore the place apart. Caught him in the Have A Heart trap, took him out about a half mile on the farm, let him go ... and he made it back three more times (plus a few trips to the garbage cans) before I learned my lesson and took him to a nearby national park. By then, he was hissing and screaming, and trying to nail me with those great big opposable thumb nails of his (or hers). By the time it was all over, he had been renamed Boo Boo the Fkng Basement Beast.|
Someday I'll tell you about the woodchuck who sang along to classical music . . . such was life on "The Farm."
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