When invaders scrounge through our trash heaps

A desperate struggle is under way at my condominium and it's spilled over to work. In fact, it's probably spread across the city and even Iowa.

Trash can-raiding raccoons are striking.

The other night I spotted a mama raccoon waddling from her den of trees to the overfilled dumpster, a smile across the masked face, her coat shiny from a healthy diet of sweet corn, drumsticks and assorted leftovers we pickier humans find fit to only dispose. Should someone enter the parking lot, she'd learned to duck under cars and hide in a tire's shadow.

Shortly after she'd managed to lift the dumpster lid, her three young ones came scampering behind, more intent on playing with one another in the cool dusk than eating. Well, until they caught a whiff of what the Flanigans had for supper.

That the raccoons feast on our midden doesn't bother me. We humans exercised eminent domain over their perfectly fine wooded home and fields, after all. It only seems fair to offer some payment. In any case, the raccoons are quiet neighbors.

But they don't like to pick up after themselves. Finding a chicken bone or opened Mondo's container on the asphalt each morning isn't appreciated.

But then so aren't cigarette butts and beer cans, sometimes dumped right under the sign that says "No littering. $200 fine."

Gosh, I hope the raccoons haven't picked up some nasty habits now that they're sharing their old home with people.

(originally published July 25, 2004)