The sound woke us up at about 3 a.m.
I keep one window cracked open, and I was the first to hear the repetitive, sharp sound.
Only a few seconds at the window was needed to determine that the sound was coming
from the garbage cans by the carport.
Figuring it out was pretty much a no-brainer, in view of the pork roast debacle of the day before:
there were two juicy, raw and mostly rotten slabs of pork in those garbage cans
raccoons stalk our garbage cans.
There you have it --- a recipe for disaster.
My Brave Husband went out with his biggest flashlight and tried to scare the raccoon
away from his feast, but how intimidating can one be in blue boxers?
Maybe if he had worn camo boxers...?
In the morning, this is what we found.
A guilty young raccoon all alone in the can.
No pork and no accomplices to be found, pressed flatly to the bottom
of the can, hoping and maybe praying for invisibility.
Even after the can was kicked over, he hung around until we gave up spying on him.
A pretty bold kinda 'coon.