The annual raccoon

Every year around this time, a raccoon wanders in and gets a little too comfortable.  I know, because I see someone’s been washing their dirty hands in the water dishes, and I have to get the trap.

The chickens weren’t quite as alarmed and fascinated as I expected, but the guinea was aghast.  He hopped back into the greenhouse to alert me, shouting.  Threat!!!  Threat!!!  Hey!  You seem to be ignoring that there’s a RACCOON out here!  He and Puffcheeks are the only birds that attempt to communicate with me, looking me in the eyes and vocalizing, like they really mean to tell me something, and giving me the benefit of the doubt that I might be capable of understanding.  The barred rocks were the most concerned, looking at it, looking at each other.

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