For five summers in my late teens and early twenties, I taught environmental education at a camp in Northern Minnesota. I used to handle snakes, turn over rotten logs, and compare notes on interesting mammal sightings with my colleagues. A bear on a morning run? Check. A fox on the soccer field? You bet. A bat in the church sink before mass? My gardening gloves and I totally took care of that, thank you very much.

Since then, I've become a total wimp about wildlife. I don't like bugs, I don't like birds, and I for sure don't like anything in the least bit large.

So, the other night when two raccoons were just hanging out by the oak in my front yard, climbing up and down the tree and staring at me with their beedy little eyes, there was no way I was going out to the car, which required a walk within fifteen feet of them, to get the candy I'd purchased to eat with my friend Jordan.

Jordan gave me a hard stare. "Give me the keys," she said, and then she marched out the front door, clapping her hands together and yelling to the "racoonies." One of them slunk toward the back yard, and the other one scrambled up the tree.

"You are so brave," I told her when she came back with the Hot Tamales.

Another hard stare from my pal. "Well," she said, "I just have never heard of raccoons attacking anyone."

"But they're rabid," I whispered. Jordan rolled her eyes and handed me the candy.

And then today, I looked up from my computer and saw a gigantic wild turkey standing on my fence. As I was running for the camera, I saw another wild turkey standing a few feet down.




The turkeys stayed on the fence for an hour. Good Lord!

Attention wildlife: we live in the middle of the city. Please seek entertainment elsewhere.