Duncan and the Masked Bandits

The scene of the crime.

Yesterday, Duncan slept in. He didn't wake up until 5:15 (yes, that's sleeping in!), and by the time he finished his scratching, stretching, and jumping on the bed routine, he didn't actually start his early morning prowl of the yard until 5:30. He more than made up for his slacking off, though, by proving his terrier credentials. He glared at the back corner of the yard, then went dashing off, barking at the top of his lungs. Feeling that the neighbours might not appreciate an early start to their Saturday, I followed, trying to call him back without exceeding a loud whisper. Needless to say, it didn't work.

On top of the fence were two medium-sized raccoons. A few weeks ago, Chris saw a mother and two babies on the same fence, so we think these might be the same little ones, now bigger. Raccoon teenagers. And a terrier teenager. Not a good combination!

Teenagers of all species are noted for not listening. The raccoons didn't listen to Duncan telling them to leave. They prowled along the fence, glaring down at him. And Duncan didn't listen to me telling him to leave. He danced around the garden, glaring up at them and barking, until Daddy saved the day by arriving with a bribe. Apparently freeze-dried chicken in the paw beats raccoon on the fence. Fortunately.

Having declared himself a hero, he wasn't about to rest on his laurels. The first thing he did when I let him out this morning was to dash down to the corner and look up at the fence. Empty. They must be too scared to come back, he figures.

The neighbours will be pleased.