As I grew older, my permissible boundaries were expanded (see “Walking to Susie’s”). By the time I was eight or nine, it was not uncommon for me to announce, in the morning, at breakfast, “I think I am going to take a walk down to the marshes” (about two miles from the house) , and I would pick up my Brownie box camera and leave the house, often for most of the day. The only instructions I received were to be careful around the water, especially along the steep banks above the creek and the river.
The entire time that I lived on the farm, at least once a month, all year round, I would take off and walk the trails, hills, ravines and even the marshes of the farm.

This is the raccoon that I encountered. I took the photo with a 127-size film box camera with a flash cube (do you remember those?). I made the mistake of trying to catch it. It scratched my hand, and my hand became infected and swollen.
Bad move.
scratches across the back of my hand and down between my fingers. It hurt, and I quickly dropped the critter. It ran off into the underbrush, happy to be rid of me.
There was a running artesian well nearby and I rinsed the scratches in the fresh water running from the well. The cold water eased the pain, and I went on my way.
That night, my hand began to really hurt, and soon my hand was swollen so much that you could hardly see between my fingers. That was when my parents decided that I needed medical attention. We went to Williamsburg Community Hospital. I explained what had happened. The doctor diagnosed the infection, gave me a shot of penicillin and told me to soak my hand in a warm solution of Epsom salts to relieve the swelling.
I recovered quickly, but learned a critical lesson—don’t pet the cute wild animal!
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I think most of us have a raccoon story or two. Mine included teeth that just missed me when I thought getting it by the scruff of the neck has just got o be safe! After all it worked with a cat!
LOL, I guess so. Some things we just have to learn for ourselves!! Glad you liked it.
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