You've Met Mike! Now Meet Ronny!

Mike was a magical cat (stuffed cat really) with amazing eyes. He was adventurous and with the element of cyberspace, he has traveled most of the world. And, as his fans know, he's on an extended vacation with a little boy in a faraway place. Maybe someday, he'll come home with lots of stories to tell.

Ronny, on the other hand, is the real deal. Ronny came to us in an unusual place. Hubby and I were a management team for a camping-resort—a fancy name for a campground in the middle of nowhere.

We had originally lived in a park model inside the campground. After several  years we moved into a house owned by the property on a hill at the edge of the woods. The entire campground was set deep in a deciduous forest, but we lived on the edge, overlooking the entire property.

In the spring of 1993, hubby was cutting some rotted trees that had to come down to protect the camping units near them. His father was out visiting and helping—giving direction as father's often do. One of the trees they felled had a mother and some baby raccoons in it. The mother immediately ran off with a couple of them, but one, very tiny one had become stranded. The men backed away and gave time for the mother to come back for the poor waif but she never did. So rather than leave the frightened baby raccoon out in the cold through the night, they brought him up to the house. Amy was visiting with us at the time.

We named the kit, Ronny. Ronny Raccoon. Rather original, don't you think? Ronny was actually named after sassy, Ronny Raccoon, in a novella I had written just prior to finding this animal.

You can see by the pictures how tiny he was when he came to us. He hadn't been weaned yet and we had the privilege of bottle feeding him, teaching him to potty, to eat, to play.

Today, you'll met the baby:

It was May 5, 1993 when Ronny was introduced to us. Amy and me. It was the year I had resigned as the campground's manager after the insistence of my doctor. I'd had a difficult time recovering from an intense back surgery and resuming the 60 to 80 hour weeks I put in as manager wasn't helping my body heal. My hubby, the outside manager, was still working for them until a replacement for him could be found. Meanwhile, little Ronny came into our lives to give us something else to think about besides pain and having to change careers.

Our challenge was to raise this little fella to go back to the wild. The Fish and Wildlife would only suggest that because raccoons were not high on their priority list. In fact, raccoons were considered a pest. So we were on our own.

We estimated Ronny to be between four and five weeks old. After some research we discovered that raccoons don't become weaned until around ten weeks old. Ronny was tiny. We think he'd barely had his eyes open long, and could barely crawl around. He scooted mostly. So we treated him like a baby. He was bottle fed, burped, and cradled until he showed signs of wanting to be weaned. We helped him go potty. Warm washcloths on the belly helped him pee and poop.

We were so enamored with him that we carried him around a lot. He would cry and whine like a human baby when he needed love, attention, bottle, or wee-wee. We kept him in a brand-new pet cage in the kitchen. He had room for a sand box, a sleeping box, and room to climb around and play, for later, when he was able.

No one around us carried anything like raccoon formula. Kitty formula wasn't pleasing to him, so I went to the old standby—half water and half evaporated milk with a bit of sugar. He thrived on that. But in order to keep his bowels normal we eventually dropped the sugar.

He needed fed about ever two hours, through the day and night. He was very attached to our daughter, Amy. Every day was a learning curve. But Ronny proved easy to please and take care of. We were his mother, and he was our baby. Even as he grew to be forty pounds, he was still our baby.

We did a lot of fishing now that we had a bit more leisure, and would pack Ronny up, put him in a pet carrier and take off to the lake. He loved that. He loved car rides. He slept in his carrier on the lakeshore while we fished. Until he got hungry, then he'd put up a fuss. Baby raccoons sound just like children and can get quite loud when they are unhappy or hungry.

He never liked either of us to be out of his sight. He'd come running and climb up a leg until he got in to our arms and was cuddled.

I'm planning on writing more about our experiences with Ronny. But for now you've had a peek at him. My intention is to take you to the point in his life with us that we had to move into town. To the time that Ronny was returned to the wild woods around us. Hopefully, I'll write short stories like those that I did with Mike. Letting Ronny tell us about his life in the woods after we parted.