Ring Around the Corolla


I nearly murdered an entire family over Thanksgiving.  It was unintentional, I assure you, but what good can noble intentions afford you when you’ve got blood on your hands?  Or rather, your bumper.  You see, I almost ran over them with my car.

The night was dark because the moon was new, and I live out in an area that can only be classified as rural.  We like to call it God’s country, but what that really means is that we were some of the last people in the state to get cable television, and even that didn’t happen until I was in college, so while the rest of you people are surfing the world wide web, my neighbors are still enraptured by the fact that stations other than CBS and NBC really do exist.  (Ok, maybe ABC too, but that was only if the forecast was clear and we got the antenna turned just right.)

So as I was saying, the road was darker than a cutthroat shopper’s soul on Black Friday, and when I rounded the corner, there they were.  All four of them with their adorable little faces and black masks around the eyes.  It was a family of raccoons, and as soon as they saw my headlights, they began the I-Really-Need-to-Go-to-the-Potty dance on both sides of the yellow lines.  Ever tried to dodge four raccoons doing a Chinese Fire Drill in the middle of the highway? Let’s just say I had to call on every ounce of banking prowess my Corolla had in it, and even then I was still waiting for a sickening thud to assault my ears.  But I missed them.  As the car slowed, I looked over my shoulder to see four sets of glowing eyes disappearing into the tall grass, and I knew at once what they would offer in the way of gratitude over their Thanksgiving table that Thursday.

“So, little Johnny Raccoon, what are you thankful for on this blessed day?”

“I’m thankful that Corolla didn’t massacre us last Monday when we were getting our supper out of the middle of the road.”

“Quite right, son.  After all, you saw what that madwoman had done to thousands of lovebugs before us; and if all four of us had died at once, who would have collected the insurance money?”

“That’s so true, Harold.  Pass the road kill, would you?”

So after simultaneously testing the integrity of my heart, bladder, and tires, I came away from my car in a state of gratitude myself.  I’m thankful I didn’t need to make an insurance claim for a new bumper.

Weapon of mass destruction

Weapon of mass destruction

© 2013 – Traci Carver


23 responses »

    • Thanks, Karen. I’ve got another raccoon story I may pull out of the vaults soon. I think I just added a new joke to Jeff Foxworthy’s “You might be a redneck if . . .” you have more than one raccoon story!

    • Yikes. I saw a fellow the other day in dark colors on a bicycle after dark doing about 30 mph. I guess people are more prone to suicide around the holidays!

  1. We like to pass roadkill and say “shhh…it’s sleeping…” I hit a porcupine once careening down a dirt road during a youth event in high school…that sucker bounced two or three times under the car… 😦

    • I’ve hit, or nearly hit, more animals than I care to remember. Deer are the ones who stop my heart – I don’t care how many points the antlers have!

  2. As my kids would say ( keeping in mind we are from Long Island much to my chagrin)
    L O freakin L !!!!!!!!!

    Biggest laugh of the day!!!!!!!
    Youre awesome.

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