By Keith Kaniut
Episode 2 – “Raccoon in the Rumpus Room”
“The Stories of Animal Control Officers Joe Tuesday and Bill Cannon”
(With a nod to Jack Web’s ‘Dragnet’ TV series)
I’m Joe Tuesday, Animal Control Officer. The new guy over there is my partner Bill Cannon. We were just discussing the required equipment for performing CPR on a squirrel when my phone rang.
“Animal Control. Sergeant Tuesday.” I listened and made notes.
“…Yes ma’am.… those little ones with the meat wrapped around the cheese? (Bill – How do you spell ‘hors d’ oeuvres’?) We’ll hurry over.”
“Bill. We have a ‘349’ at the Rawlins.”
“Joe, you’re joking. A ‘raccoon in the rumpus room at the Rawlins?”
“Bill, a raccoon is no joke. They can have rabies.”
Bill Googled “rumpus room”.
“Hmm… it’s a room ‘…typically in the basement, used for entertainment and games’.”
I nodded and continued. “Mrs. Rawlins’ book club arrives in 30 minutes. We need to incarcerate the appetizer-ingesting ‘procyon lotor’ before it consumes the rest of her hors d’ oeuvres.”
“Yeah. I really like those roll-up thingies!”
The Rawlins were five minutes away. As we arrived at the Rawlins’, the front door flew open and a distraught and poorly-coiffed Mrs. Rhonda Rawlins appeared carrying a lacrosse stick.
“Oh! I’m so happy you’re here.”
“What’s the situation Mrs. Rawlins? Has anyone been bitten or scratched? – We’re always concerned about rabies…”
“Oh no. Nothing like that. Rosco is my son Randy’s pet raccoon. He’s had all his shots.”
“Randy’s had all his shots?”
“No – Rosco. Randy’s raccoon.” I glanced at Bill’s notes ‘Randy’s raccoon Rosco; rambunctious consumer of cheese roll-ups; no rabies.’ She continued.
“Rosco escaped his cage, jumped up on the kitchen table when my back was turned and grabbed one of the trays of cheese roll-ups I’d just made for my book club.”
“Where is he now, ma’am?”
“Randy?”
“Rosco.”
“Oh, he ran down into the rumpus room carrying the tray in his mouth.”
Bill checked the basement and reported. “He’s quietly consuming cheese-wraps under the cherry credenza in the corner.” He noted sadly “The cheese wraps are nearly gone.”
Mrs. Rawlins continued. “I should have known it would happen. I told Randy that animal was clever with latches. He’s broken out before.” She pulled out a new tray and began assembling a new batch of rollups while she continued.
“I chased Rosco into the basement but our dog Horatio was inside too and as soon as I left the kitchen, he jumped on the table and ate the other tray!”
I looked around. There was no sign of Horatio in the kitchen.
She saw my look. “Oh – Horatio’s outside now.”
I nodded and saw the medium-sized black Labrador lying down contentedly with evidence of his crime still flecking the fur around his mouth.
I was puzzled. “Mrs. Rawlins; are there any wild animals here with rabies – or just these family pets?” Bill stepped back into the kitchen as she answered.
“Just the pets.”
“Ma’am, we’re not supposed to deal with pets. Only with wild animals endangering themselves or people. Unless they’re really dangerous pets like panthers or rhino’s…” I mused…
“You know somebody with a pet rhino Joe?”
“Well, no ma’am. That was just a hyperbolic example.”
“Joe, I was at my wit’s end and your mom said you’d be happy to help.”
“You called my mom?” Bill unsuccessfully tried to hide a grin.
“Yes! She’s in the book club too.”
I sighed and looked at Bill. “Well, since we’re here…”
Corralling Rosco was easier than expected. Apparently he favored honey roasted peanuts and we lured him back to his cage with a trail of the sweetened ‘Arachis hypogaea’.
Mrs. Rawlins pulled another batch of cheese roll-ups from the refrigerator and slipped us a to-go bag. As we left I asked why the dog was called Horatio?
She smiled, slightly abashed. “He’s named after Admiral ‘Horatio Hornblower’, from the fictional series about the Royal Navy during the Napoleonic wars by C.S. Forester.”
“Why?” As soon as the word slipped from my mouth, I knew I’d regret it. I was right.
“Because of his frequent flatulence of course.” I groaned.
Then my phone rang. I listened briefly before disconnecting.
“Bill. We have a ‘634’.”
“That’s the second one this month! An ‘aardvark in an attic’?”
“No; the other one was a ‘635’, a ‘badger in the boudoir’.”
“Joe, who writes these codes?”
“I do…” I smiled contentedly as we drove away.
