>>checked with my brother and he said closer to about 5.5 years.<<

Ricky Raccoon was a card. Lots of fun, when you try to watch TV, while he chews on your toes. He would sit on the kitchen counter whenever the dishes were being done. We’d just hand him a spoon and he would scrub it forever, happily chattering away at whomever the evening’s dishwasher might be.

Birds, snakes, lizards, salamanders, rabbits, mice, cats, dogs, horses, goats… You name it, all creatures, great and small.

It was an interesting childhood, one I wouldn’t trade for the world. …Well — maybe for the world…

My older brother and I would go out fishing along the creek, and end up bringing home birds, generally chicks who had fallen from nests, including crow, sparrow and wood thrush. Our father kept a cardinal for a few weeks. It had been stunned flying into the living room picture window. My sister would occasionally drag in some baby raccoon that she found whimpering in the snow, including Rocky, Ricky and Rocky II. Upon reaching adulthood, they would be released. Sometimes they came back, to sort of say hello and get a few saltines, mixed with a can of diced tomatoes, and showing off their family. They’d had their visit, then waddle off into the woods, never to be seen again.

Our aunt, who is a year older than me, was unable to keep her pony, so Honey Bun ended up with us. A beautiful palomino, he even won first place for Pony in the Reynoldsburg Tomato Festival parade. Sure, he was the only pony, but it’s still a ribbon. One weekend we even opened a zoo, with the proceeds going to The Heart Fund.

Learning to canoe, exploring Appalachia, fishing in the Atlantic, watching Apollo 11 soar into the cloud-pocked blue sky, with the earth trembling under my feet.

Such fun. Every day an adventure.

One day, I would like to walk the Appalachian Trail, but, even more, to get back to the jungles of Panama.

Cheers, all.

His mother told me that the crows had learned to avoid him, would stay either just out of sight or out of range. She insisted that was true, and rather than contradict her I chalked it up to an idiosyncracy.

She lived to 93, and always insisted the crows recognized Jim and avoided him. Until recently I really didn’t believe her.

I’ve always preferred ravens over crows. In college, there were several, and they taught me how to improve my mimicked, guttural, “Caw”. But I think they laughed at my attempts to talk to them.

For a number of years, I went to Arches National Park every spring. I got to know the local ravens and eventually found their nest. I hang out near there, with a couple of treats, and just listen to them talk. They taught me much. Last time I saw them, one of them dropped a feather nearby. I still have it.

It’s been decades since I was there. I should pay a visit.

Anyway, reading up on the topic I learned that crows have a complex system of communication, and they remember faces. The fascinating part is that, if you harass a crow, he’ll remember and and sound off (crow) at your approach. More, they somehow let their buddies know, and you could end up with dozens of birds harassing you right back.

Troublemaker:
Anyway, Herman followed me to school one day and was diving on the kids during recess. I informed my teacher and got the afternoon off, while he followed me back home.

No genious:
Herman made a game of stealing Richy’s food. Ricky was my sister’s racoon. He was on a length of chain on the back patio, with his dish at the perimeter. Herman would perch on the side of the dish Ricky could not reach and take a nugget of food, which always got Ricky excited and noisy. Well, one day the dish was placed closer and, when Herman landed, Ricky bit him and he died.

That was in the mid 60s, and I still miss them both.

Cheers, all.