Karyn Johnson

Nature can be so beautiful and cruel. It has the power to nurture and the power to break your heart.

This past week, it was the latter.

I mentioned in my last post that a raccoon tried to break into our barn two weeks ago. It was acting strange — like it was drunk. When I called the county wildlife officer and explained what was going on, he said it was dying of distemper. It was trying to break into our barn to die, I thought.

Fast forward to last Sunday. I went into the barn to grab some garden tools, and I heard some inexplicable noises. It was obvious we had a live animal in our barn. But what? And where?

I realized the sounds were coming from a trash bin — one that I had filled with pinecones. Bracing myself, I peeked inside: a mama raccoon with her babies. The same raccoon that tried to break into our barn a week before? Probably. So it wasn’t distemper. It was labor. (Though she did not look in the least bit pregnant.)

There were four babies, by the way.

I was somewhat delighted by this development, but it’s also not super convenient to have a raccoon family in a barn that we use a lot this time of year. (And are in the planning stages of having remodeled.) However, it’s common for mamas to relocate their nest, so that’s what we were hoping for.

The following day, I had to go out into the barn again. This was around noon when I was on my lunch break. I noticed the trash can lid, which I had used to partially cover the bin after discovering the nest, had been pushed off. It was completely silent in the barn — no baby raccoon squawks and squeaks.

I peeked inside. One baby. That was it. Mama and the other three were gone. I assumed she was in the process of relocating her nest and left the barn to allow her the privacy to do so.

The next morning, the baby was still there. Mama has not clearly returned, and the baby was barely alive. I was shocked that it survived the night. I put on my garden gloves, tenderly picked up the baby, and brought it back to the house to wrap it in a towel and put it in a box. The intention was to keep it warm and keep an eye on it until wildlife center opened and I could contact them.

I named it Pinecone. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have named it at all. I quickly became attached to this little baby.

I kept it next to me at my desk while I worked, and it made adorable little squawking noises. But it also broke my heart because it clearly wanted mama. It was hungry and weak and cold.

I contacted the wildlife center when it opened, and they asked me to bring it into their hospital. However, they were transparent and told me that they would humanely euthanize it. This is actually pretty common, so while I wasn’t surprised when they told me, I was crushed. Since it was a work day, I was trying to figure out how I was going to drive to the wildlife center. It’s across town and would take some time. My neighbor, who was aware of the raccoon situation, offered to take Baby Pinecone for me. She came over late that morning, and that was the last I saw of sweet Pinecone.

Rest in peace, little buddy. I’m so sad things ended this way.

Now, let me make this clear: Humans often have the best of intentions when they rescue wildlife, but they often end up doing more harm than good. I only interfered once it was clear to me that mama didn’t return for this baby. I am not a licensed rehabber. And I was not prepared to give this baby the level of care it needed, nor do I know how to teach a baby raccoon how to be a raccoon. I could have tried to care for it (which is illegal in Ohio if you’re not licensed), but it wouldn’t have known how to be wild if it managed to survive until it could be on its own.

I console myself with the thought that Pinecone at least didn’t die cold and alone in a trash bin.