Four future banditos crossed the line in our neighborhood a few days ago.
And like a band of brothers, they crept shoulder to shoulder on the roadside, each with an eye on the other's back.
I spotted the masked marauders on their way to serious -- and deadly -- mischief.
“We’ve got to shoo them off the road!” I exclaimed as my husband and I drove down the highway, our car tires only inches from the young raccoons.
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“And maybe I can get a picture,” I added, my voice rising with enthusiasm.
The closest I’d been to a raccoon’s tail was on the end of a Davy Crockett look-alike hat.
Within moments, my camera phone clicked as I sidled toward the furry critters, their bright eyes focused on my approach. Then all at once -- and I couldn’t see any other paparazzi -- a clicking sound rose above my snapshots.
Evidently, this roadside gang had a strong opinion about mug shots. So, in the face of snapping teeth, my photo opportunity ended and our sport coupe disappeared down the road.
I later recalled with a chuckle how a brother of mine once had a run-in with a mischievous raccoon that attempted to “break and enter” his new Chevy Corvette at a Lake Tahoe resort.
After clawing and chewing at the windows -- maybe hoping to take the hot red sports car for a spin -- the would-be bandit turned the shiny hood into a slide.
For my brother Jim, that was one raccoon that crossed the line.
Out on our country road there were four. But the mask-wearing gang let this “do-gooder” know they didn’t like the looks of me -- or my old car.