Baby raccoon.  Cuuuuuuute.  But you should have heard the li’l guy when the service came to cart him away for relocation.  The guy had to transfer the raccoon from the trap to the box in which he could be transported.

Up until the guy showed up, you’d have thought the baby raccoon would have gone quietly. Cute little scared fellow.

Nah. They sound like the Tasmanian Devil in a blender.  You never heard such random, angry sounds that clearly translate into “I’d much rather you did not touch me. Go to Hell. Right now, if convenient.”

Snarling. That’s probably what it was.

Anyhow, the guy finally had to sort of upend the trap onto the box and wait for the raccoon to drop into the box, which he did not do.

One of my cousin’s kids suggested that they gently coax the raccoon with a twig to the backside through the bars of the trap. And after the guy said that might not do any good, it did.

One very angry baby raccoon, off to be relocated to some stretch of Wisconsin woodlands where six others had already been carted.

And maybe the ones that are left will be joining them before they eat any more chickens.  Or not.