The ruckus this trip was a mysterious rustling sound in the roof over the sun porch. My parent's dog, Jojo, had all her hair on end, constantly staring up at the roof.
My dad got a pained look on his face. It was possible that the squirrels had returned. (Click here for the first in my father's series about the living dead squirrel that haunted him)
A neighbor came over and said that he saw raccoons on the roof running into a hole.
I should say at this point that my father loves animals and actually called animal control to come and get the raccoons. Animal control told him to fill a squirt gun with ammonia and squirt the raccoon in the face. "After you get squirted in the face with ammonia, you don't go back to the place you got squirted."
Of course, my dad is in his mid-60s up on the roof on the house squirting in the face of a angry animal, so I give him points. There was no way in hell I was going up there.
My dad has developed his own method. He takes a can of that squirt, expanding styrofoam and drills a hole in the house behind where he thinks the raccoons are and squirts it in. This is their fair warning to leave. The foam fills the space quickly, but they have time to run if they want. Step two, squirt the ammonia in. This is usually when they decide to come out.
This was a big ass raccoon. My dad said that there was about 20 pounds of raccoon poop in the wall. The raccoon rushed out toward my dad and got a face full. It retreated. As you can see in the following picture, it hid in the tight corners of the roof.
My dad started filling the outer hole. The trick is to block it so the animal won't go back in. After it was filled, my dad heard sounds from inside. There was another raccoon. He decided to stop filling and get down.
The big raccoon fumbled its way down the side of the house, bits of expanding foam stuck solidly to its fur, and hid under our neighbor's porch.
Of course everyone was worried about the raccoon stuck in the wall. My dad was leaning toward leaving it in there, its bones to be discovered by some future generation when the house was torn down. My mom and sisters wanted it out there. Nancy didn't feel clean sleeping in the house with it.
The next morning when we got up, there was a styrofoam miracle! The male had returned and had scratched his way through the foam and the threat of more ammonia to rescue his lady love. Then, the two had run away. I imagine they stole a car and are now making their way cross country like Natural Born Killers. The male probably has an eye-patch from the ammonia. If you read about any crimes committed by tiny little gray people coated in styrofoam, blame my dad and his squirt gun.
He's kind of like the Terminator or something. You know, with raccoons.