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Sat Jul 2nd, 2016
 | 07:58 pm - High summer perplexities
The PO union has promised no strike till Wednesday so I at once ordered two ultrasonic repellers, due Tues or Weds. Then made myself get up at too early a.m. and limp out to Can.Tire. Yes the computer says there's one bottle of the effective spray in the store and no it's not on the shelf where it should be, and two clerks, when consulted, said 'Oh it's discontinued' shrug nothing-we-can-do. Possibly I should have said 'There's *one* bottle here in the store and I'm not leaving till you find it', but well-bred Canadians (we're not talking entitled yuppies/ Rosedalites here) don't do that. And besides I bet it doesn't work anyway.
However, since the raccoons are evidently pooing under my brother's kitchen overhang, I shall cease to worry about that particular problem. Otherwise have spread (tangerine scented) epsom salts around the base of the cherry tree and sprayed the trunks with CritterRidder. Next up: the moth balls and the coyote spray: though I doubt urban raccoons have the first notion what a coyote smells like.
I want, in descending order of want, to find my phone case and my copy of The Prince and my copy of A Distant Mirror. Today I found the last. A hopeful omen? But really should go on chugging through Campbell before I tackle a work not quite of my period nor of my territory. But now I can replace Mirror on the want list with Cellini's Autobiography.
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That many odours really should confuse the raccoons, one would think. Confusion is not my goal, alas. Yuck Ugh Outta here! is more what I aim for. (Wait till we add the ammonia!)
Webpages suggest leaving a portable radio (if such things still exist) in a branch of the tree tuned to talk radio. Raccoons seem to loathe talk radio, which may be the only good thing about them. But then *I* would go squirrely, because I hate talk radio more than the raccoons do. |
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