For the love of bungee

It's been pretty quiet on the garbage front lately. Indeed, we hadn't had any incidents since I put bungee cords on the pails.

Until last night.

Unfortunately, I think the raccoons took a page out of Fidel Castro's playbook after the raid at Moncada barracks. OK, I don't think they went to Mexico City to plan, but they are back and apparently ready for round two. [By the way, I say "they" because there are now two: a big one and a baby/trainee]. So with their return, it seems they have a new strategy.

For reasons known only to her, Jane woke up at 4 this morning. When Vicki brought her in to our room, Jane was wide awake and ready to play. Alas, we were not. So she tossed and turned and tried chatting us both up for the better part of an hour. But by 5, she was just about out. And that's when I heard the familiar low thud of a garbage pail being tipped.

I couldn't peek out the window without waking the newly sleeping Jane, but as I drifted off to sleep I dozed safe in the knowledge that our garbage was secure. Better living through stretchy cords and hooks.

This morning, as I made the usual trip to the garbage to dispose of the night's diapers (the kids', not mine), I looked with satisfaction at the pail lying on its side, lid still in place. But when I righted the pail and opened it up, I found a torn bag and some bits of last night's dinner sticking to the walls of the pail. Apparently, the little one was able to squeeze into the space between the lid and the pail when the pail was knocked on its side.

At this point, I have two options: I can either become Carl Spackler or I can keep the bungees on and admire the raccoons for their ingenuity. I think I'm going with option two.

Seriously, any animal willing to work that hard for an apple core gets my respect.

As long as it doesn't give me rabies.