Yes Virginia, Santa's deer are real!

I was walking my dog when from the corner of my eye

two tiny reindeer I was sure I did spy

then out of my peripheral vision I knew

on the side of that house were another two 

they seemed solid, no moving, I thought they were fakes

then the snow started falling, magical Christmasy flakes

Suddenly the deer sprang from that place

you should have seen the look on my face

 

Then those deer turned towards my dog

and started to hop, one started to jo

they bound through the yard, the biggest one flew

I grabbed my camera, and that's when I knew

Santa was here, in my neighborhood early

he was spying it out, one reindeer seemed surly

he stared at my dog and snorted a bit

my dog started barking, so Rudy's snorting would quit

They had a conversation, they talked for awhile

then my little pooch started to smile

I caught a few words, "can't go", and "need help"

my pooch headed towards home, she barked with a yelp

she was so excited, seems she had a plan

if Santa needed some help, she was his woMAN!  

We returned to our house, and when we went inside

my hound ran up the stairs, came back down with deer pride 

then a loud noise came from my living room

I ran cross the house, I ran with a zoom

I saw my dog ju she pounced and she ran

Practicing, seems my dog had a Santa Claus plan

So when you look up in the sky

this Christmas Eve, 

you just might see something, 

that you won't believe    

Leading that sleigh

will be my good girl

she'll fly round the world

with Santa, she'll hurl!   

 

Denver Chalk Art Festival

It rained on Saturday, but that didn't bother most of the chalk artists in downtown Denver. They went back at it to reconstruct their "temporary" works of art.  A hazard of this type of endeavor, to be sure.  

http://www.denverchalkart.org/festival_info/index.php

 

It was fun to see the original artwork on an 8 x 12 piece of paper being transformed into a much larger piece that brought smiles, curious looks and general fun to the crowd gathered on Market Street.  From the classic portrait style that you might otherwise find in an art gallery to sublime pieces  nods to Star Trek, the Avengers and much more.

 

 I've stood in the Louvre looking at the original, but this version put a bigger smile on my face and was a lot bigger than the famous Mona Lisa!

    More than any other, we wanted to see the finished piece, after all it was Where's Waldo and they hadn't put him in when we were there.   

 

 

 This was my favorite.  I got the artist's card after she told me illustrating children's books is her dream.  She went on to tell me "words don't matter, it is the images"... careful now... if we end up working together we might have to happily disagree.

Some seemed to have simply walked away, leaving smeared squares of chalk, but many were at work in the evening bringing their previous day's work back to life.  


Others covered it up to ensure the hours and hours and hours of work were protected and the detail in this one was literally spectacular.  I wanted to talk to her, but the line was too long.  Simply artistic genius!

My party agreed this wonderful blue fox was an overall favorite. 

     I really wanted to stary to see how this would turn out.  The use  of black and white was awesome!

         

Mother Mary 

holding baby John Elway? 

    

I was disappointed to have missed seeing the Gargoyle my latest novel is based on washed out.  I'd really like to see what he looked like before the rain took him. 

     Best story of the night.  This man was recreating a picture of his grandfather during WW1, with his head coming out of the airplane he flew in the war.  A picture was found in an attic that told the story he grandfather never spoke of.  A true American hero.  The artist bragged, "His friends called him Curly. I have his curly hair!"  A huge smile crossed his face and ours too!.  Thank you for your service Curly!

Go Ask Mom is OUT AGAIN!

Go Ask Mom is redesigned, reillustrated and rewritten (some parts). I am very excited about the new look. IF you are familiar with The Gabriel Book of World Records, you know the awesome design and illustration David Schiedt puts into my work!

All over America, this scene is being played over and over as kids are asking Santa for GO ASK MOM under their tree. Now YOU can help Santa get it done!













I have a great special at my website right now and it is not too late to get the books in time for your holiday gift giving. www.justinmatott.com, you get buy 3 get one free AND a total of only $3 for shipping no matter how many books you order. A great deal AND I am happy to sign and or personalize all copies, just let me know what you want!

You can also order it at amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/1889191205/ref=sr_1_1_np_1_main_olp?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1323824428&sr=1-1&condition=new

I WAS TOLD TIM TEBOW WAS SO EXCITED TO HEAR THE BOOK WAS OUT AGAIN THAT THIS WAS HIS REACTION!

Nose Prints? Poems about Pooches.

I am thinking of Nose Prints as a title for a poetry collection ALL about dogs. I love this image and it would be used both as a jacket flap illustration as well as an interior.

Your rhyming submissions might go on the jacket flap and are being accepted through September 1, 2011. The rhyme should represent what dogs mean to us humans, something along the line of man's best friend... FUNNY, THOUGHTFUL, INTERESTING...

Send a four or eight line rhyme to me at justin@justinmatott.com or post it on the facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Works-of-Justin-Matott/213624096290?ref=ts (don't forget to LIKE the page on Facebook if you haven't) and if your poem is used you will receive credit on the acknowledgement page (no further remuneration, come on folks, we are doing this for fun, poetry doesn't make any money...) and an autographed book if and when it publishes.

Meanwhile, keep watching for Nitwittles poems here on my blog as well (chime in anytime your thoughts), and soon the book will be available on your ereaders and traditionally too!

ideas for the book I am writing?

I am writing a passage (two chapters) in the ongoing saga of Gabriel Peters and in it, during a slumber party an argument begins about what is the BEST and what is the WORST! It centers mostly on food and I am looking for ideas from readers.

SO, here is an example; "The best breakfast is Malto Meal!" "The worst thing on a sandwich is Miracle Whip!"


Please chime in!

A Picture is worth a THOUSAND WORDS!

Recently I have been speaking to A LOT of teachers about basic gender differences and how boy and girls learn differently.

This may seem easy to understand, but figuring out how to get those reluctant boys to read and write is a passion of mine.

These picture demonstrate just how different males and female are...

He Blinded me with Science

Steve Spangler is having a contest of sorts on his facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=1016679907#!/stevespangler

Here is my entry for Science Fair Disaster:

When I was in fourth grade I designed a science fair project to show photosynthesis with bean sprouts, dixie cups and good soil. Some ten bean sprouts were distributed around the house in varying humidity and li...ght situations. I was very excited, using my Childcraft and Brittanicas for research as well as the public library books and worked really, really hard on it. Three of the sprouts were devoured by my guinea pigs and almost all of the others were tampered with by my older brother (he dug the bean seeds out and replaced them with marbles). The ones that were present on window sills etc were left alone and seemed to be doing very well, so I assumed my project was on track. Ten days went by before I knew what was going on it was time to gather my research and show the world at school. Much to my dismay eight of the ten had NO growth, except for the nubs left by the guinea pigs. I was so panicked. I wrote a note explaining to the viewers at the science fair that somehow seven out of ten of the beans had become marbles and explained what the guinea pigs did.


For extra credit I debunked the myth of the Sea Monkey by showing a report on brine shrimp. YEARS later, I included the story in my chapter book series and soon will have a comic book series published that was inspired by these events. The title: The Sea Monkey That Ate My Big Brother!

P.S. as a father, I shared this story with my son who did the same bean seed in a cup science experiment. This time, no guinea pigs, no big brothers tampering!

FLUSH, THE FISH

When I was a boy, I was very industrious.

I tried my hand at many sales and marketing jobs (sold all things door to door and in my "snack shack" which I built out of pilfered wood from the housing construction sites near my house, tsk tsk.... I found enough nails left in the dirt outside the sites to put together a pretty impressive shack (all featured in my GP saga).


One thing I tried my hand at was a goldfish farm. I planned to sell them along with all of the candy, gum and other treats in my snack shack to my friends.

I bought some twenty goldfish bowls, calculated that each bowl would supply around fifty newbies and I would continue to build my farm. I supplied each with "verified" male and female fish and waited for them to make me UBER RICH!

One by one they all turned belly up and so did my fish industry (which happened to be in the basement next to the bathroom providing an easy burial.





To distance myself from the ever dying fishies emotionally, I didn't name the first two thousand* but then came upon a clever enough name. Every goldfish I owned from that point on, as well as the other varieties we would get when my own boys owned them were named FLUSH.


From these experiences has come a new picture book that is working its way from my brain to paper. It is called Flush, The Fish, which takes on two meanings depending on how you say that sentence.

Flush is a little albino fish (or the more politically correct way to say it is that he is actually pigmentally impaired) who prefers the backstroke to any other. This unusual fish is mistaken for any number of belly up fish who have somehow leached out their color into the still somewhat clear waters of their bowl, so the little fish farmer gives him his proper burial in the nearby commode. Flush goes whirling down into the underworld, underwater domain and the adventure begins...

NO, it is nothing like Finding Nemo!

Now back to the book!

*hyperbole

Once upon a time... there was a very fast car, a long, long highway and a cop..

"What is a totally cool thing that has happened to you because you're an author?" A kid asked me at the gym yesterday (He was waiting for me on a bench as I walked out. Didn't even introduce himself, just jumped up and asked me this question. His mom, a woman I recognized from the gym soon came along and told him to stop bugging me, which he wasn't. After all, HE is the reason I write!)

I didn't come up with anything too stellar for him. I think I said something dumb like, meeting kids like you. An eye roll later the kid's expectations unmet, I slinked (or is it slunk) away and rode my Hawg (a very loud, SUNBURST YELLOW with double pipes and totally chromed out macho ride) out of the parking lot. THAT he liked. I could tell by the double thumbs up as I blazed out of there, the MACHO RIDER WRITER or is it MACHO WRITER RIDER? Neither really that even though I myself didn't impress him much, my ride did.

BUT, it did remind me of this yellowing page from the front page of a Wyoming newspaper up in Green River, WYO that I have kept in a drawer all these years after "the incident". SO, here is the story behind his inscription "To the nicest guy I have ever written a ticket to."

I was coming back from a mini book tour through Utah and entered Wyoming on a very long, straight highway. The kind of highway that takes so few turns you could steer with your knees and your eyes half-shut. A highway that runs horizontal, cutting through Wyoming - West to East and East to West. I was REALLY in the mood to be home and so was John, the illustrator riding shotgun on the tour, in my convertible M3 BMW. Now, I mention the car specifically because there is one very specific purpose for having the M3 engine and that is SPEED. Having been away from home for a bit and knowing at the time there was NO speed limit in Montana, the bordering state, I decided to see what the car could really do... 65... 75... 85... 95... 105... 115... and I still hadn't come out of third gear.

The "scenery" was zipping past us in a blur and we were like the male version of Thelma and Louise, hair blowing, car going.... 125... Man Oh Man was that fun! 130... up ahead a little town called Green River, Wyoming... Maybe I should slow down near a town?

NAH! 135... WHEWIE!!!!!!! YOWSA! THIS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! THIS IS WHY I HAVE THIS CAR! I'VE NEVER THOUGHT TO DO THIS BEFORE, AND WHAT A GREAT OPPORTUNITY. NO ONE CARES ABOUT SPEED LIMITS HERE, RIGHT? WE HAVEN'T SEEN ANOTHER CAR FOR A HALF HOUR AFTER ALL...

The look on John's face was a mixture of elation and fear. I was just having a blast and we were covering territory FAST! We'd be home in no time! Man oh Man, what could be better? As we blew by Green River in a blur of liquid silver something felt a little off to me. I wondered (to myself) if possibly I should have let off a little for the duration of town passage, thinking logically about the fact that a State Highway Patrol Person would likely hover near a town in this desolate part of Wyoming for snacks, coffee, fellowship or simply because that's where he or she lived.

By the time logic hit me it was just a bit too late. I think I let off the gas and watched the needle begin to plummet from somewhere in the red or was it blue. As I felt the little nervousness creeping up my spine, out of reflex I looked in my rear view mirror. All the cars we had passed going upwards of 150 miles per hour had only owned the real estate in my rear view mirror for a few seconds. But what caught my eye was a car that wasn't retreating... it was advancing.

Just then, the advancing car turned on an assortment of lights that looked like a very sad Christmas for this celebration. I eased completely off the gas, thinking that if I didn't abruptly hit the brakes I might just fool him or her as they advanced. DESPERATION will allow the mind to think anything. As I realized a State Patrolman with a very red face was sitting on the shoulder behind me, I realized also that I had likely been doubling the speed limit when he "clocked me".

He advance very cautiously, hand on his gun and at the ready, as though there was something very insidious that I was fleeing from and now trying to put miles behind me because of. As though he had possibly come up on one of the Ten Most Wanted. As though I had stolen the sports car and had a kidnap victim next to me... as though, well maybe I watch too much television?

As he came to the driver's side door, he demanded in a very gruff tone that I hand him my driver's license, insurance and title... oh yes and then he said, "and your keys." and then as I glanced over at John with a little bit too much desperation on my face, he said something like , "and you are under arrest" and that is when the entire world went into slow motion.

I handed him the information he demanded and didn't even hear the lecture he was giving me. Well, bits and pieces of it bore their way into my cerebellum for sure. I heard "dead bodies all over the road" "absolutely stupid to drive that fast..." "You have no idea what happens to the human body in a small car like this when it collides into the ground at that speed." "If you saw what I see weekly..."

I wasn't a reckless person. I had responsibilities at home. I was a respected member of my community. I felt like a mega-dummy, then right before he walked back to his patrol car to end my life as I knew it, he looked in my backseat where three identical boxes of books were sitting on the seat. "What are those?" he asked in a super grumpy voice.

"Books..." I squeaked.

"Why so many books?" he asked."

"I wrote them. He illustrated them." i nodded in John's direction. John looked like he'd rather remain anonymous.

"What? Really? I'm a writer too!" He said proudly, already a changed person toward me. The grimace replaced by a wide smile. "So, you are really published?"

"Why yes officer, I am. Did you say you are a writer too?" I poured on the charm. John rolled his eyes.

"Well, I'm not published yet, but..." He paused, looked reflective for a moment as if he were caught between two worlds. The world of, I want to hand this guy the best lesson he's ever gotten world and Hmmm, I wonder if this guy could help me get published world?

"Well, Officer, since we are going to be spending some time together, why don't you tell me about your writing. Maybe I could give a bit of advice...?" I said with a certain growing confidence. John said under his breath, "Only you could get out of this one. I bet you do..." he was smiling and I felt a bit of a challenge.

"Mr. Matott, please step out of your car and come back to mine with me." The officer said.

My heart sunk a little. This is where I sit in the caged back seat and am driven to the police station, to the lonely one cell jail where three hairy chested, tattooed, angry muscle men who are on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted Violent Criminals are going to use me as a human punching bag all night as I rot waiting for the one lawyer in town to finish his brunch before he meets with me..."

As we neared his car, me expecting hand cuffs and a rough push on the top of my head into the back seat, he motioned for me to walk around the car like a buddy would after I called shotgun. I was a bit confused, after all, I had never been under arrest before. He motioned for me to sit in the front seat with him. I opened the door and slid in. "Now, tell me, what is it like to be a real published author?" he said with almost childlike zeal.

I did what comes naturally: I launched into a full blown, exciting, embellished story about the prats and pitfalls, sprinkling my story liberally with statements like, "...after all the experiences I have had, I feel much more able to help people who are struggling to get noticed and want desperately to have their dreams come true like mine and be able to travel anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat, ride one of their fleet of motorcycles anytime anywhere, visit their homes on sandy beaches and have dinner with people most only read about in People magazine..." okay, I mentioned embellished previously...

He sat mesmerised, like a fan more than an arresting officer. After I felt I had set the hook adequately, I asked the question that spelled his doom, "Now Officer B____, am I pronouncing that right?" nod. "Tell me about your writing and your dreams for it..." Suddenly, very excitedly he pulled a newspaper out from under his seat and I noticed with it came about four more copies of the same edition, "Check this out! They just wrote about me in our paper. Look at that picture!"

"Whoowee, I've never had a full shot like that in any of the articles written about me..." I buttered him up. The newspaper, opened up to the picture of him leaning on the very squad car we were sitting in sat faced up on my lap as he launched into a story about his idea for his novel for about ten straight minutes. His excitement was palpable. Mine was growing.

After he had told me about his "book", which actually sounded very interesting, I said, "Wow, it's too bad we met under these circumstances. We seem to have a lot in common... Oh, well, doesn't keep us from being friends."

At that point he launched into a very heartfelt appeal to me to NEVER drive that fast again. He told me about the heartbreak people go through because of reckless decisions like mine. He told me one of the saddest stories I have ever heard about a teenage girl with so much promise, dashed because of one split second mistake at 100 miles per hour. "YOU WERE GOING MUCH FASTER THAT THAT! YOU HAVE KIDS, YOU HAVE A WIFE, YOU HAVE A LIFE! IT ISN'T WORTH IT TO RISK ALL THAT FOR A LITTLE FUN."

So, there it was. Our bonding moments a thing of the past. I was a criminal and soon to have a record. Yes, we could still be friends, but it would be on opposite sides of jail bars.

He interrupted my mind drift, "Promise me Justin..." (note the first name basis now) "...that you will NEVER drive like that again." He held his hand out for me to shake on it and seal a promise.

I am a man of my word, so I said, "I promise." and shook his extended hand. Then I bowed my head and waited for what was next.

He said, "You know I called in your plates before I pulled you over... I have to give you a ticket." He said it somewhat apologetically which let me know, even though I was a criminal, I was a nice guy.

"I know, I know. Shoot, wish I weren't so dumb. But do me a favor. This has been nice up until now. So I have something positive for this whole experience and since you have your pen out... would you do me a little favor?"

He nodded blankly.

"Would you sign a copy of the article about you, so someday when you are a famous author, I can say I knew him when and maybe by then I will forget the pain of what you are about to do?" He laughed and scribbled out the inscription on the picture. Then he scribbled his autograph onto the bottom of my ticket and handed it to me to sign along with my keys, driver's license, registration and proof of insurance. My eyes went to the line where it described my offense. DEFECTIVE HEADLAMP. I was stunned. I looked over at him and he smiled and said, "I meant what I wrote about you on the picture and you made me a promise. I expect you to keep your promise."

I said I would and I have. Right before I got out of his car I thanked him and knew he had indeed given me one of the best lessons of my life. Compassion and a promise made.

So, if I see that kid at the gym again, maybe I'll tell him this story. It has all of the elements a boy looks for in a good story, suspense, danger, criminals, speed, fast cars, police officers, friendship...

On the other hand, I think I'll keep my law breaking practices just between me and you.

Gabe rides again!

The Gabriel Book of World Records is on its way! First signing, Tattered Cover... stay tuned!

WHAT PART OF SQUIRREL DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND????

A facebook friend of mine asked me if I would repost this post this entry. She told me of all the things I have written (does that include my books?) that this is by far her favorite and should somehow become a book.

What do you think?

As my trees are so heavy laden with blossoms and I envision a HUGE BUMPER CROP of peaches and apples this year, as long as the squirrels don't interfere, I am wondering if I should again set the trap out there???

The post below was originally put up last summer. The reason I have reprised it is that it has happened again... Who knew raccoons would fight squirrels for a cinnabon? For you, my readers, there is one thing I want to make totally clear; I LOVE ANIMALS and the reason I am trapping is to give them opportunity for a better life (there is an awesome field nearby where the cottonwood trees shade my favorite running path and a creek burbles noisily into a pond all summer long. Food is ample and the opportunity to meet the opposite sex is much better! The digs there are much more squirrel friendly than my back yard. So I carefully move them from my yard to what to a squirrel has to be heaven on earth in my wife's SUV, much to her dismay...

"Why don't you ever use your own for this?"
"Well, your SUV is wider and it is easier to move the trap in and out..."
EYE ROLL, SHOULDER SHRUG, DISMISSIVE LOOK (come on, you know the one my matrimonially embarked friends)

My new neighbors have a BIG, new dog who loves to torment the critters in our adjoining yards (and stomp all over my newly planted seedlings, perhaps I need a bigger trap?) So the mother squirrel (a leftover from last year) protects her next by jumping from tree to tree, chattering angrily and tossing pine cones at his head. He is so enamoured with her that he sticks around, usually long enough to ahem... relieve himself. Did I mention he is a BIG dog? Further reason to simply get the critters that draw him to our yard out of here!

My own Italian Greyhound cannot stand to have the squirrels in our backyard and of course the mother squirrel has built her nest in the pine tree right off of my dog's favorite window so there is no doubt she is moving about back there. I work at home and my dog DRIVES ME CRAZY RUNNING FROM WINDOW TO WINDOW when they move about in the yard. But the BIGGEST reason I simply must move them is my "peach orchard" which is bound to have a bountiful harvest this year (still eating peach smoothies from the peaches I froze last summer). The squirrels have a very annoying habit. I actually wouldn't mind sharing a peach or two with them, we have plenty, but what they do is climb the tree take a bite, toss it down to the lawn, take another bite, toss it down to the lawn. Who wants to eat a peach a squirrel slobbered on?

I think now that I am up to 10 peach trees in my suburban neighborhood, I can call it an orchard, so there must be squirrel memos that go out "PARTY AT THE MATOTT'S! Peaches, all you can eat! Come on by for the open house!"

By the way, I got a postcard from "RICKY", the dude pictured above. He recently honeymooned in Cabo and is looking forward to getting back to the "awesome place I left him" last summer. He will be happy to know he is to be joined by another relocated raccoon today!

We had a bear within a mile of our house yesterday. I wonder if he/she knew about the grill (mentioned within this blog) and was coming back for more. If there are going to be bears in the hood this summer, I better get a bigger trap for sure!

Though I didn't get comments on this posting last year, I got numerous emails about it, all positive. I hope you enjoy it and LET THIS YEAR'S TRAP TALLY BEGIN!


If you read my earlier blog about catch and release you might not recognize this little guy as the subject I was hoping to catch and release and neither did I. This dude or dudette was apparently hanging out in my backyard, unbeknownst to me likely feeding off my compost pile and decided that he or she would rather enjoy the wonderful toast and peanut butter spread I had left for one of the three million squirrels already taking the peaches off our trees.

I awakened one morning last week earlier than the sun and from my office window, looking out over my back yard, I could tell that the trap had closed during the night. It looked like something larger than a squirrel was in there, but it was too dark to tell. I had visions of SUPER SQUIRREL, a strange thirty pound Guinness World record holder being held captive in my backyard. As the sun came up it became apparent to me that I had likely caught one of my neighbor's cats and not Super Squirrel. I was trying to write a chapter for one of my upcoming chapter books but my curiosity kept my mind wandering. Then when I walked out into the garden realizing simply by the sound coming from the area where the trap was that this was no cat and this was no squirrel. No, this was a hissing, angry raccoon who simply wanted a little PBJ and then was hoping to be on his way... but got caught my amateur trapper-bonehead yours truly.

Having loved where the red fern grows and being permanently scarred by what a raccoon will and can do to a dog or anyone else it decides to have a beef with and having heard stories about how vicious these critters can be when trapped I decided I needed help before I did anything about this predicament. I went to the most reliable source I could find to determine what to do... google.com. As I perused the page, it first said: "UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE SHOULD YOU TRAP YOUR OWN RACCOON, HIRE A PROFESSIONAL AND DON'T BE A CHEAPSKATE!" Okay, I wasn't being cheap, I didn't intend to trap this dude. Then the warnings about the likely outcome of letting this angry dude go scared me even more. The website actually tried to tell me the preferred method of relocation would be to heaven. I am NOT going to harm an animal that simply wants to eat a free PBJ and live freely, but that I don't want simply living in my backyard, eating my garden's bounty and my orchard. SO... as I read on, the website chided me further about being a cheapskate (it must have been posted by someone who makes his or her living relocating animals and doesn't like the novice trapper-releaser-relocator) and told me if I insisted on doing this myself I should arm my self well and wish for the best.

After sufficiently feeling belittled and a bit frightened, I headed out into the already 80 degree morning wearing heavy boots and socks, jeans, a flannel shirt, heavy leather work gloves and a bandana tied around my face (to ward off the websites warnings of distemper, plague and many other possibilities if this dude simply coughs in my SUV as I am relocating which can relocate me to heaven). As I lifted the crate, he or she lunged at me, hissing and making sure I understood that once released, he or she was aiming for my carotid artery and I just might be spending my last summer moments on earth.

I carried the cage with a wildly gyrating and noisy raccoon as outstretched from my body as possible and set it gently into the back of my SUV. Did I mention the website also mentioned that it was illegal in most states to relocate a raccoon? SO, here I was setting off to commit a possible felony with a very angry, plague ridden animal in the back of my SUV. I had all the windows down and the back door open so air could flow backwards and keep his plaguey breath away from me. I intended to do only California stops (a potential misdemeanor) so the air couldn't double back and descend upon me in the way plague tends to do, at least in my overactive imagination. I headed to a wonderfully wooded area, near an elementary school where I imagined my angry buddy living the good life and actually appreciating my thoughtfulness. Perhaps he might even send me a Christmas card with a picture of his new wife and family, all thanks to my kind desire to simply relocate him to a place better suited for wildlife.

As I eased my way down in to the elementary school parking lot and readied myself for what was to possibly be the last moments of my life as I knew it, I noticed another car descending into the parking lot too, the difference between that car and mine was that it had sirens and the words SHERIFF on the doors as well as a burly man in a uniform with a "don't mess with me" look on his face. Here I was on an early-getting hotter by the moment-morning, in the outfit I mentioned previously and the bandana now tucked up into my hat to protect not only my airways, but to pull up over my eyes in case this particular varmint preferred eye gouging to simply chewing of skin and arteries. The sheriff pulled around the parking lot and nodded at me like this was something he saw every day. I nodded back and he looked at me like the next move was mine.

SO I waited a sufficient amount of time since our last eye-lock and started my engine slowly easing my way out of the parking lot, having pulled the bandana down as though just a neck decoration and holding my breath for somewhere around ten minutes, he pulled up and stopped near the exit to the parking lot and as I glided past him, back doors of the SUV open, a chattering, banging raccoon giving my stereo a run for its money, I gave him the "guy nod" and started into a neighborhood, where I figured at the next vacant stop sign I would gift these people's pesky squirrels with a little buddy to play with. It seemed like every four way stop sign had four way busyness to keep me from exporting my little friend so I drove on for what seemed like hours, sticking my head out the window every time I inhaled through my bandana, taking huge gulps of fresh, non plague or distemper tainted air.

Finally I came to a HUGE open space with a running stream, lots of tall trees and what seemed like the perfect place to let this dude out. Did I mention that during this entire episode, the little guy was banging, bending and screaming at ever increasing in volume intervals? I pulled over, checked my mirrors and backed into a little dirt drive. I went to the back, pulled the cage out, while holding the clawed garden hoe that was to be my defense against the raccoon's attack. He was hissing, jumping, banging and screaming at me. I got into the back of my SUV and pulled the door as closed as I could in this awkward position, sticking the hoe out through the few inches of open door and imagined him running around the side of the vehicle and leaping into one of the open windows, thus trapping me inside for my flesh tearing session. I grabbed the catch that holds the trap shut with the hoe from inside the SUV and pulled back, it went up about three inches and then crashed down loudly clanging further enraging the possibly rabid raccoon, who must have thought I was just toying with him.

Thoughts of bullfighters and viciously angry bulls came to mind and how a trapped bull will turn on the matador and then gore him, throwing him ten feet into the air. Suddenly it seemed that this large cat-sized raccoon could do just that. I pulled with all my might holding the cage door open and he just sat there. I waited for what seemed like an hour, my arms falling asleep, my heart beating so loud he must have heard it, reminding me of the things I had heard about animals sensing fear and capitalizing on it by tearing their captors in two.

Then I did what anyone would do that wanted the raccoon to be calm when he finally emerged from the trap, I began screaming at the top of my lungs, "GO YOU BIG DUMMY, MOVE! GET OUT OF THERE!" Suddenly, he sprang into action, he began to scurry out of the trap like a bat out of H-E-Double-Toothpicks! A sense of relief overtook me as he emerged and ran the opposite way of my SUV. Then just as I thought this little mistaken episode was over, he stopped and turned, his yellow fangs glinting in the sunlight and looked right into my eyes, which were just slits behind the bandana. Did I mention I was drenched in sweat from the heat, now approaching 110 degrees in the SUV covered by more clammy sweat from sheer ice cold fear?

He looked at me with intent. Suddenly I saw his little masked face and couldn't help but think that he was awful darn cute. He nodded up and down as though to say "Hey thanks a lot dude, this place is SWEET!"

He jumped down the little concrete curb and scurried off into the tall grass, his funny little body bumping up and down heading across the field headed right for the tall cottonwood trees I had intended for him to find. I pulled the bandana off my face and jumped out of the SUV and shouted HAVE FUN DUDE! Then I stripped off the flannel shirt, pulled off my boots and socks and headed for home (driving barefoot is at least a misdemeanor).

That night I had about three hundred dreams that the raccoon was on my front porch, back porch, garage, bathroom, bedroom, kitchen and pretty much everywhere else I frequented including my regular Starbucks! Believe it or not, he was behind the counter waiting in cahoots with my regular barista to size up my tip and attitude deciding if it was going to be the carotid or the face that got attacked first.

Several days passed and no signs of him returning, but alas, I thought, another squirrel was in there that I would have to find a new home for (this is getting old) No, not a squirrel, I awakened to something strange in the cage. Sitting there staring at me in my office was a huge black bird, trapped by my peanut butter treat. That relocation was the easiest; I opened the cage, the bird flew away and all I lost in the deal was some bread. Come to find out, it didn't like the peanut butter after all.

SO, the current backyard count is 4 squirrels, 1 raccoon and 1 bird all happily living elsewhere. My next door neighbor, amused at my early morning Daniel Boone forays, said something yesterday that terrified me, "What are you going to do if you catch a skunk?"

Do skunks like peanut butter? Back to google, I'll let you know. Oh and by the way, after further research I have found out that I wasn't breaking any laws, Colorado is one state where you can, by law, relocate a racoon, but not a fox? And that thing about driving barefoot. I don't know if that is urban legend or if you really have to have shoes on to drive a car.

Did I mention that a few years back a black bear disassembled my backyard grill partially? Then she left her footprints in my next door neighbor's kid's sandbox. How did I know she was a she? She was on the news. She had fallen asleep in a tree a few miles away. Perhaps the heavy grease from the drippings in my grill made her tired. I just hope her babies don't like peanut butter.