Camping with Gang Members.

For those of you who don't know us, this is my husband, John. This was our very first AND last camping trip the two of us ever went on together. Notice he's READING about fly fishing?! He's reading in his hammock. The hammock has a rope attached to it that he tied to a tree so that he could pull it and rock himself. The tarp over him - he adjusted depending on what time of day it was, and where and how much the sun was shining on his little patch of campsite. He has very fair skin and is constantly bitching about being in the sun even when driving or riding in the car and it is coming through the window!  We've both been on many camping excursions, just never with each other before this one! Now, don't get me wrong. We had a great time. Well, except the fact that this was during the time we were trying to find out what was wrong with me physically, and I was in a lot of pain. This trip was a way for us to kind of try and forget about all of that, however, the pain didn't really allow that to happen. But, we made the most of it! This camping area is down by Fairfield, Texas. I just thought it was funny...John, the hammock, the fly fishing books, and the rope.

The first evening we were there, in the brush around us there were so many raccoons, I couldn't believe it! I'd shine the flashlight into the woods, and all you'd see were these glowing eyes staring back! I was sitting in my camp chair by the fire and all of a sudden I hear something next to me...I look down and about 3 feet away from me is this messed up looking coon that was staring up at me. He wasn't right. (Insert laughter here from my family...that phrase is an inside joke!) He stared at me with this cold, crazy, calculating look on his face as if to say "Give it up, bitch." He looked as if he hadn't slept much...had these dark circles around his eyes...and a snarl that revealed sharp, yellowed teeth. I yelled and stomped at him to get him to run away...but he just stood there and then slowly sat down in the dirt all the while eyeballing me. I hadn't even startled him. By this time, John was at my side with a big-assed stick that he brandished with much enthusiasm at the crazy coon while yelling "Get outta here, you crazy son-of-a bitch!" and that nasty, half-witted, furbag slowly stood up and turned and strutted to the edge of the woods all the while looking back over his matted furry shoulder at us with those beady, devilish eyes. The rest of the night, Tardo Coon, as we came to call him because everything about him was slow...the way he moved, stared, thought...visited us frequently. Along with some of his gang members. I kept expecting to see little colored bandannas on their heads with their ears sticking out and bling hanging from their necks in the shape of trash cans adorned with acorns. 

John and I stayed there for two nights and that was enough for me. Too much pain and too many gang members. I was afraid of a trot-by that would end up with one or both of us being pelted with nuts, sticks and pebbles. So, we left and headed home for the comforts of civilization. Good Bye, Raccoons. And as for your gang leader...Good Riddance.