George Cooney Returns

We went to Oregon near the end of last month to go to a couple of plays, see the kids, have breakfast at the Original Pancake House in Eugene.

When we came back, our friend George did not come around for three or four weeks. That was okay, in a way--George is rather like a good-for-nothing uncle who comes in every day or so, checks out the refrigerator, drinks your last beer and eats all the potato chips then leaves to go carousing for a couple days.

It was good to have him back over the weekend, though. He's the only raccoon we know of who comes in mid-morning, as though he'd stayed in bed to sleep off a rough night at the local watering hole, then comes around looking for breakfast, his eyes bleary and whiskers disheveled.

He eats a little, then has a drink of water, then lies on his back in the sun (if there is any), looking as undignified as any reprobate. If he wore a tie there would be grease and egg yolk stains on it. If he wore a bathrobe, he'd never fasten it. If he were a guy instead of a raccoon, he'd only shave every fourth or fifth day, his shirts would be wrinkled, and he'd have dirt under his fingernails.

But he's friendly and does not mind when I step out onto the deck for a smoke or to go across the street to get the mail. He'll sniff my shoe and pants legs seeing if I smell like food or if I've been eating something; holding out on him. Never says much. I reckon that's smart in today's world.