We've had a coon problem for years here. The lady that lived down the road had more money and heart than she had sense. She took it upon herself in her last years to try to feed every stray cat there was. Problem being coon's enjoy dining on cat food, so this area was infested.

I had a problem that my dad had instilled the idea of a clean sportsman like kill. I've since shed myself of such foolishness. If its a problem critter, I don't care if it lives or dies, as long as it does it someplace else.

Take note that once you sever the head from the neck, we'll just call the critter dead. Anyway, the old lady's gift to the area was way too many cats and coons that know food is at houses. When we first moved down here on the flatlands (1995), coons were all over. We came home, the motion detector light came on, and there were glowing eyes all over the neighbors roof! Kind of fun to see, but also a hint there would be trouble.

A few nights later I was sitting my my recliner and the light out back came on. I walked out through the kitchen and found a big ole coon distributing my garbage all over the deck. I don't have a real strong sense of humor, so I went downstairs, opened the safe, selected a M63 for the job (selection of firearm is important), found some ammo, and loaded the gun as I walked up stairs. Before I went to get the gun I'd opened the door twice to shoo it away, and both times it charged. With a gun in my hand it started its charge before I even yelled. So I shot it. Just a 22 solid along the centerline. I aimed for the head and think that's where the bullet hit, but it didn't matter to me. It turned, staggered off the deck, and I never saw, heard, or smelled it again. If it died, fine. If it learned its lesson and left town, that's OK, too.

When I was a young boy I was tree-rat hunting. It was a warm autumn day and the leaves were drying in the sunshine. Not an ideal day for moving about, but I was young and dumb so I was doing my best at sneeking. All of a sudden the leaves a few feet away started rustling. I looked and saw the last thing anyone wants to see up close. It was a copperhead (they will sometimes rattle like a rattlesnake, only they don't have the buzzer.) So I did what any onery American boy would do, I shot it. With a 20 gauge, in the head. Well, that 20 with the squirrel load (probably #6) surgically removed the first 6" of snake. Do snakes have necks? I'm guessing head, neck, and the first few inches of body (if snakes have those.) But that critter was so mean it kept on rattling for a good long time. My hunting partner came running at the shot (he wasn't doing much good either.) It'd been 5 or 10 minutes. His first comment was "shoot it again, its still kickin'"

Now I've got a good healthy fear of snakes, or the bad kind. You can call it respect if you've got an overdose of pride. I'm just skeered of the poison kind. But my fear was all gone, just like the snakes head. Its fightin' parts had vaporized. With coons, and particularly the kind that might have rabies, the bad parts don't go away with dismemberment. Worse, if there's blood and tissue, the local cats and other scavengers might come for dinner and take away more than you want. In incorporated areas, its why you pay taxes. Let the animal control folks handle anything that's doing strange stuff.

Coons eat garbage, so I really doubt one doin' what comes naturally is going to have any bad disease. But I'd still rather it waddles off to die elsewhere.

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Dick Burg